Leaning Into the Weird (and Finding Magic There)

One of the unexpected gifts of finally being diagnosed as neurodivergent is that I’m starting to accept some long-held truths about myself—especially around how I create. 

Two of the biggest revelations? 

💡I often see and think about things very differently than others. 

💡I’ve spent most of my life not trusting that difference—because it doesn’t look or feel like how other people do it. 

That second one has been the hardest to shake. For years, I let my fear of being “too weird” or “too off-base” keep me from leaning into my instincts. I’d tone things down, second-guess myself, or play it safe because I assumed I was just getting it wrong. 

But the truth is, every time I’ve fought through that rejection sensitivity and ignored the voice telling me, “No one will get this,” I’ve found surprising moments of connection, success, and even joy. 

Some big examples: 

💙 I played Mayor Shinn in a way I’d never seen before. It was quirky, stylized, and a little risky—but it felt true to the character and to my strengths. The response? Warm praise from directors, castmates, and audience members. 

💙 I’ve invented strange little games—spontaneous and a bit absurd—from the wild recesses of my brain. And yet, years later, campers and kids still talk about them with joy. 

💙 A story I was certain would flop ended up going viral—and brought future freelance opportunities along with it. 

💙 I played Mr. Beaver comically and broadly, even though I didn’t fully believe I could be funny. But the kids adored it. Some even wanted to “take me home.” The applause at curtain call genuinely moved me to tears. 

💙 I pushed back (gently!) on a client to try something different than what they’d asked for. They trusted me, and it ended up getting the biggest engagement in their company’s history. 

💙 And again and again, the personal, quirky, vulnerable pieces I almost don’t post—the ones I assume no one will care about—end up being the ones that resonate most. 

These aren’t just isolated wins. They’re part of a larger pattern I’m only now starting to recognize: there is real value in how I think. My different approach isn’t something to hide. It’s something to use. 

Yes, being neurodivergent means I don’t always fit neatly into systems or social expectations. I can get overwhelmed by tasks others find easy. I often overthink, freeze, or spiral. But it also means there’s a different kind of magic at play—one that I’m learning to stop apologizing for and start embracing. 

So, if you’ve ever felt like you don’t quite fit… If you’ve feared your weird ideas were too much… If you’ve questioned the value of your perspective because it didn’t match the crowd… 

I want to say this: 

There’s room for your magic, too. 

Your wonder. Your weirdness. 

Your way of seeing the world. 

It might not look like anyone else’s—but that’s exactly what makes it powerful. Let’s keep leaning in.