The Way Trauma Steals Neurodivergent Voices

One of the hallmarks of burnout, especially autistic burnout is the loss of the ability to speak. Put this in a venn diagram with one of the results of trauma being isolating yourself, sprinkle in a few more circles for the isolation that comes with depression and anxiety, and you have the perfect recipe for silence, specifically the silencing of neurodivergent voices.

The difference between silencing neurodivergent voices from autistic (and I’d argue a more broadly defined neurodivergent) burnout and trauma is that (at least for me) when I’m in autistic burnout, I can’t speak. I lack the energy to talk, to form words. My head feels “heavy” like a box crammed too full that you have to carry up the stairs. It takes all my energy to do the necessary chores, including the day job (which takes more energy then it should at the moment, but that’s a blog for another time), and the desire to speak, including typing these blogs, simply isn’t there. The isolation and silence caused by trauma comes from a place of hurt and fear. I self-censor. I feel like my voice isn’t worth hearing, that no one cares. And that’s what I want to focus on in today’s blog.

Neurodivergent people often make judgments about autistic individuals within a few seconds about whether they’re going to interact with them or not as shown in this 2017 study. Not only would this, understandably, cause issues with social interactions, but it creates trauma and makes autistic individuals reluctant to speak up in other areas of their life. When you think about the hundreds of thousands, if not millions. of interactions we have over the course of our lives, this rejection is repeated again and again and serves to suppress autistic voices.

Eventually the stories we tell ourselves, that no one cares about what we say, that we’re too strange or have odd interests, take root. Their fruit? Our silence.

When we identify our trauma and see how it has caused rammifications in our lives, we reclaim our voices. When we identify those stories and how they’re working in our daily lives, we reclaim our voices.
When we see our innate value and believe our voices need to be heard, yes, we reclaim our voices.

When I originally thought about this blog, I envisioned it more like the LIttle Mermaid where Usula convinces Ariel to give up her voice in exchange for what she wants–legs and a chance to live on land. But our voice isn’t something to be bartered with. It’s also not an either/or dichotomy. And life isn’t a fairy tale, and certainly not a Disney-fied one. When we silence our neurodivergent voices, we aren’t gaining a handsome prince or even feet. We’re protecting ourselves; we’re hiding; and the cost is our innermost authentic selves. I don’t need to read the scroll to tell you that’s a bargain that simply isn’t worth making.