Writing Through the Noise: A Neurodivergent Journey

As I sit at my desk, the soft glow of my computer screen illuminates the dim room. It’s 2024, and the world of writing has transformed dramatically. Social media notifications ping incessantly, reminding me of the constant need to engage with readers and stay relevant in an ever-changing digital landscape.

I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the blank document before me. The cursor blinks, a steady rhythm that should be inviting but instead feels like a taunt. As a writer with autism and ADHD, the modern writing world presents unique challenges that I grapple with daily.

The allure of instant feedback through likes, shares, and comments is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it provides immediate validation and connection with readers. On the other, it’s a constant source of distraction, pulling my attention away from the craft itself.

I glance at the sticky notes adorning my monitor, each one a reminder of the various writing projects, deadlines, and social media strategies I need to juggle. The multitasking required in today’s writing landscape often feels at odds with my neurodivergent brain’s need for singular focus.

Turning back to the screen, I try to immerse myself in the story I’m crafting. But the words don’t flow as easily as I’d like. My mind wanders, jumping from plot points to character arcs, then to the latest industry trends I read about on Twitter. The pressure to create content that’s not only well-written but also “marketable” and “algorithm-friendly” weighs heavily on my shoulders.

I reach for my noise-canceling headphones, a necessary tool in my arsenal against sensory overload. As I slip them on, the world around me softens, allowing me to better concentrate on the task at hand. It’s a small victory in the daily battle against distractions.

The societal pressure to conform to neurotypical standards of productivity and communication is ever-present. I find myself constantly second-guessing my writing choices, wondering if they’ll be understood or appreciated by a broader audience. The fear of misinterpretation or rejection due to my unique perspective is a constant companion.

Yet, as I begin to type, I remind myself of the strengths my neurodivergence brings to my writing. My ability to hyperfocus, when channeled correctly, allows me to dive deep into research and world-building. My different way of perceiving the world often leads to unique storylines and characters that stand out in a crowded market.

As I reflect on my writing journey, my mind drifts back to childhood, to the spark that ignited my passion for storytelling. At the center of those early dreams was Whisper, my beloved TY Beanie Baby.

Whisper was a small, soft white tiger with bright blue eyes. In my imagination, he came to life, embarking on grand adventures that I eagerly scribbled down in my notebooks. These stories were my escape, my way of making sense of the world around me. As I grew older, my writing evolved. Whisper’s adventures gave way to more complex narratives, exploring themes of identity, belonging, and the human experience.

However, my journey as a young writer wasn’t without its challenges. My adoptive mother, a woman with strict religious beliefs, struggled to understand both my neurodivergence and my passion for writing. She viewed my autism and ADHD not as part of who I was, but as problems to be fixed or hidden.

Her opposition to my writing was particularly painful. Any story that didn’t align with her religious views was met with disapproval. She’d often confiscate my notebooks, tearing out pages of “inappropriate” content. Sometimes, entire stories would disappear, destroyed in her attempts to steer me towards what she considered proper Christian literature.

The constant scrutiny and punishment created a hostile environment for my creativity. I learned to hide my writing, to censor myself even in my private thoughts. The joy I once found in creating stories became tainted with fear and shame.

Despite these challenges, the urge to write persisted. I found ways to continue my craft in secret, scribbling stories on scraps of paper or in the margins of my school notebooks. The worlds I created became my refuge, a place where I could be myself without judgment or repression.

The impact of childhood trauma on my writing has been profound and long-lasting. Even now, years later, I find myself grappling with a deep-seated fear of judgment whenever I put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. The echo of my adoptive mother’s criticisms still reverberates in my mind, causing me to second-guess every word I write.

Self-censorship has become an almost automatic response. I catch myself filtering my ideas, questioning whether they’re “appropriate” or “acceptable,” even when I’m writing solely for myself. This internal censorship stifles my creativity and often leaves me feeling frustrated and creatively blocked.

Perhaps the most insidious effect has been the ongoing struggle with self-worth. There’s a persistent voice in my head questioning whether my words have any value, whether I have anything worthwhile to say. This self-doubt can be paralyzing, making it difficult to start new projects or finish existing ones.

However, as I’ve grown and learned more about neurodiversity, I’ve begun to see my neurodivergence not as a hindrance, but as a unique strength. My autistic and ADHD brain may process information differently, but it also allows me to see the world from a unique perspective, which can translate into rich, distinctive writing.

To manage my focus, I’ve developed strategies that work with my neurodivergent mind rather than against it. Breaking tasks into smaller, manageable chunks has been a game-changer. Instead of feeling overwhelmed by the prospect of writing an entire chapter, I focus on writing a single scene or even a single paragraph.

I’ve also found great success in using timers. The Pomodoro Technique, where I work in 25-minute bursts followed by short breaks, helps me maintain focus and avoid burnout. It gives my ADHD brain the frequent changes it craves while still allowing me to make steady progress on my writing projects.

One of the most frustrating challenges I face as a neurodivergent writer is difficulty with word recall and memory. Often, I’ll have the perfect word or phrase on the tip of my tongue, but it remains frustratingly out of reach. This can disrupt my writing flow and lead to moments of intense frustration.

To combat this, I’ve developed a series of coping strategies. My most essential tool is my notebook — always within arm’s reach. When I struggle to remember a word or concept, I jot down related ideas or descriptions. This often jogs my memory or leads me to an even better word choice.

I’ve also become an outline enthusiast. Before diving into a writing session, I create a detailed roadmap of my ideas. This helps anchor my thoughts and provides a structure to return to when my mind inevitably wanders.

In addition to these personal strategies, I’ve found immense support and belonging in online writing communities. Social media platforms like Twitter and Instagram have connected me with fellow neurodivergent writers who understand my unique challenges. We share tips, celebrate each other’s successes, and offer encouragement during difficult times.

These communities have become a lifeline, providing not just practical writing advice, but also a sense of acceptance I often struggled to find in traditional writing circles. Through these connections, I’ve learned that my neurodivergent perspective is not just valid, but valuable. It’s a reminder that there’s no single “right” way to be a writer, and that our differences can be our greatest strengths.

As I reflect on my journey as a neurodivergent writer, I’m struck by how far I’ve come in healing and growing beyond the trauma of my early experiences. The memory of my writing being torn apart and discarded still stings, but it no longer paralyzes me. Instead, it fuels my determination to keep creating and sharing my voice with the world.

Learning to value my own words has been a gradual process. Each time I share a snippet on social media or receive positive feedback from a reader, I feel a small surge of confidence. These moments accumulate, slowly but surely building a foundation of self-belief that counteracts years of self-doubt.

I’ve come to realize that my unique perspective as a neurodivergent individual adds depth and nuance to my writing. The very traits that once made me feel isolated — my intense focus, my ability to notice minute details, my tendency to approach problems from unconventional angles — now enrich my work in ways I never anticipated.

This journey has taught me that being a writer on the spectrum is both challenging and immensely rewarding. While we may face additional hurdles, we also possess unique strengths that can set our work apart. To my fellow neurodivergent writers, I say this: Your voice matters. Your stories deserve to be told. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

I encourage you to embrace your differences, to find communities that support and uplift you, and to keep writing, even when it feels impossible. Challenge the societal norms that say there’s only one way to be a successful writer. Your path may look different from others, but it’s no less valid or valuable.

Remember, every word you write is an act of bravery, a step towards healing, and a light for others who may be struggling in the darkness. Keep shining that light. The world needs your unique perspective, your creativity, and your voice. You have the power to change narratives, challenge perceptions, and inspire others through your words. Embrace that power, and let it guide you on your writing journey.