I consistently sensed my uniqueness. Belonging never seemed possible. Raised in a strict African American family from the South, I was taught principles and standards that guide me even now.
I grew up with proper etiquette, respecting seniors, and appreciating what I possess. From youth through maturity, I understood that my parents were never meant to be seen merely as friends; they would forever view me as a child. One saying I frequently encountered from them was, “Your time on this planet isn’t greater than mine.” As such, when interacting with my parents now that I am grown-up, I make sure to remain considerate. If necessary, they won’t hold back from correcting me should I overstep bounds.
My fixation throughout middle school, high school, and college revolved around gaining acceptance. Two significant instances of this involved befriending the popular girls and sporting designer labels. To connect with these girls, I made sure to spend time with them at school and showed enthusiasm for discussing topics like fashion, hairstyles, and relationships.
It was challenging to follow this method of concealment called "masking" since such matters were unimportant to me. I yearned for any opportunity to display my youthful traits. Even wearing designer clothing didn’t prevent the harassment from ceasing. My fellow students could easily see that I was making significant efforts to blend in with them.
Being an un-diagnosed Black girl with Autism and ADHD was terrifying. I faced threats from girls who wanted to throw me into trash cans, endured pinecones being hurled at me, and witnessed rumors spreading throughout the school.
In middle school, some of my peers had already become sexually active, whereas I hadn’t. My interest in boys began during seventh grade. One time, a girl who aimed for popularity spread a false story about a boy I liked being involved in sexual activities; this left me feeling incredibly humiliated. These experiences contributed to multiple suicide attempts when I turned 13, along with bouts of depression and very poor self-worth. Writing poetry became an escape from these challenging times. Through writing, I found myself understood and acknowledged.
My professional journey was both challenging and freeing. Over a span of 15 years, I held down 20 different positions. Each role lasted no longer than two years because of my emotional breakdowns. During these episodes, I either vented aggressively towards colleagues or bosses when finding the right words eluded me, or I shed many tears to avoid losing control completely. Despite this, I found joy in education and thrived in the environment of public schools.
In October 2023, when I turned 34 years old, I received an official diagnosis for both Autism and ADHD. This pivotal moment came after discussing something with my mom; I can’t recall the topic, but she brought up the possibility that I might be autistic.
The findings provided me with the bravery to share my journey as a neurodivergent African American woman in the U.S. There’s significant prejudice associated with my condition.
Looking back now, I recognize that I managed to conceal my characteristics for 34 years because of how my parents raised me. They invested their time into readying me for life’s challenges. It turns out I’m grateful that my father remained employed as a high school teacher at the very institution where he educated both myself and later generations. Through his guidance, he instilled in me values such as reliability, strong work ethics, and enthusiasm. Both my father has an enduring affection for teaching, and similarly, I have always been drawn to poetry.
Over the years, I dedicated considerable time to activities with my father. From visiting the library during summers for elementary school assignments to enjoying father-daughter outings, he remained patient with all my idiosyncrasies.
I felt comfortable being my true self with him, however, once I was away from him, I had to resume wearing my facade of intellect.
My mother imparted valuable lessons on proper behavior in social settings based on her different work experiences. If I ever stepped out of line or acted improperly, she didn’t hesitate to correct me. It was due to her vigilance that neither educators nor physicians recognized my ADHD. Even today, she maintains this same approach. As an adult, I have come to value her guidance even more as I've learned to handle difficult situations better.
I recall questioning my mother about why she appeared so tough on me. Her response was, “The world won’t handle you as gently as an eggshell; why should I?” While this might come across as severe to others, I believe my mother recognized qualities within me that were invisible to my own eyes. She spotted the possibility of achieving remarkable feats. Both of my parents significantly molded my identity.
Nowadays, it’s incredible to realize that for years I was oblivious to my Autism and ADHD. Looking back, I see the reason behind everything. When I started writing poetry at 13, it quickly turned into my obsession. Given my relatively mild autism, it enhances the depth and significance of my poems. However, I am unable to compose them alone; they come to me as divine inspiration from God.
Certainly, composing written content poses significant challenges for me. I often struggle with spelling words accurately and find it hard to remember definitions unless I review them multiple times. Expressing divine poetry feels akin to having a conversation over the phone.
Even though I tried to conceal my ADHD and Autism to blend in, it didn’t work out at all. Letting go of this pretense has allowed me to genuinely thrive. We often fall short when we attempt to assume identities that aren’t ours.
I firmly believe in maintaining civilized behavior in public, yet concealing my identity felt overwhelmingly suffocating. It’s time for me to be myself. I won’t conceal my autism and ADHD; they aren’t illnesses to me.
Traci Neal is a neurodivergent poet residing in Columbia, SC. Her work has been highlighted in The New York Times, Mahogany (a Hallmark writing community), and NPR’s Poetry Moment.
The opinions stated are solely those of the author.
As relayed to Carine Harb.
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