The pandemic no one's talking about
If you don't think you need to read this, the more you should read it. (Also, happy birthday to me)
There is a global pandemic that’s far more insidious that flies under all of our radars.
That is the pandemic of the neurotypical.
Neurotypical: A term used to describe individuals whose neurological development and functioning are considered typical or within the societal norm. Neurotypical people do not have any of the neurodevelopmental differences associated with conditions like autism, OCD, ADHD, or dyslexia.
The term is often used in contrast to the neurodivergent, which describes individuals whose cognitive processes differ from these conventional standards.
Our world is engineered for the neurotypical mind, and let me tell you why this is highly problematic.
I am turning 28 in 2 days.
And in my (almost) 28 years of existence, I have always been the black sheep. The black sheep of my family, peers and the education system in Singapore. This lifelong sense of rejection and exclusion has left me grappling with a profound wound of feeling unwanted, along with an intense longing to be chosen. I'm currently working through this in therapy, actively unlearning the patterns that have kept me feeling this way.
I was the failure who couldn’t study, scored 205 for PSLE (much to everyone’s disappointment), who was “too much” for everyone, who couldn’t keep a man, who “she’d better find someone who can handle her, because to be honest, I don’t think anyone can”; and lil miss “good luck finding someone more patient than me” (in the words of my ex).
And for much of my life I struggled with this question: “What is so fundamentally wrong with me?”
I know you don’t believe it now, but seriously, there is most likely nothing wrong with you.
If you’re anything like me, you’re willing to own up to your mistakes and grow. You’re ready to acknowledge the very real flaws you carry. Yet, no matter how hard you try, it still feels like you’re drowning in a world that’s determined to reject you.
And let me tell you:
You have just grown up in a world that, for the most part, has failed you.
In a world that hardly stops to think deeper and look into themselves.
In a world that’s filled with distraction, numbing and spiritual bypassing.
The ableism and entitlement of neurotypical folks is what grinds my gears the most and is what stirs such deep rage in me. It takes up so much energy to operate like a “normal” person, when an extreme amount of daily energy is expanded to manage symptoms just to function at baseline level, and then anything that’s left is dedicated to the day-to-day things like work, housework, tending to our relationships, and surviving in a world that never asked how our brains work.
The ones closest to us hurt us the most
The ableism and lack of empathy of those closest to us is what stings the most. Because it’s not coming from strangers — it’s coming from the people we love, the people who are supposed to see you and understand you. Their entitlement to a “normal” version of you — one that doesn’t make them uncomfortable, one that doesn’t challenge their idea of how you should behave — leaves one feeling small and dismissed.
One thing that I realised in therapy?
I’ve grown up with a bunch of “shoulds” and “should nots”. I should be this way, I shouldn’t be that way. And that has left me with a lot of self-doubt (not surprised I have the disease of doubt - OCD) and a lot of unlearning to do.
Neurotypical folks are not always able to see that every single day, the neurodivergent are already doing the best we can. Every single day, I’m spending a massive portion of my energy just to keep myself moving, to manage the overwhelming noise in my head, and to show up in a world that isn’t built for people like me. And even then, I’m judged for the parts they find “too much” — the parts they label as dramatic or annoying or bratty, when in reality, they are the only ways I know how to survive.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not excusing bad behaviour with being neurodivergent. There’s plenty that we can improve on, and being neurodivergent isn’t an excuse to behave badly or lack accountability. But it’s important to understand that sometimes, the very traits that make us different are also what make us feel so out of sync with everyone else. We miss the memo, we can’t read the room - not because we want to harm, but because we just aren’t always on the same wavelength.
It’s not about dismissing accountability; it’s about giving ourselves compassion and room to grow — because so often, the struggle isn’t about being “too much,” it’s about a world that isn’t built to understand us.
The exhaustion is real.
At this point, I’m tired of shrinking to meet anyone’s comfort. My OCD is not a flaw in my character — it’s part of the wiring of my brain. And I refuse to let anyone else’s ignorance or entitlement keep me from living my truth.
I speak for other neurodiverse folks when I tell you that being neurodivergent is literally living with an invisible disability. It is real.
Telling a neurodiverse person to just get their shit together is the equivalent of telling a disabled person on a wheelchair to “just get up”. The feeling of rejection hurts so much - and on top of that we’re expected to just be fucking normal.
The neurotypical majority, like an unchecked outbreak, spreads a rigid standard of normalcy, failing to see the richness and variation of the neurodiverse experience. For those who exist outside these bounds—autistic, ADHD, dyslexic, and more—the world is an obstacle course of invisible hurdles, demanding masks of normality that suffocate true expression.
And then what do we get? Diseases (dis-ease, in the words of Louise Hay, one of the trailblazers and pioneers of this whole self-love thing) as a physical manifestation of suppressed trauma. The body is revolting. The body knows far more than what the mind can ever comprehend.
This pandemic isn’t counted in death tolls or case numbers, but in lost potential, daily microaggressions, and the quiet suffocation of authenticity. The neurotypical lens colors everything, leaving the neurodiverse feeling alien in a world that was never designed for them.
Choosing radical empowerment
I have decided - after a lot of therapy and reflection - that I am embracing and accepting my neurodiversity (anyway that’s a lot better than just crying about it and feeling sorry for myself - fuck that). I am not a conformist and have never been. And you know what? Thank God, because that existence is hella dull and pretty basic if you ask me.
Because not everyone is here to be a generational trauma cycle breaker and that’s alright. That requires deep work to undo the layers of pain from your ancestors - and not everyone’s life path is meant to do this work.
That’s not to say I am superior to anyone.
But I will not let anyone else’s discomfort or judgment define me, or silence my truth. I know that in choosing to honour my neurodiversity, I’m not just healing myself; I’m also refusing to shrink to fit into someone else’s mould. I refuse to accept someone else’s blatant projection of their own insecurities on me.
I’m not asking for permission to exist as I am. I am enough — exactly as I am — even if that means I don’t always fit in.
So what can we do?
One word: Empathy.
Our world can go a lot further if we just injected a bit more empathy and understanding into the conflicts we face with others. Because sometimes, it’s not as simple as two clashing egos or a difference in opinions. Sometimes, it’s about one person’s neurodiverse mind trying to navigate a world that isn’t designed for them.
Neurodiversity means that people experience and process the world in ways that can be profoundly different from the norm. It means that someone might be more sensitive to loud noises, or might need more time to respond in a conversation. It means they might express their feelings in ways you don’t immediately understand.
When we recognise this, we can start to see past the “bad behavior” and into the deeper realities that shape how someone interacts with the world. We can stop assuming that “rudeness” or “awkwardness” is intentional and start to ask: What does this person need to feel safe and seen right now?
We can slow down, listen more carefully, and give people the benefit of the doubt. We can learn about conditions like ADHD, autism, dyslexia, or sensory processing issues — not to diagnose or label, but to better support the people around us. We can make small adjustments: being patient when someone takes longer to find their words, or not jumping to conclusions and assumptions when someone seems disinterested or disengaged.
Ultimately, understanding neurodiversity isn’t about excusing harmful behavior, but about creating a world where more people feel like they belong. Where no one has to hide their differences just to fit in.
Because when we shift from judgment to curiosity, we create space for everyone — neurotypical and neurodiverse alike — to thrive.
Our world can go a lot further if we just injected a bit more empathy and understanding into the conflicts we face with others.
Perhaps it’s deeper than just two egos and realities clashing and how you disagree.
And to my fellow neurodivergent folks:
Neurodiversity is not a flaw. It’s a testament to resilience, creativity, and the beautiful spectrum of the human mind.
You are finally free to be you — and that’s more than enough.