Lost in Translation: A Neurodivergent Journey Through Life

I was ready. Probably more ready than I have ever been before taking a final examination at the end of a semester. Taking exams, any exam, tend to be an anxiety-invoking trigger for me. Even when I feel competent in my understanding, there’s always some small, lingering doubts that finds a way in. I am grateful that my professor had granted me the extension. It felt like a gift—one that allowed me a little more time to prepare and catch my breath.

As the clock ticked away, I again began feeling both anxious and ready, so I decided to sign in early, at 11:45 PM. To my relief, the exam was open. I began, slowly finding my rhythm. I answered the first 12 questions, gaining momentum—until suddenly, the screen went blank.

Just like that, I was logged out. I tried to re-enter, but the page returned an error message: “Page is unavailable.” I refreshed. I retried but nothing changed. A part of me started to panic, but another part knew—at this hour, there wasn’t much more I could do. I shut down my computer and went to bed with thoughts still spinning.

This scenario may seem rare and isolated, but it is actually more common than most are aware. My own neurodivergent mind began to reflect on how this situation might reveal something deeper, something overlooked in both in myself and in academic environments. The deeper question that arose was how neurodivergence affects perception, timing, and comprehension.

For someone with a neurodivergent mind, it can feel like everyone is reading from the same instruction manual but you are holding with a different edition—or no book at all. Neurodivergence is not only a different way of thinking, it also perceives, feels, and responds to the world through an entirely different filter but still expected to function in a system built on neurotypical norms. This difference quietly shapes every misunderstanding, every missed cue, and every lingering self-limiting thought.

Perception: A Mind Wired for Detail, Sensitivity, or Literalness

“You have until midnight to take the exam.” One might infer that as long I could start prior to midnight, it’s all good. It may sound illogical to many, but to the neurodivergent brain—especially one that processes language literally or linearly—it makes sense. There’s no hidden meaning or implied context. The words mean what they say.

Over the years, I’ve noticed a pattern among neurodivergent individuals who often turn in very short and often incomplete answers and assignments. For examples, a teacher may instruct the students to write about everything they know about plants. Neurodivergent student writes: “They grow.” Obviously, the student knows there is more details, but they didn’t fully understand the expectation behind the instruction. The instructions didn’t say to write an essay about plants (which was what was expected), it said to write what you know, or recall in that moment. This disconnect between the instruction and the expectation may perceive the student as defiant, lazy or even unintelligent, but in reality, the student was not able to infer the unspoken layered instructions.

Timing: When the Clock Doesn't Cooperate

For many neurodivergent, time is not a constant companion—it’s a fog. We may see the clock, but time feels still. Or it can be felt too much. Racing to beat it, but never ever catching up. Executive dysfunction is often at play here. It affects planning, starting, transitioning, and completing tasks. It’s located in the brain’s frontal lobe and tells us when and how to act.In neurodivergent individuals, that signal may be weak, delayed, or overwhelmed by other stimuli.

Neurodivergent individuals often process things more slowly and deeply than the neurotypical counterparts, thus needing more time to respond thoughtfully. Or they may process in rapid and almost impulsive bursts and may need to act immediately before the thought slips away. In a world that is driven by bells, time cards, and timers, this mismatch can feel like a self-limiting failure.

Comprehension: When the Brain Needs More Context or Time

Comprehension is not instant for the neurodivergent brain because we often need to see the pattern, hear the information in multiple formats, and even revisit and rehearse the material in quiet solitude (or in our own heads) before it makes full sense. This delay in understanding can be mistaken for inattentiveness or confusion, but in reality, it’s actually just a deeper processing of information which can be emotionally draining and overwhelming.

There have been countless times when I was given a verbal instruction or listening to a social conversation, and would smile and nod in agreement—but retained nothing that was just spoken. My brain did not capture what was spoken in that moment. However, once the neurodiverse brain understands something, it will truly understand it. Our minds go deeper and often see connections that are overlooked by others. We invent new ways of thinking. We may not be the first to get it, but we will often get it better when allowed the time and space to process on our own terms.

Bridging the Gap

Neurodivergence isn’t always visible. It doesn’t always come with a note from Disability Services. It lives between the invisible gaps of perception, understanding, and processing. But it is there (often disguised in anxiety, guilt and self-blame)—and quietly navigating an educational system that assumes that a single mode of learning and comprehension is enough.

This story of the neurodivergent student struggling to complete the exam, resonated with me. It was like a mirror for me and so many others who silently struggle second-guessing their instincts, re-reading and overthinking instructions, and carrying anxiety over the possibility of “doing or thinking different”.

I began to see my own journey through a new lens. I had spent years navigating in spaces that weren’t always designed for the way my mind works. Sometimes I compensated, sometimes I masked, and sometimes I simply missed out.

And so, I made a decision to advocate—not just for myself but for anyone who thinks, learns, and experiences the world in a non-linear (non-traditional) way. I started small like gently pointing out when instructions could be clearer, offering insight to professors and employers about how neurodivergent individuals might interpret or see things differently, and also simply being unafraid to ask for clarification when something feels ambiguous or uncertain. What used to feel like resistance now feels like healing.

I felt a shift—from invisibility to visibility. From accommodation to inclusion. I realized that my willingness to speak up wasn’t just about getting myself through a challenge—it was about reshaping a system to better reflect the full spectrum of minds within it.

Perhaps that is my purpose here now—not only to learn and be seen myself, but to open up the eyes and help others see as well. To show that neurodivergence isn’t a deficit; it is a different kind of brilliance. One that, when supported, can thrive.

I no longer hide how I process the world. I am now a catalyst; a voice for clarity, compassion, and change. That experience wasn’t just a glitch. It was a moment that illuminated how easily someone can get lost in translation—not out of carelessness, but because their brain simply hears, sees and understands the world differently.

Neurodivergent individuals often live years, even decades, internalizing the belief that the problem is them. But in truth: neurodivergence is not even a problem at all. The problem is living in a world that assumes there is only one way to understand, one way to communicate, and one way that translates success.