A Note to Neurotypicals: What I Wish you Knew about Support

Reflections from a late-diagnosed Neurodivergent Therapist

By Rebecca Goldstein MTA, MSW, RSW I’ve spent most of my life being told I’m “too sensitive.” Too emotional. A "Rollercoaster".

It took me a long time—and a late diagnosis of ADHD—to understand that I wasn’t broken. I just process the world differently. I'm not weak or dramatic. Well oftentimes dramatic. I respond to the world through a nervous system wired for intensity, nuance, and deep emotional responsiveness. I am neurodivergent.

This is a note to the neurotypicals in my life, and in the lives of other neurodivergent people. We don’t need fixing. We need understanding, support, and space to be who we are.

💥 The Toll of Being Misunderstood

Before my diagnosis, I spent years trying to change myself. I tried therapy, magic, medication, crystals—anything that might dull the “too muchness.” And when it didn’t work, I internalized that as failure. That something was wrong with me.

In some settings, like the Canadian Armed Forces, I was not just unsupported—I was actively invalidated. There was no room for emotional sensitivity, and small perceived “mistakes” (like formatting the date wrong) could lead to being yelled at in front of others. These moments left a lasting mark, reinforcing the message that my brain was not built for the environments I found myself in.

But I endured. I adapted. I found my way here.

🌍 What Sensitivity Really Feels Like

I am not just sensitive—I am hypersensitive.

I take in more sensory and emotional input than most people: lights feel brighter, background noise is harder to tune out, and small interruptions can really throw me off. Emotionally, I feel everything deeply, which can be a gift—but also a source of fatigue and overwhelm.

Even when I’m well-rested, nourished, and medicated, a loud noise or unexpected task can derail my focus or leave me dysregulated. I’ve had to build systems and tools to keep myself grounded through daily overstimulation.

And while I’ve learned to manage this, I’ve also come to see it as something meaningful. My sensitivity helps me connect. It helps me notice subtle shifts in mood or tone. It’s part of what makes me a deeply attuned therapist.

🧩 What Neurodivergent People Need from Others

I believe that most people mean well. But good intentions don’t always lead to good outcomes—especially when support is framed as “fixing” rather than understanding.

Here’s what actually helps:

Listen.

Hold space without trying to solve or explain. Just listen. Really listen.

Validate.

You don’t have to agree, but you can acknowledge someone’s reality. “That makes sense” or “I can see why that would feel hard” goes a long way.

Educate Yourself.

Don’t rely on the neurodivergent person to explain everything. Take the initiative to learn about neurodivergence, hypersensitivity, and executive functioning.

Respect Boundaries.

Whether it’s physical space, noise levels, or the need for downtime—boundaries are a form of care, not rejection. Even if you don't get it, you can still give it a try.

Communicate Clearly.

Neurodivergent brains often prefer direct, literal communication. Say what you mean. Avoid vague or inferential language.

Prepare for Transitions.

Change can be destabilizing. Offer advance notice whenever possible.

Avoid Triggering Phrases.

Phrases like “You’re overreacting,” “Calm down,” or “You’re so high maintenance” may seem minor, but they cut deep. They reinforce shame and distance. 🛠 What We Can Do for Ourselves:

Communicating & Accommodating Our Needs

While it’s important that neurotypical people learn to support us better, it’s also powerful to explore what we can do to advocate for ourselves and create safer spaces—internally and externally.

Here are a few ways I’ve learned to care for myself as a hypersensitive, neurodivergent person:

🌿 Learn your nervous system’s signals.

Notice what overstimulation feels like for you—tight jaw, shallow breath, zoning out, irritability—and use it as a cue to pause, reset, or pull back.

📣 Practice naming your needs—out loud.

You’re allowed to say, “That lighting is too much for me,” or “I need a few minutes before we keep talking.” Start with people you trust and build from there.

🧘‍♀️ Build in recovery time.

Pace yourself. Break tasks into steps. Leave white space between commitments. Over-accommodation of others often leads to under-accommodation of ourselves.

🧩 Create environments that support regulation.

Noise-canceling headphones, movement breaks, fidget tools, visual schedules, sensory-friendly clothing—these aren’t crutches; they’re care strategies.

📝 Script tricky conversations ahead of time.

Write out what you want to say in moments when emotions might get high. Use visuals or bullet points if it helps you stay on track.

💗 Offer yourself grace.

You are not “too much.” You’re not failing when you need rest, space, or extra support. You’re honoring your needs in a world not built for them.

🌱 Closing Thoughts

The point of this article is not to blame, but to provide clear steps to better communication and relationships between us.

Whether you are neurodivergent or neurotypical, I invite you to try these tips with yourself and others.

See if you can accept that we all have our own way of processing and experiencing the world—and that’s okay.

Support doesn’t mean fixing. It means showing that you’ll continue to be there. It means tuning in. 💬 Curious about working with Rebecca or want to refer a loved one?

📅 Book a free meet & greet:👉https://tuneintherapy.janeapp.com/#/staff_member/1/treatment/1

📚 Explore more resources:👉 https://www.tuneintherapy.org/resources