Dear fellow neurodivergent woman,

In my 47th year, my f*ck it mentality, which often involves stepping outside societal norms, is stronger than ever now I’m more aware of my diverse needs and sensitivities.

This includes wearing my peachy soft midnight blue trackie bottoms, to formal dinners if that's what I feel like, wearing sunglasses in the Coop or on the train, leaving parties earlier than etiquette might dictate, saying no to things others naively expect me to agree to, persistently asking for clarification until I properly understand (even if it takes ages), and choosing not to comment when speaking is anticipated. (No, I won't break this excruciating silence with words that don't resonate with me, just to avoid you thinking I'm weird.)

All of this, and more, has certainly led to a more harmonious and authentic life. There's no burnout, minimal overwhelm, and an enduring sense that my life is good and that I'm safe.

As a bit of a hermit, there's likely an assumption that I don't enjoy engaging with the world. But that's far from true. While I do love my own space, I crave experiencing the world just as much as anyone else. 

However, the neurotypical world is challenging and I’m always considering how to make it easier.

Last weekend, I embarked on my first-ever First Class train journey to Glasgow to visit my daughter. Until now, the thought of travelling First Class hadn't ever crossed my mind.

Of course, during moments of peak overstimulation and exhaustion on a long-haul flight, when overwhelmed by other people's energy and perfume, and my nervous system is holding on for dear life, I've daydreamed about the luxury of First Class travel. Yet, even if I had the means, I doubt I'd choose to spend the money that way. I'd prefer to invest the £7k+ in something more meaningful, like donating to a charity focused on combating male violence.

However, as I was booking the train tickets, I noticed the First Class ticket price was surprisingly reasonable. The allure of a quiet compartment where I could sit alone reading coupled with complimentary drinks and snacks made me get my wallet out.

As expected, the journey was fabulous (I can’t stop using the word ‘fabulous’ since devouring Alma’s Not Normal). What happened? Nothing, absolutely nothing. I just sat there, staring out the window at beautiful Scottish forests and moorland listening to the rumble of the engine while a waiter checked in with me semi-regularly to see if I needed another Earl Grey. It was glorious.

First Class travel certainly eases overstimulation. Although, I'm fully aware this is a privileged option that many couldn’t consider, especially amidst a cost of living crisis. When I told my friend I’d booked it to avoid the overwhelm of such a long and complicated journey (4 trains in total) she told me about an app called Seat Frog where it’s possible to upgrade to First Class by bidding on unsold seats— sometimes for as little a tenner. 

Anyway… I got thinking about other things which make my life easier.

Spending time with my 25-year-old daughter is easy and effortless and I do this as much as I can. Having lived together for 19 years, she understands my quirks. I don't need to explain why I can’t visit certain cafes, bars, or tube stations, or why I prefer to go to bed early. We spend most of our time together laughing, or discussing our favourite obscure topics from dystopian futures to skincare.

It's fascinating to reflect on this. When you have a baby, your primary concern is doing a good job as a mother and keeping them safe (though you may not always succeed at either). What you rarely consider—at least I never did—is what happens once they've grown. The possibility that this relationship could become your easiest, most rewarding, and most precious one was unimagined.

Spending time with my close friends and family is also easy. I'm fortunate to be surrounded by people who love and deeply respect me. Even when they don't completely understand my actions, they accept and support me regardless.

Nowadays, my friendships are made up of people who accept me for who I am and even celebrate my eccentricities. I've learned the importance of letting go of friendships that no longer align with my values or quieter lifestyle. While it's almost always upsetting when relationships end, especially with long-standing connections, the rewards are substantial. Freeing myself from the expectations of those who want me to be someone I'm no longer willing to be is liberating and brings so much peace.

Contrary to what some might think when I express my distaste for busy social situations or awkward small talk, I actually love meeting new people—under the right circumstances. Since openly embracing my neurodivergence, I've made new friends who reached out because they’re also neurodiverse. These friendships feel just as natural and effortless as those I've had for decades.

Besides having great people, walking in nature brings the most ease to my life. 

As soon as I returned from Glasgow, I put on my hiking gear and set off straight to the woods. It was one of those stunning November days with a carpet of fire-coloured beech leaves crunching underfoot as watery sunlight flooded through the pines. I caught sight of two young deer, their eyes staring at me from afar, a moment of intense connection as my face lit up and I smiled and waved as they bounced off into the distance.

A few weeks ago, after a citybreak in Dublin to visit my oldest childhood friend, I returned from Manchester airport and made my way down to the river to walk its banks. It was misty, drizzling and ethereal. The river roared, creating a caramel-coloured foam as it clashed against the rocks. I spotted a small brown bird, its neck adorned with a striking blue band of feathers,and, as always, the heron stood patiently in the shallows, waiting for its next catch.  

These experiences soothe my being in a way nothing else can. Nature is always my first destination after engaging with the wider world.

I've never been able to fully explain to people why I walk. Fifteen years ago, after an incredibly upsetting divorce and while trying to quit drinking, I began walking daily. All of my friends found it odd. They wondered (perhaps rather resentfully) where party-girl Hannah had gone or what happened to fashion-obsessed Hannah.

Growing up, I spent every weekend walking in the Yorkshire hills with my dad and siblings. It was usually rainy and freezing, and I despised it. I have numerous memories of trying to eat cheese and cucumber sandwiches as the wind and rain battered our faces. 

I longed to be indoors in the warmth, watching black-and-white Hollywood movies—the only programs where I was certain to see an actual woman on TV. But I wasn't allowed, none of us were. Our parents were committed to us having a childhood outdoors - such a shame we didn’t live in the Mediterranean. 

Despite my distaste for those outings, something must have resonated with me during those long walks along rivers, up hills, or deep into old woods because it was the only thing I knew to turn to when trying to save myself and my life.

And it worked. I stopped drinking, I engaged in therapy and started looking after my mind and body, I got over my heartbreak, and I changed careers, enrolling in a Masters program at a nearby university. 

That’s another thing I’ve found walking in nature can do—with all that time spent alone, the external world stripped away, and the chance for thoughts to roam freely—show you the truth of who you are— safely, gently, lovingly.

I wasn't walking to save my life anymore, I was walking because—for the first time—I loved my life. But at the time, I couldn't explain why walking was an intrinsic part of that or felt like I needed to understand it.

In the years that followed, I began to understand more. Besides keeping me reasonably fit, connecting with the powerful non-human world allowed me to tap into my essence—that pure part of oneself that emerges when everything else falls away. You're no longer a mother, daughter, sister, friend, writer or coach; you're just you. What a relief this is from the human condition and what nourishment it brings. I suppose this is what most would call finding your spirit.

And recently, I’ve come to understand that I get so much value from walking also because of my neurodivergence.

Rhythm. I love how it flows through my body during a walk. As I put one boot in front of the other, with no real destination in mind, it gathers up all the chaos from my nervous system, smooths it out, and releases it into the air, setting me free.

And yes the smell of the forest is healing, and yes the sound of the river is soothing, and I always walk in nature when I can. But I’ve found great benefits walking anywhere, even within a busy city if that’s all you have.

There's a moment, sometime after setting off when you feel your body fall into sync. Your shoulders drop, the tightness eases, and you realise that everything is okay after all.

First Class travel is great, but it's these other simple elements—walking amidst nature or an urban landscape, and the companionship of those who accept and support me—that really make my life so much easier.

Some other posts you'll like:

1. I Wouldn't Be Successful Without Help From Others
2. Why Proactive Rest is a Great Strategy for Neurodiverse Women
3. The Two Women Inside Me: Navigating Life with AuDHD (Autism & ADHD)
4. Why We Need To Overcome Shiny Object Syndrome