Two Divorces, Three Diagnoses, and Zero Shame: Notes from a Spicy Brain

Think of me as the cocktail no bartender wants to make, but once you drink it, you’re like, “Damn, that’s strong.”

Let’s get something out of the way: I’m a spicy mix. Neurodivergent, freshly stamped with a cPTSD diagnosis, and still learning how to integrate it all into daily life. I’ll use the labels for now, but only as scaffolding—eventually, I’d rather build without them, as I believe anything that separates us from one another is ultimately harmful.

But I’m putting the “baggage” out front because hiding our authentic selves breeds shame. That’s the core of cPTSD and the source of many survival strategies — what NARM (NeuroAffective Relational Model) calls the more widely-known “insecure attachment styles” (avoidance, anxious, etc). Those strategies worked once, and I’m grateful for them, but they don’t serve me now.

When a child is traumatized, they learn to anticipate abuse, neglect, and consequences for being authentic and expressing basic needs. So we learn to shrink.

I’m 30 now. A grown adult with agency over my body and my life.

My therapist asked me recently, “Why is it that with your modeling, even when it’s provocative, you feel free to express yourself without shame?”

It took me a long while to answer, but I finally did: being conventionally attractive is an acceptable thing. We all long to be accepted socially. I’ve been turning this conversation over in my head since.

I’m glad to see more acceptance of neurodivergence on social media and among younger generations. I hid it for a very long time, so that feels nice, although there’s a risk of objectifying these traits and further using it to divide and not bridge. I want to talk about the “glimmers” I’ve noticed and at the same time, be honest about the real struggles of being co-morbid (I hate this word) across diagnoses.

Being neurodivergent makes interpersonal relationships extremely difficult. It requires direct communication, and many people who are neurodivergent struggle with this. I think my cPTSD taught me to mask well because I’m hyper tuned to reading the room — that “super empath”/psychic sensitivity I referenced in “Notes from Four Months of Healing: A List (Manageable for Me, Skimmable for You)”.

I struggle to keep close friendships or intimate relationships with people who don’t appreciate my idiosyncrasies. Take my ex. I’m deeply interested in philosophy and psychology. For the first few months we blended well, then my intensity made him insecure and annoyed. I can obsess, researching and reading for hours. If you unfortunately are on the other side of me talking about it, good luck. No partner should have to meet every need, but hiding a huge part of yourself breeds tension. Arguments would end with, “I didn’t sign up for this,” referring to my diagnoses. He was right — I didn’t fully understand myself then, and I wasn’t upfront. But… ouch.

Before I got trauma-specific therapy, for years I woke up from violent nightmares. That strained both marriages. My hyper vigilance sparked fights that ended with, “Can’t you just relax?” which only sent me into shame spirals. I folded myself into emotional origami to appear more “normal.” I slept in guest bedrooms. I smoked copious amounts of weed with them and drank in order to appear more relaxed.

In hindsight, I think the emotionally unsafe environment simply made my nervous system worse. It’s just that, with cPTSD, we instinctively are wired to assume we are the problem. Going forward, I think my first barometer for dating will be: Do I feel emotionally safe?

I’ve also found myself feeling shame pass through my body at times regarding being divorced twice. But…let’s reframe here: two people wanted to marry me. That’s pretty cool!

Self-awareness is a real asset. Many people never face their demons or do deep self-work. I monitor my actions, assume best intent in others, and try to act with integrity. It’s tiring, but it’s human. Slowly but surely, I’m losing the need to self monitor so much.

I feel what others feel, sometimes painfully, but more often beautifully. The ratio is way skewed for positives, though, and I’ve found more folks now that I can be myself around.

My perspective is unique, and that matters in a world that largely gets by by copy/pasting.

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I love philosophy and thought experiments. I’m not a strategist by any means in my day-to-day life.

But let’s get in a little rabbit hole to highlight the glimmer of being different…

“Checkmate” (c. 1871) by Friedrich Moritz August Retzsch

Think of game theory: Let’s say that there is a game with a large amount of people. In many large multi-player games, the first logical thing would be to form a group, as the tactical path is often to coordinate. But coordination soon becomes an arms race and the advantage vanishes: The first person to begin coordination is now at a major disadvantage. And in coordination situations like this, you need a leader. The leaders who use large-scale, socially-acceptable paths (like religion) make their strategy too obvious.

The deeper force, then, is transgression: breaking norms, taboos, and laws. This particular blend of theories implies that the greater the transgression, the greater the cohesion and synchronicity.

Why? Mutual-shared vulnerability and cost-signaling.

So what’s my point? I hid parts of myself in shame for fear of being different. But as the world multiplies and cogs mesh, we need difference. We need transgression. We should all strive to be ourselves, because we are all perfectly bottled bits of magic.

P.S: Check this article out: 5 Valuable Life Skills Often Learned by Those With Complex PTSD. You betcha in future interviews, I’ll be leading right with this, because I’m not hiding.