As a counsellor, I often sit with clients who ask the quietly aching question: “Who am I, really?” For neurodivergent individuals—especially those who also face systemic marginalisation due to race, culture, gender, or sexuality—this question is far more than philosophical. It reflects years of being misunderstood, misjudged, and made to feel somehow wrong. The journey from loathing to loving oneself is rarely linear. It’s not about striving for perfection or fitting into a mould—it’s about learning to come home to yourself.
Many neurodivergent people have been given labels that do not reflect who they truly are: lazy, difficult, disorganised, weird, overreactive, unattractive. These judgments often begin in childhood, in school systems not designed to support neurodivergence, and they are reinforced through family dynamics, workplaces, and wider societal narratives. Over time, this repeated invalidation erodes our self-esteem. We begin to doubt our worth not because it’s absent, but because it’s been continually denied.
When we factor in race, culture, and other intersecting identities, the burden deepens. Many clients of colour speak of being held to impossible standards, constantly told—explicitly or implicitly—that they must work twice as hard just to be seen as “good enough”. This constant pressure leaves little room to honour difference, let alone to thrive within it.
So, how do we begin the work of reclaiming self-worth?
It often starts with care—true, intentional care for yourself. That may mean nourishing your body with foods that support your energy, sensory needs, and mental health. It might look like choosing clothes that make you feel safe and seen, rather than what you think you should wear. It could be as simple as getting your hair done, booking that long-postponed health appointment, or saying no to social events that drain you.
It’s also about surrounding yourself with people who celebrate difference, not merely tolerate it. Being in the presence of others who share or respect your neurodivergence and cultural identity can be deeply validating. You begin to see yourself reflected—not distorted.
Establishing and maintaining boundaries is an essential part of this work. Boundaries are not selfish; they are necessary acts of self-respect. Ask yourself: what behaviours am I willing to accept? What crosses a line for me? Write these down. Live by them. Each time you uphold a boundary, you reinforce your worth.
For many, there is a significant gap between intellectually knowing they are worthy and feeling it on an emotional or bodily level. This is often where deeper healing lies. I encourage clients to notice how their body responds when they say phrases like “I am enough” or “I am worthy.” Do they feel tension? Numbness? Resistance? These physical responses often belong to parts of us that are still carrying old wounds.
Rather than pushing those parts away, we can meet them with compassion. Imagine being the protective figure you once needed. Let those parts know they are safe now. Let them begin to trust in the love you’re learning to give yourself.
Self-worth is not about fixing what’s broken—it’s about recognising that you were never broken in the first place. You are not too much. You are not a burden. You are not behind. You are worthy. Exactly as you are. And your journey back to yourself is not just possible—it’s already underway.