A Sensory Intelligence

Most people still think of neurodivergence as a difference in behaviour — as if it’s simply a matter of being too loud, too quiet, too sensitive, too distracted, too intense, too something.

But what if it’s not a behavioural variation?

What if it’s a whole different frequency of communication?

Like a radio station that only some people know how to tune into.

For years, we’ve been trying to translate that frequency into neurotypical terms. Smoothing it out. Explaining it. Dumbing it down. Masking the most beautiful parts just to be understood in a world that doesn’t speak the language.

But in doing so, something gets lost.

Because neurodivergence isn’t a distortion. It’s not static. It’s not broken. It’s a signal — clear, intentional, and incredibly precise when met with presence.

If you’re not attuned to it, you’ll miss the whole broadcast.

But when you are...

You hear the richness. The poetry. The purity of an unfiltered nervous system interpreting the world in its own beautiful, untamed way.

It doesn’t need to be translated. It needs to be honoured.

Because underneath the behaviours we see —

the fidgeting, the withdrawal, the overwhelm, the hyperfocus —

There’s a language of light. A sensory intelligence.

A way of seeing and feeling and processing life that defies ordinary comprehension.

Like walking into a room and knowing exactly what happened before anyone speaks.

Like feeling the lingering static of an argument in the walls.

Like hearing someone’s tone shift and sensing the story behind it, even when the words say nothing.

Neurodiversity isn’t so foreign after all.

We’re already attuned — we just don’t know it.

We’ve been told those sensitivities are “too much.”

We’ve been labelled — anxious, autistic, ADHD, emotionally dysregulated — handed acronyms and profiles to help make sense of what we didn’t yet have language for.

But these systems, while sometimes helpful, were never built to honour what doesn’t fit neatly into categories.

They weren’t designed to fully understand those of us who feel everything before there’s language for it —

but that doesn’t mean they can’t evolve.

So if you love someone who’s neurodivergent —

don’t worry about fixing the signal.

You were never meant to rewrite their wiring.

You were meant to listen. To learn the rhythm.

To realise they’ve been speaking a beautiful language all along.

And when you do —

what once felt like noise might become the most honest music you’ve ever heard.