On the Outside Looking In – On Trauma, Diversity, Neurodivergence and Belonging

Some of the hardest moments in life aren’t about what’s happening around us, but what’s happening inside of us when we believe we don’t belong. Exclusion—whether explicit or subtle, social or internalized—can leave deep marks on mental health and relationships.

To explore this, let’s look at three people who might never meet, but who each know what it feels like to be on the outside looking in.

Three Experiences of Difference

A Bisexual Mom at the Playground

She pushes her child on the swing, watching the small clusters of other moms chatting easily. She thinks about walking over, but her ADHD brain spins: What if I talk too fast? What if I overshare? They seem way too normal and together for me to connect with.

Her lived reality is layered: navigating parenthood, managing ADHD, and carrying the weight of a complex trauma history. She wants connection, but every potential opening is crowded by doubt. Instead of approaching, she lingers at the edge of the mulch, telling herself that other parents wouldn’t “get” her anyway.

A Black Atheist in Healthcare Leadership

At work, she’s respected—a professional who has worked hard to climb into leadership. In Black community spaces, religion is woven into every gathering, every family milestone. She doesn’t talk about having left religion, or that her family's assumptions don't actually reflect who she is, because silence feels safer than being misunderstood or rejected.

When she attends humanist or nonreligious meetups, she looks around and sees mostly white faces. Even with other healthcare professionals, there's often a gap in cultural understanding. She leaves wondering: Where do I fit? and craving connections that feel true and easy.

A Trans Autistic Engineer Who Loves Trains

She has known she was Autistic since childhood, when “social skills training” taught her to mask her love of trains. She found her way into software engineering, where detail-oriented thinking is an asset.

Now, she scrolls social media and sees #actuallyautistic posts critiquing the stereotype of “little boys with train obsessions.” She agrees with the critique—and yet, trains still bring her joy. Does that make me a stereotype? Or just me? The question leaves her both connected to and distanced from the community she wants to embrace.

The Hidden Weight of Being “Unrelatable”

Each of these stories points to a quiet kind of loneliness. Not because these individuals lack skills, relationships, or communities, but because parts of their identity feel unrelatable or unwanted.

Research on belonging shows that social connection is a key predictor of mental health and resilience. When people feel excluded or misrepresented, they are at higher risk for depression, anxiety, substance use, and even physical health conditions linked to chronic stress. For neurodivergent and marginalized people, the risks are compounded by systemic barriers and stigma.

The internal story of “I don’t belong” can also shape relationships. It might look like:

Withdrawing before others can reject us.
Overexplaining ourselves, hoping to pre-empt misunderstanding.
Avoiding vulnerability, even in close relationships.
Suppressing joy in things we love, because they’ve been mocked or stereotyped.

Over time, these adaptations can erode intimacy and reinforce shame. The harder we try to protect ourselves from being “too much” or “not enough,” the more disconnected we feel.

Trauma and the Narrative of Exclusion

Trauma adds another layer to these experiences. For those with complex trauma histories, the nervous system is often primed to expect rejection. A sideways glance at the playground can trigger a flood of old memories: being dismissed, laughed at, or told to tone it down.

Trauma survivors often carry stories about themselves that were written in environments where safety was absent: “I’m unlovable.” “If people know the real me, they’ll leave.” These narratives don’t just live in the mind—they shape how the body responds. Elevated heart rate, muscle tension, and racing thoughts can accompany even simple social risks.

For neurodivergent people, exclusion often begins in childhood classrooms, therapy offices, or playgrounds. Being told to stop stimming, to “use your words,” to look people in the eye—messages that who you are is not okay. These early wounds create what some scholars call “minority stress,” the chronic strain of being in a stigmatized identity group.

Curiosity as an Antidote to Internalized Stories

One of the most powerful tools in recovery and growth is curiosity. Instead of asking, “How do I make myself fit?” we can begin to ask:

What stories am I telling myself about belonging?
Where did I learn those stories?
Who benefits from me believing them?
How do I respond differently when I treat these stories as just stories—not truths?

This doesn’t mean minimizing real discrimination. The bisexual mom may very well encounter biphobia. The Black atheist may face exclusion in both religious and nonreligious communities. The Autistic engineer may still hear mocking comments about trains. But curiosity allows us to pause before assuming that every potential connection will collapse. It helps us notice when we’re rehearsing old scripts instead of writing new ones.

Diversity Includes Everyone

Often, conversations about diversity get siloed into categories: race, gender, sexuality, neurodivergence. But these aren’t checkboxes—they’re lived intersections. The bisexual mom is navigating both sexuality and disability. The atheist healthcare executive straddles cultural identity and belief. The trans Autistic engineer embodies both gender diversity and neurodivergence.

Belonging is not about erasing differences, but about widening the circle. Diversity is not something “other people” bring—it includes everyone. Each person carries unique experiences of exclusion and resilience. When we honor that, we shift from “you don’t belong here” to “your story enriches this community.”

Practical Strategies for Building Connection

If you’ve ever felt like you’re on the outside looking in, you’re not alone. And while the longing for belonging can’t be solved overnight, there are concrete steps that can help.

1. Seek Out Affinity Spaces

Sometimes we need spaces where identity is shared and shorthand is understood. LGBTQ+ groups, neurodivergent-affirming spaces, and interfaith or humanist communities can offer validation that the wider world withholds.

2. Practice Gentle Exposure

Connection requires risk. Try small steps: saying hello at the playground, disclosing one piece of your identity to a trusted friend, joining an online group. Exposure doesn’t erase fear, but it helps you collect new data that contradicts old stories.

3. Reclaim Joy

If stereotypes have stolen joy from you, consider reclaiming it. The Autistic engineer doesn’t need to give up trains to avoid cliché. Joy is not a stereotype—it’s a lifeline.

4. Use Values as a Compass

Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT) emphasizes values as guides for action. Instead of asking, “What will others think?” ask, “What kind of person do I want to be in this moment?” Acting from values shifts the focus from approval to authenticity.

5. Attend to the Nervous System

Exclusion isn’t just cognitive—it’s physiological. Practices like grounding exercises, sensory self-care, and body movement can regulate the nervous system, making it easier to risk connection.

A Note on Relationships and Repair

Feeling unrelatable can also create ruptures in close relationships. Partners or friends may interpret withdrawal as disinterest. Families may mistake silence for rejection. When possible, name the story: “Sometimes I don’t reach out because I’m afraid I won’t fit in.” Vulnerability opens the door for others to respond with compassion.

It’s also okay to set boundaries with people or groups that consistently invalidate your identity. Belonging should never require erasure. Sometimes the healthiest choice is to invest energy where curiosity, affirmation, and respect are reciprocated.

The Bigger Picture

Exclusion doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s shaped by systems—racism, sexism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, religious supremacy—that send powerful messages about who “belongs.” Challenging internal stories is only part of the work; changing external structures matters too.

That’s why advocacy and community-building go hand in hand with personal healing. Whether through grassroots organizing, professional networks, or simply showing up for one another, building more inclusive spaces benefits not just individuals, but society as a whole.

From Exclusion to Belonging

The bisexual mom, the Black atheist professional, and the trans Autistic engineer may never meet. But their stories intersect in the shared experience of being told—directly or indirectly—that they don’t belong.

Belonging doesn’t mean every space will understand every part of us. It means finding, creating, and protecting spaces where authenticity is possible. It means approaching our own internalized doubts with curiosity, and extending that same curiosity to others.

No one should have to erase themselves to belong. True community isn’t built by sanding down our edges—it’s built by honoring them.

So if you’ve ever felt like you’re on the outside looking in, remember this: your story matters, your presence matters, and connection is possible—not despite your difference, but because of it.

Helen Dempsey-Henofer LCSW ADHD-CCSP

Founder & Clinical Supervisor - Divergent Path Wellness