A Black Girl Wrote This

A Love Letter to my NeuroDivergent Adults Who Are Just Now Getting to Be Themselves

I’m a neurodivergent adult. And I’m finally learning that the things I love don’t have to make sense to anyone but me.

So this? This is for us.

The ones who are just now letting themselves breathe.
The ones who spent too many years being palatable.
The ones who didn’t realize they were masking until they burned all the way out.
The ones who always knew they were “different,” but had to become adults before anyone ever said it out loud.

You were never too loud.
You were never too weird.
You were never too sensitive, too nerdy, too animated, too obsessed.
You were just bright in a world that couldn’t handle the light.

You loved big. Felt big. Focused hard.
You saw magic in things other people dismissed.
You found comfort in patterns, joy in repetition, peace in daydreams.

But they told you to “grow up.”
So you tucked your joy away and replaced it with performance.
You masked. You mimicked. You blended in.

And now? Now you’re unlearning conformity so you can finally live.

No, You’re Not Too Old for That

Let me make this part clear:
✨ You’re not too old to rep your Hogwarts House. (Big Slythieeeee energy)
✨ You’re not too old to build LEGO sets. (take my monties)
✨ You’re not too old to decorate your space with things that make you smile.
✨ You’re not too old to love YA books, wear character shirts, or cry during your favorite anime rewatch.

You’re not too old to be you.

Tell me what nation from ATLA you belong to (I’m a Fire Nation girl, and I loveeee me some Azula & Zuko).
Tell me your favorite superhero (Marvel or DC—but if it’s DC, I am judging, respectfully).
Tell me what your Sims are doing. ESPECIALLY if you use mods.
Tell me what collectible you cried over when it finally arrived in the mail.

You get to have that.
You get to love what you love—loudly, boldly, with your whole chest.

And if you’re a parent? This part is for you.

The world told you that being a parent meant letting go of your inner child.
That once you had kids, your fun had to look a certain way.
That joy had to be scheduled, quiet, and age-appropriate.

That’s a lie.

Your joy matters.
Your joy is allowed.
You get to be a parent and still be the kid you never got to be.
You get to buy the plushie.
You get to wear the fandom tee.
You get to ride the rides—with or without your kids.
You get to have special things that are yours, that nobody touches unless you say so.

You are modeling freedom.
You are modeling play.
You are showing your kids that adulthood doesn’t have to mean burnout, shame, or silence.

You don’t have to disappear to be a good parent.
You don’t have to shrink to be respectable.
You don’t have to erase who you are to prove your maturity.

This Is What Healing Looks Like

Healing isn’t always quiet and still.
Sometimes healing looks like being a full-grown adult with a bookshelf full of fantasy, a car covered in decals, and a heart that finally feels soft again.

Sometimes healing looks like reclaiming your joy.
Your hyperfixations.
Your stimmy little rituals.
Your excitement that comes out too loud.
Your routines that bring calm in the chaos.

You’re not failing at adulthood.
You’re doing it your way—finally.

This is a Love Letter to You

To the ones who still wear fandom merch.
To the ones who bring fidget toys to meetings.
To the ones who stim with music, who collect Pokémon cards, who can name every episode of Steven Universe. (that’s my shiiitttttt)
To the ones who need structure, who find joy in the familiar, who are just now learning they’re allowed to take up space without apology—this is for you.

You are not broken.
You are not late.
You are not childish.

You are freeing yourself.

And I am so proud of you.

Tell me the thing you love with your whole heart now that you were once shamed for. Let’s celebrate it. Let’s call it beautiful. Let’s call it ours.

You don’t need to explain it.
You just get to love it.
Because that’s what healing gets to look like now.