Things I'm learning in a neurodivergent relationship

If my partner hadn’t put the words ‘AuDHD’ on his Bumble profile, I would have probably found him to be a really painful person to be around. The endless info dumps I would call ‘mansplaining’, the jiggly knees I’d find arrogant and his occasional silence I’d read as standoffish. But I’m glad he included those five letters there. They are making me kinder to myself and to others. From loving and living with someone who’s understood their neurodivergence since way back, here are some things I’m learning. 

Lesson 1: There’s no right way to be neurodivergent

Neurodivergence used to be a word I associated with people who would spend hours at board game cafes playing D&D, have brightly coloured hair and speak with an accent. It’s not that these are bad things, but they are stereotypes, and ones that I did not see myself prescribing to. Of course, my partner diagnosed me with ADHD pretty quickly, and in retrospect there are a lot of neurodivergent traits I’ve suppressed through excelling in schooling and being an Asian daughter. 

The ongoing work of migrant parents is to observe cultural queues and reproduce them, and the less that you look like you’re ‘from here’, the harder you have to work. And as a result they’ve taught me all the things they deem as socially agreeable and took them up the rungs of the social ladder. Smile more. Don’t challenge other opinions. Don’t air your dirty laundry. Put your head down and do the work. 

Now as a free-range adult and no longer tied to that expectation of perfection and excellence, I have space to embrace my terrible time blindness and task paralysis. They’re both things that I have always had trouble with but previously refused to accept as my nature. Though I’m not looking for a clinical diagnosis, I welcome the tools that would help a neurodivergent person. I’m feeling more reassured about seeing the world with open possibilities and problem-solving outside of the social rulebook that is designed for one way of being.

Lesson 2: Unmasking

As a result of being raised to assimilate, to camouflage, and ultimately, to please for social ascension, I’d grown to be resentful of people who seemed able to move through the world freely, not worrying about how others perceived them.

So when my partner told me about masking (a method of appearing neurotypical for one’s own safety), I started to think about what purpose my mask served. Yes, it keeps me safe in certain spaces, but a lot of the time, I probably don’t need it; I am fortunate to be surrounded by people that I can bring my full self to.

I’m focusing my personality less on me as a physical being. Instead of spending money on adornment and clothes, I now spend it on books and wānanga. I’ve stopped caring how I look in photos, and more on how I and the people around me felt at the time that photo was taken. My body is not a vessel that will be moulded by another’s gaze but by what makes me feel strong and healthy. 

Lesson 3: Knowing your own limitations

When my partner first moved in, hīka, there was always just so much… stuff: SD cards, tools, loose change, blister packs constantly littered throughout the house. So we have our fuck-it buckets. To have designated drawers, tubs or baskets for items that are constantly moving around the house is to know yourself. Our favourite is the ADHD drawer: a large drawer at the bottom of our wardrobe to hold clothes that aren’t fresh but also aren’t ready to be washed. At the end of each week, these are either washed or folded back up. 

The fuck-it bucket only works if you regularly sort its contents. I thought about what figurative fuck-it buckets I have in my life, for example, long-term to-do lists. I’m great at dumping ideas across my Notes app, email drafts and Google Keep, but not so good at regularly organising and revisiting these. The digital age does make these things out of sight even more out of mind. Could this apply to emotional baggage too? I think so. 

Lesson 4: Fostering special interests (theirs and my own)

Perhaps one of the things that is easily given up on in any relationship is individual identity and growth in individual interests. Who are you when you’re not ___’s partner? And how much are you feeding that version of yourself? 

Neurodivergence can be bountiful and creative if nurtured with space. When work can often be bureaucratic and systemised, home is where the heart pumps fresh blood and new cells regenerate. I’m learning to feed the fire of what makes me and others unique in the spaces that I can control. 

I’ve been guilty of having a ‘fixer’ mindset in past relationships, which has only led to the erasure of both of our individual colours and passions. In trusting the potential of the unmasked person, we could all live richer and more authentic lives.

I’m learning to choose carefully what action or inaction embodies the intention of my love, both for others and for myself. There’s no doubt that we have more than five love languages. It’s like the word ‘koha’, often misinterpreted as a gold coin, but is actually whatever is valuable to the receiver and is representative of the giver’s gesture. Love is noticing first before I koha.

If it weren’t for my partner’s diagnoses and his self awareness, perhaps I’d have less self compassion than I do now. I’d be exhausting my energy on showing face rather than sharing meaningful interactions. I’d keep trying to do things ‘the right way’. A few letters on a Bumble profile have gone a long way to free something within me. 

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