mental health Archives

Neurodivergents mask to survive systemic ableism—but at what cost?

Reading time: 6 minutes

Autistic/ADHD individuals learn early on that if they want to survive in a society shaped by systemic ableism, they have to mask their true selves.

But over time, masking damages our self-worth. And it may fuel internalized ableism. So why then do we persist in doing it?

While accommodations are sometimes made for people with disabilities/who are neurodivergent (ND), they are by far the exception to the rule.

In the case of autism and ADHD, accommodations can be even less likely, due to what clinicians call “disguised presentation”. That is, neurodivergence isn’t always that obvious, in some cases because the autistic/ADHDer is working very hard to keep their struggles hidden.

Neurotypicals (NTs) as a result may expect NDs to meet the same standards as people just like them, setting the bar for acceptance impossibly high.

When NTs expect ND folk to think and behave as they do, the moment the ND individual drops their mask—for example, by being overly direct or failing to read social cues—the NT will attribute that lapse to another cause, such as them being “selfish” or “rude”.

They may even respond by criticizing, judging, punishing, and excluding the ND.

Systemic ableism & microaggressions

The issue here is not merely that NTs are intolerant of neurodiversity and the differences it presents. It’s that NTs, in general, operate from baseline expectations that are ableist.

Most are oblivious to the extent to which this ableism informs their thinking, resulting in microaggressions: the “commonplace daily verbal, behavioral or environmental slights, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative attitudes toward stigmatized or culturally marginalized groups” (see Microaggressions in Everyday Life).

Microaggressions can happen even within the families of ND folk. For instance, I remember my own parents calling me “antisocial” for my tendency to choose the company of books and computers over that of other human beings.

They also play out at school, with kids slapping all kinds of hurtful labels upon their ND peers.

I recall even teachers telling me that I lacked “common sense”, and that my handwriting was “poor” and “sloppy”. Turns out, all of these traits were part and parcel of my being ND.

But even having a diagnosis doesn’t necessarily guarantee understanding and compassion.

Shortly after I was told I was autistic, I had a friend suddenly touch me from behind. When I reacted with shock and explained my reasons, this friend responded by cussing out my “Asperger syndrome”. (Note: This was my diagnosis at the time. It is now considered to be an outdated term and no longer exists in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders).

Rather than apologizing for having startled me, this friend did what so many NTs did and called out my autism as being the problem.

Miscommunications & Theory of Mind

These misunderstandings are compounded by issues related to a skill called “Theory of Mind”.

Theory of Mind (ToM) has been defined as: “the ability to recognize and understand thoughts, beliefs, desires and intentions of other people in order to make sense of their behaviour and predict what they are going to do next”.

Researchers have claimed many ND folks have impaired ToM. What I’ve noticed however is that our unusual thinking style and behavior can also general a kind of temporary ToM impairment among NTs.

That is, NTs tend to ascribe NT motives to everyone, but doing this to ND folk can lead to confusion and misunderstanding. Turns on, there’s a name for this: the double empathy problem.

To give an example: when I got into trouble as a child, I would usually be upfront about the truth, believing that my confession would be taken at face value.

But protesting my innocence or admitting to my naivety would rarely win me favors. In one case, an adult suggested I was “stupid” for expecting them to believe my story.

What happened here was that this individual couldn’t fathom my intentions, and thus concluded my being honest had to be an act of deception.

Another example of this misattribution occurred during a visit to my parents. My mother told me she was going to fetch a can of tomatoes to make pasta sauce. With her fingers, she indicated that the can would be about the size of a bucket.

Knowing my mother had a tendency to bulk-buy, I assumed she indeed meant the can would be the size she suggested. Because of my impaired ToM, I interpreted her gesture literally.

When I expressed my confusion over why she wanted to use such a big can, it didn’t occur to my parents that I was genuinely confused. Instead, they accused me of being a smart aleck.

We mask because authenticity is risky

As I’ve mentioned, this tendency of NTs to not adjust expectations when dealing with an ND individual can sometimes be the result of the disguised presentation.

Specifically, when NDs present themselves as NT. In some cases, this camouflaging is deliberate, with the ND trying to mask their struggles for fear of being judged, attacked, or marginalized.

Like NTs, autistics want above all to be accepted for their authentic selves. But when ND authenticity collides with ableist expectations, as in the situations I’ve described, disaster can result.

Due to the double empathy problem, it can be hard to understand NTs and anticipate how they might react to our actions. So we become master imitators and concealers.

We mask, knowing that by hiding our neurodiversity, we are shielding ourselves against a perplexing and often hostile world.

Sometimes these compensations can be positive and adaptive, such as wearing headphones whenever out in public to compensate for sound sensitivities.

Other times, they are maladaptive. For example: avoiding talking about one’s interests, for fear of misreading social cues and rambling on.

But masking is self-defeating

NDs will often tell themselves that they need to change in order to fit NT expectations. But this really is an expression of internalized ableism.

Furthermore, ignoring your needs and hiding your differences as an ND is almost always self-defeating.

Years ago I had a friend who would invite me to the movies. Personally, I find sitting in a movie theater to be sensory torture, with people constantly rustling bags and crunching on popcorn.

Rather than explaining this to my friend, I went along with her invitations, usually at great discomfort to myself.

Feeling shame over my sensory problems, I refused to tell her about the issue. Eventually, I started making excuses for not being able to join my friend, who came to believe I was intentionally avoiding her.

Difficulties with executive function are common among ND folk. Personally, in the past, as a result of my ADHD, I have struggled with self-organizing, managing my time, and staying on track.

One time, a manager unloaded on me over this, accusing me of being self-absorbed and irresponsible.

Rather than reacting defensively, I admitted my mistakes and asked this manager how I could improve certain executive function skills. She replied by telling me that my request was “beyond the scope of her role”.

It was one thing to turn professional feedback into a personal attack, but to then deny me support was quite another.

This is, unfortunately, a common experience for NDs. Often we’re told that we have done wrong, without being told how to course correct.

Systemic ableism creates internalized ableism

Until I was diagnosed as autistic and ADHD, I didn’t have a framework by which to explain or defend my difference. Having long been challenged and attacked over my ND traits, defenses have usually felt necessary.

Of course, even without having fully understood the whys and hows of my challenges, I could have still spoken up and tried to negotiate accommodations.

What stopped me, however, was the belief that I was somehow choosing to be difficult. Having internalized ableism, I had come to feel inferior and ashamed of my differences.

My self-esteem consequently became conditional upon the approval of others. This led to me adopting a workaholic lifestyle in a bid to prove my worth to myself, and to others.

Personal boundaries blurred, to the point that I feared I was always somehow responsible when something went wrong.

Such was my shame that even after my diagnosis, I shied from the company of other NDs.

I convinced myself that the people who frequented autism and ADHD support groups weren’t like me, that I was somehow more “high functioning”—a term I’ve since realized is ableist.

What I feared—but dared not acknowledge—was that to be in their company might make me “one of them”.

Ableism creates so much stigma around disability/neurodivergence, that despite everything I knew, I still believed my autism and ADHD to be a kind of flaw or personal shortcoming.

Wrap up

Systemic ableism oppresses NDs by demanding we abandon our identities and silence our needs.

We can start countering it by leaning into authenticity, the practice Brené Brown defines as “letting go of who we think we’re supposed to be and embracing who we are”.

One immediate way we can embrace our authentic ND selves is by seeking out fellow NDs around whom masking isn’t necessary.

The ND community exists to normalize individual experiences and to combat the stigma that can make being disabled/neurodivergent such an isolating experience.

ND readers, how does ableism show up in your life? Do you recognize any of the forms of internalized ableism I’ve described here? Drop a comment below.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Autism/ADHD Identity Wellbeing

The secret to building neurodivergent self-esteem? ‘Strengths awareness’

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 5 minutes

Many of the messages we get as neurodivergents (NDs) living in an ableist society remind us that we’re different. And this difference, more often than not, is treated as a negative—at the cost of our self-esteem.

When confronted with the unique traits and behavior of NDs, many neurotypicals (NTs) typically respond with discomfort, annoyance, hostility, and even vilification.

Sometimes they do it out of ignorance—a knee-jerk reaction to something they don’t understand. They may also simply view autism and ADHD as a “deficit” or “fault” that needs to be corrected.

Acknowledging areas for growth

There is a tendency within the ND community to react defensively to the “neurodiversity-as-deficit” paradigm by casting being ND exclusively as a strength.

Given many of us feel that being ND is an intrinsic part of our identity, it makes sense that we should feel compelled to defend it.

Personally speaking, I would much sooner rather celebrate my strengths than look at myself through the lens of inferiority.

At the same time, I recognize that being ND can come with some downsides. For example, I find my various sensory sensitivities to be a nuisance. And I wish I could form and sustain relationships with the ease enjoyed by many NTs.

Should I treat these downsides as a reflection of my worth? Definitely not. That said, I do think there is value in recognizing our personal areas for growth. For me, this is developing stronger social skills.

Self-esteem starts with acknowledging strengths

Areas of growth aside, I think there is merit in focusing on strengths. Being autistic, for example, can convey quite a few. For example:

We enjoy peer relationships characterized by absolute loyalty and impeccable dependability
We are free of sexist, “age-ist”, or culturalist biases; able to regard others at “face value”
We are willing to share our mind, irrespective of social context or adherence to personal beliefs
We have an ability to pursue personal theory or perspective despite conflicting evidence
We seek an audience or friends capable of enthusiasm for unique interests and topics
We take consideration of details and spend time discussing a topic that may not be of primary interest
We listen without continual judgment or assumption
We are interested primarily in significant contributions to conversation, preferring to avoid “ritualistic small talk”, or socially trivial statements and superficial conversation.
We seek sincere, positive, genuine friends with an unassuming sense of humor

And as employees, we are also known to be: reliable, persistent, perfectionists, easily able to identify errors, technically able, and to have a sense of social justice and integrity.¹

We are also willing to question protocols, can be highly accurate, attentive to detail, logical, conscientious, knowledgeable, original in problem-solving, honest, and likely to thrive on routine and clear expectations.

In a majority of situations, these qualities are quite beneficial. They also contradict the ND-as-deficit paradigm.

Are you ‘strengths blind’?

Strengths vary from individual to individual, and may manifest physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, or spiritually.²

We may not be aware of those strengths and how they may have helped us to cope with the challenges of day-to-day life. But they’re still there, regardless.

Failing to recognize our strengths is called being “strengths blind”. Four factors can prevent us from seeing them.

Firstly, there’s a lack of awareness of said strengths, resulting from not practicing self-awareness or feeling disconnected from our identity.

Secondly, we may not see our strengths as meaningful. Thirdly, we may downplay them as ordinary, rather than extraordinary.

And fourthly, we may overuse our strengths to the point that they create problems. One commonly overused autistic strength for instance is passion.

To elaborate: autistics can have something of a reputation for wanting to share knowledge about their areas of interest, even with the most casual of acquaintances.

If we’re not careful, we may end up talking at length and scarcely allow the other person to get a word in edge wise.

In fact, we can become so caught up in the act of sharing that we fail to take notice of the subtle—and not-so-subtle clues—that the other person is getting annoyed, or feeling frustrated and overwhelmed.

Yet in moderation, this character strength can be hugely advantageous. Passion for instance can enable us to become leading specialists in our chosen fields.

Putting our strengths into practice

So, how do we overcome strength blindness? By increasing awareness of our strengths. We can start doing this by reaching out to our closest friends and family members and asking them what they like most about us.

Their responses should give you a clear idea of what you excel at. Alternatively, you can take this character strengths and virtues questionnaire.

Some common strengths or qualities are creativity, curiosity, judgment, love of learning, perspective, bravery, perseverance, honesty, zeal, love, kindness, social intelligence, teamwork, and fairness.

Other qualities are leadership, forgiveness, humility, prudence, self-regulation, appreciation of beauty, and excellence, gratitude, hope, humor, and spirituality.

The great thing about character strengths is that most are not in any way shaped by our being ND.³ (Small caveat: many autistics may struggle with social intelligence and teamwork, and yet we also love to learn and are very curious.)

Once you’ve identified our strengths, select your topmost three. Now ask yourself, what activities do you do in service of those strengths?

Chances are when you do those activities, you’ll feel great about yourself. Why? Because they are impactful, and because they provide satisfaction.

Strengths-based habits improve self-esteem

If you’re struggling with self-esteem issues, make a conscious plan to do at least one of the three activities when you feel down or like you’re struggling. Not only will this affirm your strengths, but it will also improve your self-esteem.

If love is one of your strengths, perform a kind act for someone, such as buying a friend a gift. If appreciation of beauty is a strength, visit an art gallery or public garden.

If creativity is a strength, pick up a pen or paintbrush and start creating.

Of course, doing the occasional activity can only take you so far. If we really want to grow our self-esteem, we should make these activities into habits.

Set aside a regular time in which to do each of the activities you identified. Incorporate them into your daily or weekly schedule, until they become habitual.

Wrap up

Why is making activities into habits important? Because habits create a powerful snowball effect.

The more we exercise our strengths, the more they feel like a part of our character. The more we orient our character around our strengths, the more capable we feel.

The more capable we feel, the greater our sense of self-worth. The greater our sense of self-worth, the more likely we are to embrace our strengths. And so the cycle goes.

What are some of your strengths, and how do you express them?

And what’s one new habit you could commit to over the coming week to develop awareness of your strengths? Share your responses in the comments.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Autism/ADHD Wellbeing

Why setting limits as a neurodivergent person is crucial

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 7 minutes

Disrespectful people, pushy people, abusive people—chances are all of us have at one point in our lives encountered them.

Sometimes we skate by, unharmed. Other times, we’re left with a sour taste in our mouths, bruised feelings, and a sense of injustice.

We may start to think that we’re being actively targeted because of our being autistic and/or ADHD. And the sad truth is we might be entirely correct.

Underdeveloped social skills are a common neurodivergent (ND) trait. Not only does this mean many of us struggle to make and keep friends—but it also means we lose out on the many protections friendship can afford.

NDs may also struggle to understand when someone is or isn’t being their friend. For example, autistics have been found to have a more deliberative (and effortful) thinking style that impacts their ability to rapidly and automatically intuit others’ intentions.¹

When we experience bullying and manipulation, we may not only fail to understand what’s going on until it’s too late—we may also struggle to stand up for ourselves.

Often, this is because we suffer from low self-esteem, which is a byproduct of living in an ableist society.

Low self-esteem: a recipe for exploitation

Society constantly sends NDs signals that we are defective, unworthy, and unloveable.

Many of us are criticized for thinking or behaving differently. We’re told we’re are too honest, too blunt, too insensitive, too difficult to follow, too spacey, too weird.

It’s dismissals and criticisms like this that leave us prone to self-doubt and undercuts our ability to be self-reliant.

Thus, when confronted with difficult situations, we second-guess our own feelings and thoughts, spiraling into helplessness. We struggle to find the courage to speak our feelings of pain and anger.

This is because we are fighting two battles. The first is the battle to validate and accept our perceptions of the situation at hand.

When we are taught by NTs that our very frame of reference is invalid, allowing ourselves to believe what we know and feel to be true can conjure guilt, shame, discomfort, and anxiety.

The second battle involves standing up and demanding respect. For NDs, that respect is often denied us. Neurotypicals (NTs) refuse to hear us out, thus creating and reinforcing our negative core belief of unworthiness.

There is also the concern that if we do advocate for ourselves, the other person may retaliate. The penalties can be especially severe if that person occupies a position of power, as is so often the case with bullies, abusers, and manipulators.

There is always the possibility that we will be heard. The person who has aggressed against us may listen and adjust their behavior.

Those who harbor ill intentions may decide that we aren’t worth the effort after all, and move on.

Should we fail to adequately set limits, these toxic individuals will likely linger. And if you’re dealing with someone with a taste for manipulation, they won’t surrender control so easily.

There’s always the possibility they may redouble their efforts, using deflection and personal attacks in the hopes of sapping your resistance.

In these instances, standing up for one’s self can feel possible. But keeping ourselves safe begins with knowing when and how to say “no”.

The seven ‘buttons’ used by bullies, abusers, and manipulators

In Who’s Pulling Your Strings?, Harriet B. Braiker describes seven behavioral “buttons” that difficult people routinely press to pressure and coerce their victims.

It is only by becoming aware of those buttons, Braiker argues, that we can resist manipulators’ control tactics.

1. The disease-to-please: People with this challenge have made their self-worth conditional upon others’ acceptance. Sound familiar?

People-pleasers typically say or do whatever they think is necessary to garner’s approval. How do we beat this habit? By flipping the script.

Start by saying and doing what is authentic and feels right to you.

2. Approval and acceptance addiction: Are you overly nice? It’s common for NDs to overcompensate in order to avoid rejection and abandonment.

Manipulators are known to leverage this fear, withdrawing approval and acceptance to force you into complying with their demands.

If this happens, roll with it. You can’t control whether or not someone decides to write your name in their “good books”.

3. Fear of negative emotions: As an ND, you may often experience anger and sadness and yet deny yourself full expression, so as to de-escalate, avoid conflict, and protect other people’s feelings.

But expressing negative emotions in many cases is justified. If someone punches you in the arm, you have a right to cry out in pain and anger.

You also have a right to tell them how they’ve hurt you and to demand an apology or restitution. If you don’t make it clear to the other person that their behavior is unacceptable, if you don’t clarify your expectations regarding their behavior going forward, it’ll likely continue.

Avoiding and burying your negative emotions means the limit won’t be set, and you’ll be left wide open to a second attack.

4. Lack of assertiveness: People-pleasing as I’ve noted can be a common trait among ND folks, and one often preyed upon by manipulative individuals.

If this is something you struggle with, flex your assertiveness muscles. State your needs and make clear requests. Make it a daily practice. Little by little, you’ll learn to stand up for yourself.

5. The vanishing self: ND folks may have an unclear sense of identity and core values. This is because everything they are and believe in is assaulted by ableist society and NTs on an almost daily basis.

Ableist society wants us to believe that our opinions don’t count and that invisibility is the only way we’ll ever be accepted.

We can start to push back on this by self-advocating. Prioritize your own needs and desires before a manipulator can convince you to prioritize theirs.

6. Low self-reliance: Ableist society tries to convince NDs that their entire way of being is inherently wrong. It teaches us that the only way to acceptance is through conformity.

This can lead to disorientation and dependency. But so long as we are relying wholly on the input and advice of others, rather than what we ourselves know to be true, we remain vulnerable to manipulation.

Recognize that the only perspective that ultimately matters is your own. The life you choose to design for yourself should not be according to someone else’s specifications. It should be according to your own.

7. External locus of control: Those with an external locus of control believe that forces outside of themselves are ultimately responsible for determining the course of their lives.

No surprise that many of us should feel this way, given how what is and isn’t acceptable is so often determined by NTs.

By reclaiming the right to decide for ourselves, we can recenter the locus of control within our own hearts and minds.

From low self-esteem to high self-esteem

Bullies, abusers, and manipulators as I’ve already discussed love to take advantage of folks with low self-esteem, which their victims in turn take as confirmation that they deserve this kind of treatment.

Self-esteem, you could say, is in some ways relational. Others can either damage it, or they can assist with its repair. Seeking a trusting, supportive relationship with a therapist or loved one is one way we can heal our sense of self-worth.

Regardless, the task of pushing back against manipulators will ultimately fall to us. Confrontation, however frightening, is sometimes necessary. And sometimes, it may be as simple as making explicit requests.

“I” statements are helpful here. For example, “I feel disrespected when you name-call. I’m asking that this behavior stop.”

Remember, you have a right to make reasonable requests and for them to be acknowledged. You are under no terms required to explain or defend yourself.

What you want when confronting a manipulator is a commitment to change. Make it a win-win proposition: “Respect me, and our interaction/relationship can continue.”

If, however, the other person won’t accept an outcome short of win-lose, lose-win, or lose-lose, be prepared to pivot.

Try these magic phrases

Some aggressors respond to feeling threatened by double-downing or escalating. This may take the form of deflecting, projecting, shaming, verbal abuse, and overly dramatic reactions.

Know these individuals may try to confuse the issue, gaslight you by playing the victim, and/or evade any responsibility. Many even feed off conflict, and anything you say or do that plays into this will count as a win in their books.

Be sure to name any attacks on your person the instant they happen. Send a clear message to the aggressor that you won’t stand for this treatment.

Hold fast to your conviction that no harm has been done by your speaking up. Your goal here is to protect yourself, not the manipulator’s feelings—which probably weren’t in jeopardy to begin with.

Do not be drawn into a point-for-point debate. Instead, assert yourself by saying: “That doesn’t work for me.” “That’s not fair.”

Resist any attempts by the manipulator to wrangle for control by delaying your response by asking for time. For example, “I need to think about it.”

If they try to force an argument, disengage: “This conversation is not productive. I’m leaving now.”

If you’re feeling thrown off balance by the manipulators’ tactics, it’s okay to break off the exchange completely. Tell them: “Actually now is not a good time.” A straight “no” will even suffice, followed by your departure.

And it’s perfectly acceptable to shut down the lines of communication until the other person agrees to follow rules of common courtesy.

If you’d like to try out some of these lines but are worried you might fumble the delivery, practice them by yourself or roleplay with a friend until you feel 100% comfortable saying them on cue.

Reappraising low self-esteem

These kinds of situations and encounters can inflame existing feelings of low self-worth. Address this head-on by checking in with yourself immediately afterward.

How are you feeling about what just went down? Were you fair in your conduct? Did you really behave unjustly, as the manipulator would have you believe?

Imagine for a moment it was your friend making the same request you just made. Would you have listened to them? Would you have been open to change? If your answer is “yes”, then it’s reasonable to assume that it was a fair request.

The bully may accuse you of being equally at fault, but what they are probably trying to do is shift the blame. Refuse to take on any of their accusations.

Also, consider conducting an inventory of your alleged character flaws and using humor to inflate them. Have you, for example, failed to be perfect enough? Are you insufficiently conscientious? Are you an extremely poor people-pleaser?

Now try to name some appropriate punishments for these crimes. If the ridiculousness of it all doesn’t stop you in your tracks, then take it as proof that it is you—above all—who deserves the break.

If these encounters leave you feeling stressed, consider practicing some of these self-care techniques, specifically devised for ND folks.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Autism/ADHD Identity Stories

The secret shame of being neurodivergent in a world built for ‘normies’

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 7 minutes

As an undiagnosed autistic and ADHD child, my favorite part of primary school was the weekly show-and-tell sessions.

It wasn’t so much the storytelling aspect of this activity that appealed to me, as it was the occasional chance to present.

But whatever the focus of my presentation might happen to be—dinosaurs, guinea pigs, insects—there was always a good chance it wasn’t shared by my peers.

This was a detail nevertheless lost on me. For all that truly mattered was the presence of a captive audience, bound by convention to listen.

In other settings, explaining to my classmates the, say, minutiae of insect classification, usually earned me a look of bemusement.

To hear someone use the term “bug” to describe a spider for example almost always led to a correction.

Spiders, I would note, were arachnids. What set them apart from insects was that their body had two rather than three segments. They also had eight legs instead of six.

No one else lived for such factoids, and this was a source of perplexity. Worse still, my sharing of them was not meant to be received as criticism…and yet often was.

And perish the thought that it might be interpreted as intellectual showboating. Yet the pearls of knowledge I so casually strew before my peers were received with indifference—or worse.

Essy Knopf Asperger syndrome — My childhood had many moments of joy. But these memories are clouded by the prevailing sense was I was out of sync with the rest of humanity.

How autistic folks’ attempts to connect can backfire

Friendless as I was, I would tend the fires of my passion in quiet solitude, sometimes for weeks, if not months.

The merest of kindnesses—a “hello”, a smile, a polite question—had the effect of kerosene, sending flames bursting outwards.

It seemed irrefutable that others should prize the tender morsels of information I dispensed as much as I did. It didn’t even enter into my mind that the case might be quite the opposite.

Words would rush forward in great exuberant billows, and in my naivete, I would fail to read the blank looks I was inevitably met with.

These attempts to connect ironically had the inverse effect of creating disconnection.

And so the distance between me and other kids would only grow, until we stood upon different hilltops, regarding one another warily through binoculars of mutual unease.

A ‘disastrous’ deed

While my show-and-tell sessions rarely drew more than polite applause, the desire to infect others with my passion remained.

Maybe what was required, I thought, was something of more obvious value. I set my eyes on one of my mother’s rings: a silver band set with a single, brilliant sapphire.

I asked to borrow it, explaining that my purpose was to use it as a show-and-tell prop. Yes, I promised, I would bring it home that afternoon, and reluctantly, my mother agreed to lend the ring.

Arriving at school early the next day, I sat on the steps of my demountable classroom, toying with the ring and the idea of the warm reception that must surely await.

A classmate appeared, depositing her backpack on the rack that passed for school lockers. Accompanying her was a woman I assumed must be her mother.

Joanna was transferring to another school, and today was to be her last day. I considered this tidbit. Joanna wasn’t exactly a friend, but wouldn’t it be nice if I offered her the ring?

After all, this was a special occasion. And wasn’t it considered normal to present gifts on special occasions?

Indecision wracked my mind. I had given my word that I would return it to my mother.

Yet if there was anything I understood about human relationships, it was that they were transactional. If I wanted people to like me, I would need to take the initiative.

My mind made, I stood up.

“Hey, Joanna.” She turned. “This is for you.” Joanna considered the ring, shyly teasing a blonde curl. Not understanding. “It’s a going-away gift,” I added.

“Well, that’s very nice you.” This response came not from Joanna, but her mother. A smirk eased onto her face. It was an expression I could not read, and which nevertheless made me uneasy.

“Joanna, what you say?” Joanna’s blank expression split into a smile.

“Thank you,” she said. And took the ring from me.

Stupidity, not disability

Less than an hour later, however, my doubt had deepened, becoming a dead weight upon my conscience.

Having had the time to consider my impulsive act, I realized that there would inevitably be consequences.

But when I returned home, hangdog, there was no blame and no bluster. Instead, my faltering explanation was met with silence.

It was as if my mother had all along suspected that something like this might happen.

The absence of a reaction stung. It felt like an affirmation of an unspoken truth: that I was stupid.

I promised my mother that I would try to get the ring back. But when I returned to school the next day, Joanna was gone, and my attempts to reach her through one of her friends came to nothing.

The wounds of systemic ableism

This memory remains enshrined not as an act of shameless exploitation by an adult who had undoubtedly known better, but as one of the most disastrous acts of my youth.

When I reminded my mother of the incident more than two decades later, she couldn’t recall ever having the ring, let alone my blunder.

Yet how could she not? Was this possession not as precious as I had long imagined it to be?

To me, this incident reflected a longstanding habit of socially inappropriate behavior, which I would later learn was all too common among those with autism and ADHD.

Yet for something so poignant as this to have had no lingering significance to the one person it should have, surprised me.

Just like the casual dismissals, the way people ignored me or cut in line ahead of me on the handball court, I had notarized this event as just one more proof of my inferiority.

And gradually, I had retreated behind the walls of a crumbling bastion of false pride, manned by sentinels of shame and self-criticism.

It was a lonely existence, but it was safe, in that it was largely unpeopled by those who seemed to so scorn me on the basis of who I was.

In my mid-20s, I received a diagnosis of autism, and later ADHD at the age of 35, and this would crystallize for me that it was not so much who, as what.

At last, the faultline that ran through the foundations of my social life had a source. At last, I knew that I was not broken, but a survivor of a society grounded in systemic ableism.

The catch-22 of being autistic

Yet until the moment of my diagnosis, I had no choice but to stumble my way through the intricate dance of social connection.

This dance was a necessary precursor to the embrace of friendship. And yet to me, it seemed frivolous and a waste of effort and time.

Others did not share this view. Nor did they see the virtues of my info-dumping, my dispensing with social niceties, and my papercut directness.

Without their friendship, there was often no socially acceptable basis for the sharing of interests I longed for.

But I persevere, storming the dancefloor, shirtfronting potential partners, and treading all over on their toes.

With my prospects of friendship on the rocks, I was deprived of the emotional support many individuals who are neurodiverse (ND) need in order to navigate a world built for neurotypicals (NTs), also referred to in some NT circles as “normies”.

I also missed out on the social coaching that might have otherwise helped prevent my missteps.

Without the ND label, my only frame of reference was the one bestowed on me: a belief that I was a person whose lack was the result of choice or some personal flaw.

The allure of the life interior

While I can see now that autism and ADHD were the source of my social cluelessness, memories of my school years continue to pain me today.

One of the earliest and most enduring was being invited to join a game of prisoner’s base in kindergarten.

“Tagged” by a member of the opposing team, I was taken prisoner and deposited in an imaginary cell under the jungle gym. Here I was expected to remain, awaiting rescue.

In my imagination, this did not simply represent a return to play, but rather an acknowledgment that I was worthy. Evidence that someone—anyone—cared about me. But that rescue never came to pass. I was left forgotten until the bell for class rang.

Hurt and confused, I took a vow of social abstinence, using my lunch break to play make-believe on my own or to read.

This solidified my status as an outsider, denying me the warmth of others’ company, of which my own fire was but a weak imitation. Still, what else was there?

When fiction-based escapism was not jostling for my attention, I tended to various projects of my own devising.

The first involved catching and cataloging the myriad insects living in my backyard. This was followed by a compulsive desire to write sprawling portal fantasy novels.

During another period, I populated a length of green marble A1 card stock with designs for an adventure board game of my own devising.

The game was meant to be played with at least four friends; that I was entirely lacking this requisite was a consideration I chose not to dwell on.

It was, for the most part, a life interior. But eventually, it became a prison of self-narration.

“You are worthless. You are unloveable,” went the familiar refrain, a refrain seemingly substantiated by my continued isolation.

Freedom by diagnosis

My life is sharply divided between two very distinct periods: before I came into my ND identity, and after.

“Before” resembled a black-and-white etching. But in the months and years that followed, this etching became saturated with color, slowly assuming the richness and depth of an oil painting.

Liberated of one label—being a “bad” person—and awarded another—”neurodiverse”—I began to consider myself in a new light.

The critical dictator in my head was dethroned, his antique reign gave way to a democracy of thought grounded in self-compassion.

I came to understand that the shame I carried was undeserved. That I was not at fault for the unusual architecture of my mind. That I was a person of value. That I needn’t live a life sentence of “if only”.

The skills I lacked could be learned. As for the friendships that had failed to take seed—these could be nourished into new life.

With enough effort and persistence, the connection I had once craved when standing before my class during show-and-tell could be mine.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Autism/ADHD Wellbeing

7 creative self-care techniques for neurodivergents

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 6 minutes

Do you struggle with self-care as a neurodivergent (ND)? You may not be the only one.

Surviving in ableist societies can be taxing for many ND folks at the best of times. We may spend all our energy just trying to fit in—energy we may otherwise need for rest and recharging.

Added to this, many self-care techniques can feel like a chore, especially when we are pressed for time.

Trying to squeeze one more thing into an already overburdened schedule when we’re already feeling overloaded can be particularly anxiety-provoking.

I remember once upon a time, the very idea of pausing to do meditation or a yoga class was enough to send me into a tailspin.

“That’s 20-30 minutes I’ll be losing from my schedule,” I would think. “20-30 minutes I don’t have!”

Given much of my workload was self-generated as a result of ADHD workaholism, my sense of urgency around time in retrospect didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

No one after all was demanding I submit a script in time for three different competitions. The deadline I had set for finishing my feature documentary was of my own devising.

The pressure of being a multi-passionate autistic

The issue in my case had to do with my fixating on the gap between where I was and where I wanted to be. I was a multi-passionate autistic and ADHDer with an array of interests I knew I could excel at…if only I knocked on the right doors and made the wrong connections.

This unsurprisingly is where I struggled most. NDs face very real obstacles with social communication and interpersonal relationships. And yet I told myself that I could ignore these obstacles. Sooner or later, my labors would yield fruit.

And so I continued to work in isolation, in the service of various passions that I hope to turn into viable careers.

After years of this, I began to feel rather hopeless about it. What, after all, did I have to show for all my effort, save a few life experiences and college degrees?

My dissatisfaction drove me only further in my pursuit of achievement, which in turn made my self-worth dependent upon that pursuit.

The time pressure I thus experienced was not the result of external circumstances but toxic self-perceptions. I didn’t believe myself to be “good enough” or deserving of self-care until I had first “made it”. Yet failing to care for my own needs only increased my anxiety and this sense of time pressure.

For other NDs, external circumstances may indeed pose a very real obstacle to self-care. When we are strung out between the pressures of operating in a neurotypical (NT) world, alongside commitments such as work, school, family, and social lives, self-care activities certainly start to seem onerous, if not out of the question.

Yet no matter how strong the impulse might be to put downtime on the back burner, without adequate rest and rejuvenation, our ability to fulfill these commitments and pursue our passions will suffer.

Should self-care techniques such as getting a massage or drinking water fail to appeal to you, consider exploring the following seven simple and unorthodox methods.

1. Shower mindfully – an unexpected NT self-care activity

Don’t have time to recline in a bath? Not a fan of bubbles and scented soap? That’s okay.

If being pummeled by hot water is more your jam, follow this quick 5-minute guide to increasing your shower pressure.

Next, shake up your mindfulness routine by trying this exercise while standing under your showerhead.

2. Shop guilt-free

Retail therapy can indeed have therapeutic benefits, but in excess, it can create debt that negatively impacts our mental health. Know however that self-indulgence doesn’t have to hurt your pocketbook.

Visit a discount store with low-priced items. Hunt down little items you might not otherwise have budgeted for, but which you know will add some value or comfort to your life.

For example, a shower caddy, plastic storage tubs, or a new drink bottle.

Whatever you end up buying, know that it is the act of spending money that generates the “feel good” feelings typically associated with retail therapy.

This way you’ll get all the benefits with none of the financial strain—or buyer’s remorse.

3. Have a lie-in

Pick a morning when there are no pressing matters to attend to and simply stay in bed.

Alternatively, use your morning to complete errands and spend the remainder of your day under the covers.

Make whatever adjustments are necessary to maximize comfort. Turn on your air conditioner, close the blinds, put your phone into airplane mode, make a cup of tea, light a scented candle, or switch on an essential oil diffuser.

If relaxing still proves difficult, and you find yourself battling anxiety, consider donning a weighted blanket or a compression vest.

These use deep pressure to help ease anxiety and are available to purchase online.

4. Ritualize a mini-hobby

Many hobbies require time and energy we aren’t always able to spare. If this is your experience, consider expanding your definition of the word “hobby”.

For instance, I was never much one for comedy, save for watching the odd opening monologue from a late-night talk show, schedule allowing.

When I discovered that these shows made a perfect accompaniment to my breakfast routine, I understood that maybe time wasn’t an issue after all.

Sure, enjoying Jimmy Kimmel, Samantha Bee, John Oliver, Seth Meyer, and Stephen Colbert isn’t strictly a hobby. Yet it can impart many of the usual benefits, such as supporting mental health and relaxation—in this case, through laughter.

By incorporating a mini-hobby like this into your day, we will stand a better chance of making it a habit, ensuring it survives peak periods of busyness.

In order to create a habit, we not only have to do it regularly—we also have to follow the four laws of behavioral change, as described by Atomic Habits author James Clear:

#1 Make it obvious.
#2 Make it attractive.
#3 Make it easy.
#4 Make it satisfying.

In my case, the enjoyment provided by watching these videos fulfilled law #4 (“make it satisfying”).

In order to “make it obvious”, I subscribed to each comedian’s dedicated YouTube channels so that their most recent videos appeared on my homepage.

By keeping my YouTube homepage always open in a browser tab, I enhanced the attractiveness of these videos (“make it attractive”).

And by waking up early, I was able to eat and perform my new ritual at my own pace (“make it easy”).

5. Take a power nap

Napping isn’t just the favored activity of layabouts—it’s also a super effective way to give your flagging energy levels a boost!

If your workplace doesn’t look favorably about employees taking catnaps, a quick lie down after a taxing day can help restore you.

Naps of between 10-20 minutes are considered ideal, as anything longer than 30 minutes can leave us feeling groggy upon waking.

Napping not only decreases sleepiness but can improve learning and m e m ory while supporting the regu l ation of our emot ions.

6. Get some green therapy

The emerging discipline of green therapy—also known as ecopsychology—is concerned with using nature to help us recharge our internal batteries. Multiple studies have demonstrated that the presence of nature can have a plethora of health benefits.

Venturing into the wilds may not always be possible, but you can reap the same benefits from visiting your local park. Twenty minutes as it turns out can be enough to relieve stress.

You reap similar effects using simulated green spaces. For instance, by placing fake plants around your home or workspace.

Another method involves slipping on a pair of headphones and listening to natural sounds, such as wind through trees or running water.

7. Try audio bibliotherapy

The act of sitting down to read a book in today’s helter-skelter world is becoming increasingly uncommon. But if you lack the patience to read the conventional way, you can always try listening to an audiobook instead.

Having your books read aloud to you can be an effective way to consume content without having to add to your already overburdened schedule.

Furthermore, if you’re suffering work-related stress or battling anxiety and depression linked to your busy lifestyle, reading books about these challenges can go some way to lighten your load and help you apply self-care techniques.

Healing through reading is known as “bibliotherapy”, and it can serve as a wonderful resource for those among us struggling to access support networks or the sympathetic ear of a therapist.

Books that teach self-care techniques

There is no one-size-fits-all solution to the challenges mentioned above. But if you aren’t able to invest the time to seek out personally appropriate guidance, consider exploring the following recommendations:

For dealing with stress: Full Catastroph e Living – John Kabat-Zinn
For depression: Feeling Good – David D. Burns
For anxiety: When Panic Attacks – David D. Burns, The Places That Scare You – Pema Chödrön
For dealing with difficulties: When Things Fall Apart – Pema Chödrön
For making peace with your mind: The Happiness Trap – Russ Harris
For setting boundaries (including at work): Boundaries – Henry Cloud & John Townsend
For learning how to practice self-compassion: Self-Compassion – Kristin Neff

8. Start a self-compassion practice to round off your self-care

Build a deliberate self-compassion practice with the support of the many free, downloadable resources on the Self-Compassion website.

Author Kristin Neff has prepared brief guided practices, a list of exercises, and tips for those new to the concept.

Finally, if you have a habit of going too hard on yourself and zeroing in on your supposed deficits as an ND, try adopting a strengths-based perspective.

Instead of looking at yourself as somehow flawed, acknowledge the many strengths that come with being ND, which I explore in another blog post.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Autism/ADHD Identity

So what is autism, exactly?

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 8 minutes

What is autism spectrum disorder? To fully understand this phenomenon, we have to employ the medical model.

Big disclaimer: the medical model is far from perfect.

According to this model, there is something inherently wrong with autistics. Historically, this rationale has also been used to marginalize and oppress us.

For most people, the social model is preferable, as it argues that the issue lies not with neurodiversity, but with society’s failure to accommodate it.

The social model aims to destigmatize autism, whereas the goal of the medical model is to diagnose and treat.

Pathologizing aside, getting an ASD diagnosis can open the door to disability-related legal protections, supports, and services. This is one example of how the medical model can be of use to those with autism, and their loved ones.

So, what is autism spectrum disorder?

According to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders 5 (DSM-5), autism spectrum disorder (ASD) is a neurological developmental disability.

Autism is characterized by ongoing deficits in social communication and social interactions in a range of contexts. Other criteria for autism include “restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior, interests, or activities”. ¹ ²

Autism symptoms manifest in the early development period and typically cause clinically significant impairment in key areas of functioning.

To receive a diagnosis of ASD, these symptoms must not be better explained by the presence of intellectual disability or global developmental delay.

A diagnosis of ASD is typically accompanied by a severity measurement of “Level 1”, “2”, or “3”. Level 1 means the individual requires some support, Level 2 substantial support, and Level 3 very substantial support.

(Remember how I mentioned the medical model is pathologizing? An example of this is the DSM-5 terminology I just used, such as “disability”, “deficits”, “symptoms”, “impairments”, and “severity”.)

Autism often appears alongside other conditions, such as epilepsy, attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, sleep problems, gastrointestinal symptoms, anxiety, and depression.

Who gets diagnosed with autism spectrum disorder?

Males are diagnosed with autism at three times the rate of females, but this doesn’t necessarily mean autism isn’t as common among females.³

One study found that autistic females as a population are better than males at hiding their autistic traits. This results in fewer diagnoses, later diagnoses in life, and misdiagnoses.

It’s also been argued that autistic females may present autism in a way different from their male counterparts.⁴ And due to many measurements being male-centric, females may be overlooked by current diagnostic measurements.⁵

Additionally, autistics from racial minority groups are typically less likely to receive a diagnosis of ASD.⁶ Instead, they are more likely to receive other diagnoses such as ADHD and conduct and adjustment disorders.⁷

Many conclude that reflects medical disadvantages experienced by minority groups as a result of structural inequality.⁸ But it’s important to note that autism traits can also go overlooked or can be misinterpreted, depending on the sociocultural context. ⁹

Why are some people autistic and others not?

There are no clear answers here, however, some studies point to a range of environmental risk factors and protective factors.

These include advanced parental age, low birth weight,¹⁰ ¹¹ fetal exposure to the epilepsy medication valproate,¹² intake of certain vitamins,¹³ maternal autoimmune disorders, environmental toxins, and breastfeeding.¹⁴

Links have been made between unique gut microbiota compositions and the development of autism. Other studies have indicated strong genetic influences, concluding that autism is highly inheritable.¹⁵ ¹⁶ ¹⁷

How does one get an autism spectrum disorder diagnosis?

To get an autism spectrum disorder diagnosis, you need to be screened by a trained professional.

For children, there’s a range of tools. For example, the Modified Checklist for Autism in Toddlers Revised, the Ages and Stages Questionnaire, and the Screening Tool for Autism in Toddlers and Young Children.¹⁸ ¹⁹ ²⁰

For older adolescents and adults, the gold standard for autism diagnoses is the Autism Diagnostic Observation Schedule (ADOS-2) module 4.²¹ Professionals typically use this tool alongside direct observations and taking patient history.

The Autism Diagnostic Interview-Revised (ADI-R) is another gold standard autism diagnostic tool that is suitable for both children and adults.²²

Again, I want to point out here that these diagnostic tools may be gender-biased and thus more likely to detect male autistics than female autistics.

When seeking out a diagnosis, it is worth checking to see that the person doing the assessment is using the most current, research-backed screening measures.

If seeing a professional is not an option, adults can also use self-reporting tools such as the Social Responsiveness Scale, Second Edition: Adult form (SRS-2).²³

Additional tools are available for assessing how autism is impacting one’s activities of daily living and quality of life.

How is autism spectrum disorder “treated”?

There is no biomedical treatment for autism spectrum disorder, however, psychotropic medications are available and often prescribed for those who are experiencing symptoms such as anxiety or depression.²⁴ ²⁵ ²⁶

For autism specifically, there is a range of therapies, the most commonly used being Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA).²⁷

ABA is designed to help autistic children with the development of social, communication, and expressive language skills.

The dominant strain of ABA has been heavily criticized by autism advocates for violating individual autonomy and even doing direct harm to clients.²⁸

Critics have also pointed out that there are conflicts of interest among researchers who publish scientific literature in support of ABA as an autism intervention.²⁹

Clearly, there is room for improvement when it comes to current ABA intervention. However, ABA is one of the few treatments that remain widely accessible.

In many US states, health insurance providers are required to cover ABA-related expenses under the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act.

One alternative to mainstream ABA is Naturalistic Developmental Behavioral Interventions (NDBI). NDBI is more child-directed and provides intrinsic rewards for learning and participating.³⁰

Other available interventions support the development of core skills among autistic children, such as social communication.³¹

Additionally, programs exist for young adults, such as the Program for the Education and Enrichment of Relational Skills (PEERS®).³²

For autistic young people and adults, psychotherapies such as Cognitive Behavioral Therapy are recommended for those who experience comorbidities such as anxiety and depression.³³ ³⁴

These are available in both individual and group formats.³⁵

Wrap up

So there you have it, my brief introduction to autism spectrum disorder.

Again, I want to stress that much of the content I shared is presented using the medical model.

But remember: viewing autism exclusively through this lens is not only limiting—it also fails to give consideration to some of the strengths of being neurodiverse.

Check this blog post to learn a little more about some of the benefits of being autistic.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Autism/ADHD LGBTQI+ Social work

Trauma recovery begins when denial, repression, and dissociation end

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 4 minutes

The first proof of my trauma recovery was the return of memories once thought lost.

In the years after I started my therapy journey, I would find myself going about my business—walking my dog, showering, or driving to an appointment—only to be suddenly ambushed by recollection.

Usually, these memories came to me in fragments: an odor, a feeling, a face, or a conversation.

I’d remember my excitement playing Link’s Awakening for the first time on my Gameboy Color. Or maybe I’d recall my late aunt’s tuxedo cat, Sylvester; the mockery of a snub-nosed boy in sixth grade.

Sometimes, I’d hark back to my first glimpse of the technicolor shells of iMac G3 in a school computer lab; the fantasies of collecting one of each “flavor”: Bondi Blue, Strawberry, Lime, and Tangerine.

Other times, I’d wax nostalgic about the rain rattling the tin roof of the family home or the particular smell of the department stores my mother would like to spend hours wandering in search of sales.

Now and then, I’d think fondly of the moments spent loitering at the local newsagent, thumbing through copies of PC Powerplay and Nintendo Power magazines, dreaming about one day owning all the latest gaming consoles.

With each of these memories came emotions, often in a big jumble: longing and regret, as if for something lost, bittersweet joy, and sadness.

A past rediscovered: the start of trauma recovery

When I think of time, I think of years, represented as a series of three-dimensional bar charts. Each bar represented a different month, arranged in a stair-like formation.

At the end of the month, I would imagine myself ascending a new bar, continuing until I had arrived in December, before moving on to the next chart behind it.

After my traumatic experiences, when I tried to peer back to the charts that had come before, my recall became hazy and my brain seemed to actively resist the effort.

If memories are like snapshots, all that was left to me were the countless throwaways that were returned to us when my family got our photos developed.

Always there were four or five shots that were to be out of focus. Sometimes a thumb was blocking the lens, or the flash of our disposable camera had blown out the image.

But the snapshots that now came to me, sealed for over 25 years inside some protective, internal vault, had all the vivid clarity of the present moment.

Puzzling as I was by this return, I was equally puzzled by the timing. The fragments were random and unconnected to my current circumstance. Just what was going on?

A sign of healing

For decades, trauma had strip-mined my consciousness of all evidence of my past; of memories both pleasant and painful.

Now, I was starting to amass a sizable collection. But having no idea what to do with them, I consigned them to a mental storehouse for later review.

Then, during one particularly humid summer—a summer that reminded me far too much of those of a childhood spent in the tropics—I was inundated by a wave of these memories, leaving me both bewildered and melancholic.

“I just don’t understand,” I said during one therapy session. “Why am I remembering all of this?”

“It sounds like you’re healing,” my therapist replied, trying to normalize what to me felt painfully abnormal.

“But why? What function does this serve?” I asked through my tears. “Why now? I just want to understand.”

What I wanted was a cut-and-dry explanation for what is, for everyone, a messy and unpredictable recovery process.

Therapists liked to call this behavior “intellectualizing”. In my case, I was trying to bypass an emotional experience by using my intellect.

This “ego defense” was one I had depended upon for years to cope with my trauma. It was also one of the key obstacles to my healing.

Reintegration: the beginning of trauma recovery

So rather than resisting the wave, I rode it, allowing the memories and emotions they conjured to come and go.

Soon after, I embarked upon a single-minded hunt for various articles from my childhood.

This involved preparing a playlist containing every memorable song of the 90s and the early aughts. Next, I put together a book list containing every title my teen self had read.

After this task had been completed, I hunted down scans of the magazines I’d once flipped through and the illustrated video game guides and manuals I’d once savored during long car trips.

Often, my searches did not culminate in any action; I didn’t always listen to the music or consume this reading material.

Instead, I found a strange comfort in the fact I once more had possession of these formerly lost relics from my past.

This obsessive collecting on my part I realized was an outward expression of an internal process: reintegration.

The part of myself I had once cut off was returning piece by piece, and I was searching for props to help facilitate its assembly.

I was working, in my own way, towards a whole, coherent narrative of self and past.

Overcoming denial, repression, and dissociation

In the words of author Judith Herman’s seminal work, Trauma and Recovery:

“The goal of recounting the trauma story is integration, not exorcism.”¹

Herman goes on to explain:

Remembering and telling the truth about terrible events are prerequisites…for the healing of individual victims. The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma. But far too often secrecy prevails, and the story of the traumatic event surfaces not as a verbal narrative but as a symptom. Denial, repression, and dissociation operate on a social as well as an individual level.

Undertaking therapy allowed me to finally release the taut knot of my trauma survivor psyche. And with that release had come recollection—not just of traumatic events, but everything in between.

Memories in turn triggered “floods of intense, overwhelming feeling”, which proved wholly alien to me after years spent dwelling in the “extremes of amnesia…and arid states of no feeling at all”.

I was not in crisis; I was in a state of trauma recovery. And in order to complete that recovery, I would have to let go of the three skills that had permitted my survival through alienation from my own self—denial, repression, and dissociation.

When one cannot escape a reality in which one feels threatened and powerless, one finds ways of adapting.

I too had once acted as if nothing had happened, ignoring my emotions, burying memories, and mentally checking out when confronted by a frightening reality.

They had served an adaptive function. But maintained over time, they had caused the margins of my life to contract to a pinprick in which only survival is the only possibility, and never true flourishing.

This is a kind of living death; imprisonment in a psychological internment camp.

And now, finally, after years spent walking through a dim, gray limbo, I could see the possibility of a death revoked, and life renewed.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Identity LGBTQI+ Wellbeing

Is there a place for the graysexual identity within the LGBTQ+ community?

Essy Knopf3 Comments

Reading time: 4 minutes

Apparently being LGBTQ+ also means being hypersexual. At least, that’s what many of us have been led to believe.

But human sexuality expresses itself very differently from person to person.

Today, I want to talk about two forms of this—gray asexuality/graysexuality and demisexuality—and the struggle many of us experience fitting in.

LGBTQ+ hypersexuality

At 18, when I was just starting to explore my LGBTQ+ identity, I found myself drawn to nightclubs. This seemed like the best venue in which to meet other gay men and hopefully make friends.

Each club usually had a cover charge, but as a poor student, I often found myself balking. One time a bouncer laughed at my reaction.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’ll get laid.”

I remember feeling absolutely mortified. How could he have so mistaken my intentions?
Yet it was, as it turned out, a fairly normal assumption to make.

Inside these clubs, I frequently saw people sizing each other up across the dancefloor.

And when I tried to make small talk with strangers, I’d catch them looking over my shoulder at the latest person to walk through the door. Many people I met appeared to be solely looking for casual sex.

Frankly, I was so bored by this idea, that I’d often end up sitting in a corner and browsing the free LGBTQ+ publications.

The articles and advertisements I saw within seemed, again, to speak to this hypersexual facet of the LGBTQ+ identity—a facet that is often quite narrow in its definitions.

Being a graysexual in the LGBTQ+ ‘monoculture’

The LGBTQ+ community is, at least in theory, an inclusive one. In practice, however, it can lean towards being a monoculture.

The term “monoculture” refers to cultivating one kind of crop at a time. This is compared to polyculture, where one cultivates multiple crops at the same time.

The LGBTQ+ monoculture promotes the idea that all gay men should be hypersexual and openly discuss their sexual preferences with one another.

Sexuality for me on the other hand has always been personal and private. I’ve rarely felt any need to disclose my preferences with anyone, friends included, nor to actively pursue sex.

When I met other gay men online or in person, I’d explain that I wanted to be their friend and get to know them. For me, the familiarity and safety provided by a friendship were necessary before progressing the relationship.

Intellectual connection and interpersonal compatibility were also important, and I couldn’t be sure of either on short acquaintance.

But many people received my request to get to know them as a rejection. I was, in their view, friend-zoning them.

It seemed I had failed to grasp a common but unspoken belief: that when two gay men come into contact, sex must result.

What are graysexuality and demisexuality?

Given casual sex in the LGBTQ+ world is often treated as a kind of handshake, this expectation makes sense.

This is not to say that LGBTQ+ culture is monolithic. It arose after all as a response to the constraints of heterosexuality.

But this tendency to lean towards a single expression of sexuality can be marginalizing and oppressive to those who don’t and can’t follow it.

It’s only in the past few years, after coming to identify with the gray asexual and demisexual labels, that I’ve understood why hypersexuality never sat right with me.

What does it mean to be gray asexual, also known as graysexual, gray-a, and gray-ace?

Graysexuals according to the Demisexual Resource Center:

feel sexual attraction infrequently, of low intensity, to few people, or in specific circumstances
feel sexual attraction, but have no desire to act on it; have confusing or ambiguous feelings of sexual attraction
feel that sexual attraction is not a meaningful concept to them personally

Graysexuality clearly has many possible definitions and is experienced differently by each individual.

Demisexuality on the other hand involves “feeling sexual attraction only after forming an emotional bond”. Some consider demisexuality to be a subset of gray asexual.

In my case, I relate to both labels. I experience sexual attraction, but in limited circumstances, and at a low intensity.

These feelings are often ambiguous, aren’t that important to me, and I usually have little desire to act on them.

And if I do, full enjoyment is rarely possible unless I have first formed an emotional bond.

Quite a lot of fine print. And not exactly something one drops in a casual conversation.

When being graysexual conflicts with allosexuality

Allosexuality—that is, feeling sexual attraction—is often treated as the norm, so graysexuals and demisexuals like myself may thus find themselves pushed into the margins.

For example, we may often feel like our lack of sexual interest and/or drive is a problem and that something is wrong with us.

If we don’t indulge in hypersexuality, we may feel like we’re somehow failing the LGBTQ+ acid test.

Another fact to consider is that in LGBTQ+ culture, being sexually desirable is, unfortunately, often tied to self-worth. Having a lack of sexual interest in others may thus be interpreted as rejection.

Not wanting to engage in sexual activities may be perfectly comfortable for you. But failing to meet allosexuals’ expectations can create discomfort, if not frustration, for some.

Many a time, I’ve found myself in situations where another person clearly wanted a sexual outcome. When that outcome didn’t happen, some individuals would only pressure me further.

Sometimes I froze, and sometimes I gave in. When I did manage to find my voice and refuse, hurt and anger could result.

Wrap up

It’s hard not to feel somehow wrong or at fault in these situations. You get to thinking that maybe it’s on you to be more upfront about your preferences.

But even when we are upfront, there’s always the possibility it might be explained away.

I’ve had more than a few people tell me that I “just hadn’t had the right sexual experience or partner” yet. Ironic, given that’s an argument that’s been used against LGBTQ+ people for having an interest in members of the same sex!

It isn’t fair that allosexuality is treated as a default and alternate sexual expressions as abnormal. We gray-aces and demisexuals feel blamed or shamed for failing to meet some kind of sexual mandate.

This is, after all, a fundamental part of who we are. And our diverse identities are just one variation of many that exist within the LGBTQ+ community.

So enough about me, I want to know: do you identify as graysexual or demisexual?

If so, what’s it been like for you? Let me know in the comments.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Identity LGBTQI+ Wellbeing

Yes, male privilege exists. But it carries a terrible cost—especially if you’re gay.

Essy Knopf Leave a comment

Reading time: 6 minutes

The dominance of the male gender is visible not only in male privilege,¹ but also their overrepresentation in high-income brackets and their managerial roles.

It would be easy to assume that the many advantages enjoyed by males serve as a buffer against poorer health outcomes, and yet this isn’t always the case.

Men are for example more likely than women to die early from a number of causes, including suicide.² This trend is not exclusive to the US but it is present globally as well.

And these early deaths aren’t so much the result of lifestyle choices, some argue, as they are the profound loneliness lingering just below the surface.

The connection between male privilege and loneliness

In I Don’t Want to Talk About It, Terrence Real makes a compelling case for socialization’s role in contributing to the all-too-common experience of loneliness among older men.

He notes that boys compared to girls are typically less spoken to, comforted, and nurtured by their caregivers, leaving them prone to passive trauma, for example in the form of neglect.

Real notes they are also socialized to cut themselves off from their own feelings, their mothers, and from social support.

That is, socialization teaches boys and men that entry to the club of masculinity is dependent upon their continued spurning of “dependency, expressiveness, and affiliation”.

Males are asked to uphold an impossible gender norm closely tied to the notion of rugged individualism.

Real says the cost of passive trauma and disconnection from self and others is that males suffer an unstable sense of self-esteem—and even shame—over their own emotions.

Forbidden the right of vulnerability, males have no choice but to emotionally numb themselves, internalizing rather than externalizing their distress. The result is covert depression.

Having been trained to avoid others’ support, men inevitably turn to “defensive compensations” for this depression, such as drinking, gambling, or sex.

The difficulty, however, lies in the fact that the resulting “addictions do to shame what saltwater does to thirst”.

Similarly, men may also seek an escape through grandiosity, or what Real calls the “illusion of dominance”.

The terrible loneliness of being at the top

What Terrence Real calls grandiosity, Lonely at the Top author Thomas Joiner describes as a fixation on earning money and building status.

Men in their 20s and 30s, he argues, are usually more self-focused than women. They assume an “either/or attitude toward wealth and status on the one hand and social connection on the other hand”.

But as men age, this attitude wreaks a terrible price in loneliness, resulting in significant health disparities and higher mortality rates.

Joiner however diverges from Real’s thesis here by describing factors other than socialization as contributing to the male inability to form and maintain interpersonal connections later in life.

For example, he cites the “people versus things” gender dichotomy. Namely that from a very young age, boys are more interested in things, while girls are more interested in people.

Males are by nature more inclined towards an instrumentality mindset, grounded in “assertiveness, self-confidence, competitiveness, and aggression”.

This is opposed to the typically female, people-oriented mindset, which celebrates expressive traits such as “affection, cooperation, and flexibility”.

Joiner notes other differences, such as the fact that boys get less social coaching from each other and from men when compared to their female counterparts.

Girls also have more gender- and age-diverse friendship networks. This contributes to females as a group enjoying greater interpersonal hardiness.

Having been spoiled with the “institutionalized, ready-made friendships of childhood”, men may fail to develop an appreciation for the “worked-for friendships of adulthood”.

Joiner claims that an instrumentality mindset can also lead to males developing a “don’t tread on me” attitude, best described as a “dogged self-sufficiency in the absence of healthy interdependence”. The links again to rugged individualism are, again, clear.

Joiner adds that “don’t tread on me” carries the tacit message of “don’t connect with me”. As argued by Real, men believe this attitude is necessary to preserving their conferred status as males.

“Don’t tread on me” combined with the single-minded pursuit of money and status normalized by our materialist culture can result in a more passive approach towards relationships.

Men as a result may be less likely to undertake the work necessary to maintain them.

In failing to feed or renew relationships, or to seek out new ones as they age, men may be setting themselves up for significant loneliness down the road.

The fact that men’s internal’s sensors are not fully attuned to their own emotional or social loneliness, Joiner agrees, further compels them to pursue said compensations. And rather than resolving loneliness, they only have the effect of compounding.

The health impact of engaging in addictive behaviors aside, loneliness itself can contribute to poorer health outcomes in later life while corroding one’s resilience and ability to cope with failures, disappointments, and losses.

When compared to seeking professional mental health, compensations are a more likely outcome among males, given that doing the former can threaten the male image of self-sufficiency.

And let’s not forget the stigma associated with male loneliness and accessing such services, which serve as obstacles in their own right.

How intersectionality can deepen male loneliness

Intersectionality argues that it is possible to simultaneously enjoy power and/or privilege in one situation, arena, or aspect of life, and oppression and/or disadvantage in others.

So while being male broadly conveys power and privilege, being an older male in Western society can have serious implications for one’s health and wellbeing.

If one happens to be an older male and have a minority identity such as “homosexual”, the impact can be exacerbated, for example through minority stress caused by stigmatization, discrimination, and prejudice.

This impact grows when one is also a person of color, a trait which brings many disadvantages in a White-dominated culture such as North America.³ ⁴

The minority status of being gay male alone contributes to arguably higher levels of loneliness. And there is also the fact that gay men as a population have to work harder to gain entry to the “male club”.

Hostile attitudes towards homosexuals are often grounded in perceptions of their abnormality, i.e. “Too feminine”.

According to author Simon LeVay, gay men as a population are indeed different, exhibiting a “patchwork of gendered traits—some indistinguishable from those of same-sex peers, some shifted part way [sic] toward the other sex, and others typical of the other sex”.

In Gay, Straight, and the Reason Why, he cites studies that indicate that where it comes to instrumentality and expressiveness—typically male-favoring and female-favoring traits, respectively—gay men tend to be shifted towards the opposite sex.

Having gender-shifted traits in a culture that defines masculinity by limited expressiveness can thus double the pressure felt by gay men to conform to the stereotype.

It also means they are more likely to experience the disapproval of, and rejection by, others who subscribe to the standard (toxic) definitions of masculinity.

Social hostility can generate internalized homophobia, feeding into higher-than-standard rates of depression and anxiety.

It also provides a rationale for the all-too-common flight by gay men into compensations. (Consider here the higher rates of substance use and abuse, out-of-control sexual behaviors, and other process addictions.)

The link between gay loneliness and the potential for harm for example has been demonstrated in a study linking riskier sexual behavior as an avoidance strategy.

Those who engage in this strategy are for example exposed to higher rates of HIV and other sexually transmitted diseases.

The solutions to male privilege disconnection

To summarize, masculinity is coded in Western society in ways that are emotionally oppressive to males, hence the term “toxic masculinity”.

This oppression is intensified especially the case if you also share minority identities, such as being gay and a person of color.

When combined with a biological inclination towards instrumentality and a cultural bias towards rugged individualism, this can wreak great harm to our mental wellbeing and our relational world.

From this comes disproportionately adverse health outcomes, which as mentioned run in the face of the perceived advantages of being a member of an empowered and privileged gender.

Unfortunately, gender coding and social conditioning have been in existence for thousands of years. The intricate tapestry of our gendered lives cannot be unpicked overnight.

All the same, there are actions we can take as males to address the hidden costs of our gendered identity.

Namely, we can choose to embrace “dependency, expressiveness, and affiliation”. We can strive for a greater connection with our inner selves, and others.

Such connections can be forged, Joiner says, by engaging in shared rituals that create a sense of belonging, togetherness, or harmony, such as sharing a meal with loved ones.

Here are some other suggestions:

Connecting to nature: As men, we stand to benefit by interacting more regularly with nature.

This experience can reduce loneliness, especially when it provides opportunities to interact with others. For example, through hiking or gardening groups.

Daily phone calls: However awkward as calling people up out of the blue may seem today, relying too heavily on text messages can have some serious downsides.

Instead, Joiner suggests calling one person daily, if only for a few minutes.

Whether you have something pressing to talk about is not important. The goal here is to create connection.

Reunions: Organize a reunion with best friends from one’s younger days can be a great way to renews existing connections.

Given the male tendency to lose touch with friendships as we advance towards middle age, this is essential.

A reunion can also bring many of the benefits associated with indulging nostalgia.

Sleep regularization: None of the above is possible if our sleep schedule is out of sync with those of others.

If this is the case, we should consider shifting our life patterns to promote social interactions.

We can this by maintaining a regular sleep schedule and seeking out opportunities to interact with others, such as through a shared physical activity like a sport.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

Dating LGBTQI+ Wellbeing

Gay dating and hookup apps and the hidden cost of ‘distraction capitalism’

Essy Knopf2 Comments

Reading time: 7 minutes

Gay dating and hookup apps dangle the promise of in-person interactions, yet no one wants to meet—because of distraction capitalism.

What I’m referring to here is an entire industry dedicated to keeping consumers distracted in the name of profit.

Those responsible for pulling our strings are called “the attention merchants”. And the bad news is, every time you and I get taken in, we lose. Here’s how.

The allure of distraction capitalism

Countless battles are waged daily for our attention by the attention merchants, and one of the first staging grounds is the living room.

As a child, Saturday morning cartoons were my ambrosia, the accompanying advertisements always managing to instill in me a hunger for the latest tawdry Happy Meal toy.

Eventually, I outgrew these shows, graduating to watching soap operas instead. Specifically, the NBC series Passions.

Checking in with the slow-churning serial every day after school, I’d reassure myself that I wasn’t there for the melodrama. No—I was watching ironically.

“Hate-watching” wasn’t common parlance at the time, but in hindsight, it describes this ritual perfectly.

Trysts with current affairs programs followed. Many of these shows trafficked shameless in scandal and outrage.

Part of me lived for the exposés of crooks and ne’er-do-wells, as much as another part lived to denounce them.

I would watch victims tearfully recount how they had been mistreated, exploited, or abused. The viewers’ sympathy having been solicited, the reporter would then embark on a crusade for justice.

Clad in business attire and sporting a wireless microphone, this feisty individual would pursue the accused across parking lots, reciting laundry lists of misdemeanors while demanding answers and apologies.

The alleged perpetrator would dart into a doorway or duck into a car, trying to make a quick escape. If we were lucky, the encounter would lead to a scuffle with the camera crew and maybe even an accidental injury.

These confrontations of course designed to appeal to the viewer’s emotions, and it was the contrived drama of it all that made watching them such a guilty pleasure.

Yet my high school English curriculum had brought with it a certain awareness of the media’s manipulations.

And so my adolescent self usually came away from these shows feeling glutted, maybe even a touch queasy, like I’d just eaten a whole bag of caramel popcorn in one sitting.

The effect was similar to that evoked by the gossip magazines I’d glimpse in racks while waiting in supermarket lines with my mother.

What drew my attention weren’t just the unflattering, doctored shots of celebrities looking either livid, sick, or sleep-deprived. Nor was it the chance to get a glimpse behind the showbiz curtain.

In my hard-nosed way, I was hoping to interrogate these publications’ very slippery relationship with the truth. The fact I engaged with them at all meant the victory, by default, went to said publications.

In the early ‘00s, the object of my fascinated disgust became reality TV, a medium that shamelessly massaged both the truth and viewer’s emotions for maximum effect.

No surprise that when I finally moved out of my family’s home, I refused to buy a TV set. Who were these broadcasters to think they could determine what I watched and when?

What right did they think they had to expose me to shouty calls to action and appeals to open my wallet?

Often, walking into a room in which a TV was blaring, I’d catch myself shouting right back, offering a snarky retort for the benefit of those present.

Yet just as often as not, I’d surrender, plonking down on a couch, only to stir minutes—sometimes hours—later from a fugue state, stricken by the realization that for all my cynicism, I had succumbed.

Distraction capitalism at work

TV shows and advertisements, gossip magazines, and reality TV are just some of the cultural phenomena designed to capture our attention through constant intrusion, often without our consent.

But according to The Attention Merchants author Tim Wu,

the competition is fierce that the race will naturally run to the bottom; attention will almost invariably gravitate to the more garish, lurid, outrageous alternative, whatever stimulus may more likely engage what cognitive scientists call our “automatic” attention as opposed to our “controlled” attention, the kind we direct with intent.

This is probably why, for all my skepticism about Passions and current affair programs, I still found myself watching them, primal emotions somehow managing to bypass my intellectual defenses.

The attention industry is an almost omnipresent fact of daily life. Yet its merchants are constantly trying to outpace what Wu calls the “disenchantment effect”—that is, our becoming desensitized to their methods.

Merchants respond to our adaptation with adaptations of their own. They either “up the dosage”, going to even greater extremes, or they introduce a novel stimulus, “a distortion for the sake of spectacle, calibrated to harvest the most attention”.

Hence the soap opera’s endless stream of dramatic turns, the trotting out of fresh scandals, or social media’s endless stream of dopamine-triggering notifications.

How distraction capitalism adapts

The shift towards an online world has seen viewers faced with more choices than ever, resulting in a mad scramble by attention merchants not just to find new revenue streams, but to keep us transfixed.

Many news publications for example now require paid subscriptions. And, in a bid to draw viewers, some have shifted away from traditional broadsheet style towards the kind of “gossipy, superficial, and click-driven” tone one might expect from a tabloid.

Working in digital news, I have glimpsed firsthand a kind of desperation that can sometimes indeed result in Wu’s deplored “race to the bottom”.

Sometimes this may take the obvious form of clickbait. Other times it’s gratuitous “breaking” coverage that spills over into multiple news cycles, producing more anxiety-provoking commentary and speculation than concrete information.

This desperation is by no means new; as the old journalism expression goes, “if it bleeds, it leads”. The media attention merchants have long known that reportage on scandal, catastrophe, death, and disaster is sure to secure an audience.

But the shift away from traditional media has certainly led to an intensification in tactics, such as the adoption of more intrusive methods like news apps using push notifications.

Under such conditions, public interest—traditionally the driving factor behind reportage—can become eclipsed by a desire for private profit.

Netflix: a case study in distraction capitalism

Where commercial broadcast television previously employed advertising, “over-the-top” media providers like Netflix have, as in the case of some news outlets, relied upon subscription services.

But Netflix has also adjusted to changing viewing habits by employing “bingeable” programming. They do this by releasing new seasons of TV shows all at once or acquiring old series en masse.

Where traditional TV may shape stories around ad breaks, streaming programming may eschew this structure in favor of one geared towards binge viewing, with one episode often bleeding seamlessly into another.

All of this seems designed to produce an effect New York Times journalist James Poniewozik calls “The Suck”, “that narcotic, tidal feeling of getting drawn into a show and letting it wash over you for hours”.

This style of bingeable programming is an ongoing experiment, backed by Netflix’s comprehensive access to viewer behavioral data.

Operating behind a one-way mirror, the company’s data scientists observe trends and gather insights. This knowledge is then used to inform their programming model, and to keep viewers hooked.

This is not a development exclusive to Netflix, but one broadly employed by modern attention merchants in what Shoshana Zuboff has called The Age of Surveillance Capitalism. (My take on the risk surveillance capitalism poses in the context of dating apps here).

When distraction becomes the ultimate goal

Author Tim Wu warns that for all the means now at the attention merchants’ disposal, it can still be an imprecise game.

Technologies that enable more control over our choices than ever also “open us up to a stream of instinctive selections, and tiny rewards, the sum of which may be no reward at all”, resulting in a state of “distracted wandering”.

Dating apps are just one example of this. As with social media, we may find ourselves regularly checking in with no express goal beyond securing the reward of a notification, a “like”, or a message.

In some cases, this reward-seeking behavior can even spill over into addiction (I’m thinking here of operant conditioning).

The allure is intensified in the case of platforms like Instagram, which democratize fame and promote self-aggrandizement. The result? “A chaotic mutual admiration society, full of enterprising Narcissi” who reward and reinforce each other’s behavior.

However purposeless our use of the attention merchant’s platforms might be, our very presence there is nevertheless regarded as a victory. Our continued reliance is, after all, “far better than being ignored”.

Any usage after all results in surplus behavioral data that can be used by the service provider, or sold to third parties in what Zuboff calls the behavioral futures market.

None of this would be possible of course were it not for our always-connected culture, itself the product of technologies such as the smartphone, which renders social media check-ins, sharing, and selfies a mere reflex.

The attention economies as a result are now deeply embedded in daily life; normalized to the point that we often aren’t aware when merchants “nudge, coax, tune, and herd” us, to use Zuboff’s terms.

It is in the absence of such self-awareness, Wu says, that we inevitably find ourselves “in thrall to our various media and devices”.

Reclaiming peace of mind

Attention merchants profit from our involuntary behavior; from distraction and addiction, from funneling our desire for connection, validation, and information, into hypervigilant checking, comparing, competing, and performing for a horde of fellow digital voyeurs.

Involuntary behavior is the opposite of mindfulness, a quality widely accepted as being conducive to wellbeing. The degree to which the merchants exert influence over us can thus prove proportional to our health.

Yet the media and technologies described here as noted are an inescapable part of modern life.

Extricating ourselves from their hold requires fighting years worth of conditioning by the ever-hungry attention merchants, which more often than not feels like a fool’s errand.

We can begin by regularly “unplugging” and holding a “digital Sabbath”: a window of time such as a weekend in which to put down our devices and resist the urge to engage in checking emails, social media, Netflix, and the news.

It is only through such abstinence from the stimulation to which we have become so accustomed that we can achieve self-awareness about unhealthy attentional habits.

We don’t need to suffer “fragmentary awareness” and the incessant interruptions of attention merchants.

Rather, we should work to reclaim the concentration and focus that’s key not just to our productivity—but our happiness as well.

Takeaways

Recognize the attention industry at work.
Avoid involuntary distraction and addiction.
Reclaim mindfulness by “unplugging”.

Essy Knopf

Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.

www.essyknopf.com

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