Why I Cherish My Neurodivergent Friends: Spotting Genuine Friendship

For a large part of my existence, I experienced hardship when it came to making friends. This started in my elementary school years, where as an ADHD child, I found it difficult to be like the others - calmly sitting down during classes, solving math problems at the board despite the nervousness and the teasing that accompanied it, or playing sports whose rules confused me. The feeling of being an outsider was hard to bear. I was deeply acquainted with severe loneliness at an early age.

Books became my sanctuary. If no one was available to keep my company, I could always escape into a good book, pouring my concentration into its contents, immersing myself in a different world. But as magical as they were, books could never replace the value of friendship.

Fitting in was always a struggle, especially with other mothers when I became a parent. I joined mother's local groups, only to retreat once it dawned on me that I was inherently different. A lifetime of such experiences had given me the ability to anticipate potential friendships—or the lack thereof.

However, don't be too quick to offer your sympathies – I haven't been completely bereft of friendships. Some friendships have graced my life, deep and meaningful ones at that, where love is given and received. Many of these friends also possess neurodivergent traits, diagnosed or not. We share similar perspectives, ways of communication, and lifestyles.

Presently, I'm able to discern neurodivergent individuals pretty quickly. More often than not, these are the people with whom I create an immediate bond. Being their friend brings tremendous joy and relief. With them, I am liberated from pretending, free to be myself in the truest sense. It's mutually liberating, our shared weirdness celebrated and enjoyed.

Our conversations are often intense and revolve around our latest passions and breakthroughs, riveting to say the least. I'm more than eager to share my new learnings and passions, as is typical for someone with ADHD.

These friends understand me in the truest sense, whether it's the constant clutter, routine forgetfulness, or sporadic need to withdraw when I'm overstimulated. When I forget critical appointments or misplace my child's birthday gift, the comfort I derive from opening up to people who've had similar experiences and understand my struggle is immeasurable. They reassure me that it's not my fault and that I'm not alone in my struggle.

How can I even begin to explain the sheer joy of finally encountering people who dance along to the in-store music at the grocery store, go wild and come up with hilarious lyrics, and make the checkout line fun? It's like finally being able to boldly declare, “Yes, I’m different – and that’s okay!”

As I near my 40s, I realize that I don't have a single friend who is neurotypical. It's not a conscious choice, it just seems that the people I naturally resonate with are the ones who are neurodivergent. This is a stroke of luck for me.

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