I saw the below meme recently of a stretched phone screen, a ridiculously long message, and a caption outlining the neurodivergent trait of sharing every detail to avoid miscommunication.
I laughed at first because I’m known for doing this. It's exactly how my brain works. I talk, write, text, email, and explain everything. Yet it also hit a nerve.
I’ve always done this. I don’t give short summaries without feeling like I've left something out. Everything becomes an essay. As a child and an adult, I've constantly watched people misunderstand what I am saying. So I no longer trust that people will understand me without the full picture. I either overshare and get acknowledgements that make me feel bad for oversharing, or I share too little and end up explaining myself again. There is no middle ground. I don’t understand how non‑neurodivergent people do it. It is not intentional or attention-seeking. It’s how my mind processes information.
I get replies like “thank you for your detailed email” or “thank you for outlining everything so thoroughly.”
These phrases are just polite ways of saying I have written too much. Context or setting doesn't matter. I still write essays. James’ recent thirty-two-page school complaint is a perfect example. I reduced it as much as I could using a paraphrasing and shortening tool, and it still ended up being thirty-two pages. Imagine if I hadn't done that.
I try to manage it through a grammar app subscription that fixes spelling, grammar, fluency, summarises paragraphs, checks plagiarism, and reduces text, but I still get told it’s too much. It is frustrating. I am not trying to overwhelm people or be intense. Just concise.
This has always been a thing. As a child I had delayed speech. I couldn’t verbalise everything I wanted to. I struggled to explain what I thought or needed. I knew what I meant, but the words never came out correctly or in a way that matched people's expectations. In primary school I once wrote a two-page answer for one question and missed the other four because time ran out, making me use a writing guide. Nevertheless, my old English workbooks were full of stories that went on for pages, yet none were finished.
Secondary school gave me another example. I once failed a GCSE R.E mock because the question said “choose one of the five topics below.” I answered all five. I read the question too quickly and missed the detail. Then I gave so much information that they couldn’t mark it because some answers were stronger than others.
I always interrupted people because the thought arrived fully formed before I recognised the right moment to speak; something I still do. I always blurted out answers without putting my hand up. The thought appeared and I said it. Even today, Hannah tells me to lower my voice or regulate myself. I just not always realise the position I’m in. I struggle to read situations, to understand what people mean when they say one thing but imply another. Instead, I appear as rude or inappropriate. I hate that.
Friendships were affected too. I never understood why friendships drifted. When people did tell me, they said I was too intense or a burden. I shared so much that they did not know where to begin. It hurt. Imagine feeling like the people you care about are exhausted by your presence because you're having a bad day and communicated poorly. Dating was the same. People don’t want someone complicated or overwhelming. I am lucky I have Hannah, although this side of me made things harder when she lived in Cornwall and I lived in Kent.
The reverse is just as frustrating. When I try to be concise, I get responses like “I’m not sure what you mean,” “Let me check I’ve got this right,” or “I think you’re saying...” despite my text being direct. I never imply. Yet, their responses signal confusion, or push the responsibility back onto me. In my head it makes perfect sense. This happened recently with the bishop. It took three attempts before she understood I was talking about disability degeneration, not seeking immediate ordination. She perceived me as impatient and pushy. By the time she understood, she was frustrated, short, and snappy. I was upset and frustrated, questioning myself.
Communication is difficult. I either say too much or miscommunicate.
I'm hoping my ASD assessment helps. My communication style has always been framed as anxiety, dependency, overthinking, or emotional intensity. It has never been viewed as a lifelong pattern of neurodivergent processing and communication.
I am tired of feeling like I am too much and of apologising for the way my brain works. This post is my way of saying it out loud. This is how I communicate and process information. It is not perfect or convenient. It is simply me, wanting to be understood.
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