Representing neurodivergent, queer Indian women in science

I liken my brain to a bookcase. Sometimes, it’s a beautiful array of colour coded and alphabetised set of books. All brand new, legible and descriptive. Other times it’s like the books have been thrown on the shelves at random. Some of the books don’t have titles, others have pages missing or are even back to front. How am I supposed to find the book I need?

I’ve rummaged through my brain and salvaged a few volumes I’d like to share. If you find the illogical order of these volumes frustrating, it’s a tiny snippet of what it’s like in my brain.

Volume 6: Seeking help

I sat in my local medical practice, aged 17. My doctor explained that while employers aren’t meant to discriminate against those of us who struggle with our mental health, they do anyway. This was the reason he didn’t want to put me on medication.

He thought I had generalised anxiety. While I knew that didn’t fully encapsulate my struggles, I couldn’t find the words to describe the problem at hand. As the years progressed my brain’s shelves filled with advice from other people, including ‘everyone finds university hard,’ and ‘everyone struggles with focus and procrastination’. So why did I feel as if I was drowning while everybody else was staying afloat – and having fun while they did it?