⚠️This essay contains discussions of self-hatred, emotional distress, and physical illness.
Two days after organizing a Neurodiversity Pride event, I found myself crying in a psychiatrist’s office.
“Everyone would be better off if I had never been born.”
That was what I was saying through tears.
I suddenly became sick and started vomiting. I had to leave work early.
And this morning, I went to see a doctor. After X-rays and blood tests, I was told that my stomach and intestines were inflamed. It wasn’t an infection. Nobody knows for certain what caused it, but stress seems the most likely explanation.
Whenever I fall into self-hatred, or whenever things go wrong between me and other people, my body gets sick.
I become nauseous. I lose my appetite. Breathing becomes difficult. Sometimes I develop a high fever.
The words I use against myself do not stay in my head.
My body believes them.
Even now, I am curled up in bed with a stomachache.
And then I blame myself for that, too.
This, too, is what a Neurodiversity Pride organizer looks like.
I cannot offer a neat success story as a neurodivergent person.
I cannot stand beneath the infinity symbol as someone who has conquered shame, oppression, and self-doubt.
I still hurt myself.
I still turn toward myself the blade I never want to point at anyone else.
Some people might see a contradiction in that.
They might wonder how someone who talks about pride can also speak about self-hatred.
But to me, that is exactly why Pride exists.
People who have no trouble being proud of themselves do not need Pride.
People who can move through the world without questioning their worth do not need Pride.
Pride exists because many of us cannot.
Pride exists because many of us struggle.
Some of us have learned to direct toward ourselves the same cruelty we would never inflict on another person.
So where did that cruelty come from?
Why did we learn these words that hurt us?
Why do they feel so familiar?
Pride exists so that we do not stop asking those questions.
I could never carry Neurodiversity Pride on my own.
That is why I invited others to help create a public booklet about neurodiversity（ https://nurodiversitypride.wpcomstaging.com/）
The word “I” barely appears in it.
Instead, it contains the history of a movement, the words of those who came before us, and the knowledge that neurodivergent people around the world have built together.
I did not create it because I am proud of myself.
I am not especially strong.
I cannot hold up the infinity symbol by myself.
And I do not want Pride to become a test of individual strength.
I do not want it to become another demand placed on people who are already struggling.
“Just be more confident.”
“Just love yourself.”
That is not the conversation I want to have.
Pride means asking where the wound came from before blaming yourself for having it.
Pride means refusing to treat self-worth as an individual responsibility.
Pride is a word that refuses to abandon those who cannot feel proud.
Even now, I am lying in bed with a stomachache.
I am writing these words while doubting them.
I am writing them while doubting myself.
And yet I do not want to let go of the word Pride.
Not because I have learned how to be proud.
Not because I have overcome self-hatred.
But because I believe Pride exists precisely for people like me.
People who are still struggling.
People who are still hurting.
People who are still trying to understand where the blade came from.
Pride is not a reward for having already found self-acceptance.
It is a refusal to leave behind those who have not.