Counselling Blog
Imagine you wake up at 7:30 AM to the blaring sound of your alarm, but your brain doesn't even acknowledge it until you’ve been staring at the ceiling for 10 minutes, wondering why life is so… loud. You finally get out of bed, then promptly forget why you even got up in the first place. Oh, and there’s a whole pile of things you were supposed to do, but they're all jumbled in your head like a Rubik’s Cube after being thrown across the room.
If this sounds familiar, you’re probably neurodivergent. Congratulations? It’s not a prize you asked for, but here you are. Whether it's ADHD, autism, dyslexia, or anything else under the neurodivergent umbrella, you spend a good portion of your life juggling the chaotic, contradictory mess of trying to fit into a world that really wasn't made with you in mind.
It's exhausting. It’s confusing. And sometimes, it’s downright baffling. So why not throw therapy into the mix, right? But here’s the thing: therapy isn’t about finding someone who has the same neurodivergent brain as you. It’s not about finding someone who "gets it" in the way you think they should. Therapy, my friend, is more like finding someone who can help you find the power button when everything feels like it’s frozen on the "you’re doomed" screen.
The Desire to Be Understood: A Deep, Deep Need
When you’re neurodivergent, the idea of someone really getting what it’s like to live in your head is like the ultimate holy grail of therapy. You want someone who doesn’t need to be told what ADHD feels like, who knows firsthand the agonizing paralysis of a brain that’s way too full but still doesn’t seem to do anything. You want someone who will nod knowingly when you mention the ever-growing pile of emails, or the fact that no, you didn’t just forget to make that phone call; your brain literally couldn’t let you do it because it was busy processing an existential crisis about your cereal choice.
This desire to be understood makes sense. It’s the classic human thing: we want to connect. We want to find someone who doesn’t just tolerate us but actively gets why the simplest task feels like climbing Everest in flip-flops. But here’s the thing—you don’t need to find someone who has your exact life experience. If that were true, you'd be better off looking for a therapist who was literally you. That’s a whole new level of messed-up, even for therapy.
The “Like Me” Trap: Why You Don’t Need a Mirror
This is where the whole “I need a therapist who’s just like me” thing gets a bit sticky. You might be thinking, "Well, if my therapist doesn't get my exact experience, how can they possibly help me?"
Well, let me break it to you: you don’t need someone who has lived your exact life, or even someone who thinks the way you do. What you need is someone who is genuinely curious about your struggles, someone who can hold the space for you without trying to make it their own. You need someone who can take that tangled mess of holiday lights (or, in your case, your brain) and start untangling it, no matter how foreign the task might seem.
Imagine this: you walk into therapy feeling like you’ve just stepped into a maze, and you need a guide who’s not going to run away when the walls start closing in. You don’t need them to have been lost in the same maze. You need them to have a map and a sense of direction, even if they’ve never been there before. That’s the difference.
Empathy vs. Sympathy: It’s Not About Feeling Sorry for You
Now, here’s where things get a little tricky. You want empathy, not sympathy. If your therapist looks at you and says, "Oh, I’m so sorry, that must be so hard," you’ve got yourself a sympathy situation. Sympathy is basically pity with a sprinkle of awkwardness. It’s like someone offering you a box of tissues and then turning away while you cry, just to avoid feeling uncomfortable.
Empathy, on the other hand, is about standing with you in the storm, not just acknowledging that the storm exists. It’s about a deep understanding that even if they haven’t weathered the same downpour, they’re right there, with you, helping you stay upright as the wind howls. Therapy isn’t about your therapist being like you—it’s about them being able to walk beside you, in their own shoes, while you figure out how to keep going in yours.
Neurodivergence: It’s Okay to Struggle, Seriously
Let’s not sugarcoat it. Life as a neurodivergent adult can be a grind. It's a constant balancing act where the tiniest disruption—a wrong turn in a conversation or the buzzing of a fluorescent light—feels like the universe itself is testing your limits. It’s not just about “learning how to live in the world.” It’s about surviving the world that’s constantly telling you that your way of being is too much or not enough.
But here’s the good news (and yes, there is some good news): therapy isn’t about trying to fix you. You don’t need fixing. You need someone to help you figure out how to make sense of it all. A therapist isn’t there to tell you that you’re broken, they’re there to help you navigate the parts of you that feel like the world is broken. They help you find strategies to cope with your unique brain—whether that’s breaking tasks into tiny pieces, learning to manage overstimulation, or just giving you a moment to breathe when the weight of it all feels too heavy.
The Power of Therapy: A Space Where You Don’t Have to Explain Yourself
Therapy, at its core, is a place where you don’t have to explain yourself. It’s a space where you’re allowed to say, “This is hard, and I don’t know how to deal with it,” without getting a well-meaning but completely unhelpful “Have you tried yoga?” answer. It’s a place where you can explore the mess without being judged, where you can untangle the chaos in your head with someone who can hold the pieces for you while you work through them.
Because here’s the thing—life doesn’t get easier. It gets more manageable. Therapy is part of that management. It's not about erasing your neurodivergence, it’s about figuring out how to live in a world that doesn’t always make room for it.
So if you’re neurodivergent, and you’re struggling with this constant need for validation, for someone to “get it” completely, maybe it’s time to shift that focus. You don’t need someone to mirror your exact life experiences. You need someone who can help you untangle your brain, piece by piece, while respecting the messiness of it all. And trust me, that’s worth finding.
