Grief

Grief is never simple. But for the neurodivergent mind, it can feel like a storm that lingers longer, cuts deeper, and spirals in ways others rarely see.

Many of us in the neurodivergent community identify as deep feelers. It’s not just poetic language - it’s our lived reality. Emotions don’t skim the surface; they crash into us like waves. In grief, this intensity can be overwhelming. A loss isn’t just sad - it can feel like the ground beneath us has collapsed.

Why grief can feel different for neurodivergent people

Emotional intensity: Our nervous systems often register emotions at full volume. While someone else might experience sadness as a quiet ache, we may feel it as an all-consuming flood.

Processing time: Grief is already nonlinear, but for us, it can be even slower. We may need more time to understand what’s happened, to “catch up” emotionally, or to even allow ourselves to feel it.

Anxiety and RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria): Loss can trigger fears of abandonment, self-blame, or panic about future losses. We might obsess over whether we “grieved the right way” or if others will judge us for how we express our pain.

Isolation: Grief can cut us off from others. But if we already struggle with social connection, grief can deepen that loneliness. Sometimes the words don’t come, or people can’t meet us in the depth we feel, and that gap grows wider.

The grief cycle - a blessing and a frustration

Knowing about denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance can help frame what we’re going through. Yet knowledge doesn’t mean relief. The outside world often expects us to move smoothly through stages, to “bounce back.” For neurodivergent people, it rarely looks like that. We may circle back again and again, reliving loss with each new sensory trigger, memory, or quiet moment.

Grief Beyond People and Pets

When most people hear the word grief, they immediately think of losing a loved one. And of course, that kind of grief is monumental. But for me - and I believe for many neurodivergent people - grief shows up in far more places.

It’s not just about death. It’s about loss. Loss of relationships. Loss of trust. Loss of routines. Loss of small comforts in the environment. Neurodivergent people often don’t like change - and that means we can end up grieving the changes that others might see as “minor.”

Take something as simple as a favourite jumper. Most people might shrug, toss it out when it’s worn thin, and move on. But for me, I prepare myself for the goodbye. When it finally leaves, I actually mourn it. Silly as that may sound to some, it’s real. That jumper carried safety, familiarity, maybe even memories - and letting it go feels like ripping away a piece of myself.

So imagine when grief comes in its “expected” form - the death of a person. It’s not just monumental, it’s devastating. My emotions don’t simply flow; they erupt.

The Delayed Earthquake

Another difference I’ve noticed is in the timing. People talk to you with sympathy right after a loss - when you yourself may not have even begun to process it. You’re in shock, still trying to understand what’s happened. Then, when the world has “moved on,” when everyone else seems to have packed grief away neatly, mine comes roaring back.

Sometimes years later, I’m hit with the force of it as if it just happened. My curious, detail-seeking mind finds connections everywhere - linking back the smallest things in my reality to the grief. And once it’s there, I can’t ignore it. It follows me like a shadow. You try everything to distract yourself, but it always finds its way back.

Everyone’s Experience is Unique

I know not every neurodivergent person will experience grief the way I do. Some may detach, some may focus on facts and logistics, some may even appear “fine” to the outside world. That’s the thing - grief looks different for everyone, neurodivergent or not. But I do believe there’s a common thread for many of us: change is harder, emotions hit deeper, and letting go isn’t something that happens quickly, or cleanly, or predictably.

Finding Our Way Through

There’s no neat ending to grief, and for neurodivergent people that’s especially true. It doesn’t follow rules, it doesn’t stick to timelines, and it rarely makes sense to those outside our heads. But that doesn’t mean we’re broken - it means we process differently.

What has helped me - and what might help others - is remembering a few things:

Grief is valid in all its forms. Whether it’s the death of a loved one, the loss of a friendship, or even the quiet goodbye to a favourite jumper, your feelings are real.

There’s no “right way.” If you feel it immediately, years later, or in waves that come and go - it’s still grief.

Distraction isn’t failure. Sometimes we need to step away, to breathe, to rest. Grief will wait, but so will healing.

Connection matters. Even if words fail, having safe people who accept your process without rushing it can lighten the load.

Self-compassion is key. You are not “too much.” You are not “overreacting.” You are simply feeling in the way your brain and body are wired to feel.

Grief may always be part of our story, but so is resilience. So is the ability to love deeply, to notice details, to hold on tightly to the things that matter. Those same traits that make grief so heavy also make us extraordinary at caring, at remembering, and at honouring the people and things we’ve lost.

And maybe that’s the quiet gift inside the storm - that our grief, as hard as it is, is a reflection of just how deeply we live and love.