I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to move through the world as both queer and neurodivergent. Not in the sense of fitting into neat definitions, but more like: what happens when your brain and your identity both push against the so-called “norm”?
Spoiler: it’s exhausting. And also kind of powerful.
There’s this unspoken rule that life follows a script—straight lines and clear roles. But queerness bends that script. Neurodivergence often throws it out the window entirely. And while that can be frustrating (especially when trying to do something as “simple” as sending an email or attending a birthday party), it also opens space for questioning things at a deeper level.
Like, why do we expect everyone to thrive under the same systems? Why do we equate productivity with worth? Why is masking—whether it’s hiding your stimming or your sexuality—so often rewarded?
For me, queerness and neurodiversity aren’t separate boxes. They influence each other. Being neurodivergent means I experience emotions in a very intense way. Being queer means I’ve had to figure out how to be myself in a world that didn’t always offer me examples how to do that. Together, they’ve made me more intentional about how I create space for myself—and for others.
I think that’s why I’m so interested in building tools, spaces, and stories that reflect our complexity. Queer, neurodivergent lives deserve more than just tolerance—we deserve representation, accessibility, and joy. We deserve to see ourselves not just as people who need to adapt, but as people who innovate—who reimagine, remix, and reinvent what a good life can look like.
So yeah. Maybe the world doesn’t always fit us. But we’re pretty good at creating new ones.
What do you think?