Too Much and Just Enough: Queerness, Neurodivergence, and the Power of Naming Ourselves
- Megan McCoy, MEd
- Oct 11
- 5 min read
Neurodivergent parents and caregivers often find ourselves navigating a world that isn’t built for us, a world that encourages us implicitly or explicitly to mask, conform, and suppress the parts of ourselves that don't fit into narrow norms. And too often, this comes at the cost of our mental health and wellbeing.
An essential part of our work, whether it’s as caregivers or self-advocates, is learning how to affirm neurodivergent identities - both our own, and those of others. But it doesn’t stop there. Affirming all the identities a person holds, including race, gender, sexuality, and more, is just as important. Our stories, our struggles, and our strengths don’t exist in isolation.
I’m a queer parent and neurodivergent woman, and recently I had the chance to speak with Ricki (they/them), our incredible communications volunteer at CAYR Connections. Both Ricki and I are LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent. And we’re not alone - studies show that LGBTQ+ people are significantly more likely to be neurodivergent, and vice versa. According to a 2021 study, autistic individuals are 3.5 times more likely to identify as LGBTQ+ compared to their allistic peers.
Today is National Coming Out Day, so Ricki and I wanted to talk about what it means to live in the intersection of neurodivergence and queerness, how our labels helped us make sense of ourselves, and how advocacy and community have become life-saving parts of that journey. This blog is our reflection on that conversation.
Before the Words: The Pain of Not Knowing
“I would say that I, and others in my life, would have identified myself as ‘quirky’,” Ricki told me. Before they had the language to identify as OCD or non-binary, they were placed in an ambiguous category: not quite like the boys, not quite like the girls, just “other.”
That “othering” wasn't always cruel, but it was isolating. The same was true for me growing up. I often felt like I didn’t belong anywhere, not because I had done something wrong, but because I didn’t fit into any of the "expected" boxes. I now know this feeling came from being AuDHD (both autistic and ADHD). When you don’t have the words to define your own identity, the world makes up its own story about you. And usually, that story is one of deficits, brokenness, or confusion.
Finding the Right Labels Can Be Lifesaving
For Ricki, a diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) came first. Later, they discovered that what they were actually experiencing was OCD. This revelation not only clarified their mental health, but their identity.
Ricki explained, “Not understanding myself was like seeing something was missing and not knowing why. That resulted in accidental masking, stress, and panic attacks. Once I found the right labels (OCD and non-binary) I could finally start moving away from the need to ‘fix’ myself.”
It’s a powerful shift, and it’s one I recognize deeply. When I finally realized I was AuDHD and bisexual, the fog began to lift. It wasn’t that I had changed—it was that I had finally learned the language to describe who I already was. And once I had that language, I could find community and the sense of belonging that had been missing in my life.
Intersectionality Isn’t a Buzzword: It’s Reality
Our identities don’t exist in isolation. Ricki is not just non-binary or neurodivergent. They’re also multiracial, bilingual, assigned male at birth, and someone who grew up in environments that didn't support gender nonconformity.
“Being raised as a boy,” they shared, “often made me feel alone and vulnerable to the stigma that it’s wrong to express gender nonconformity. That stigma shaped my intrusive thoughts. My OCD was deeply entangled with not fitting into gender norms.”
Neurodivergent queer people are often told we’re “too much”—too many labels, too complicated, too hard to understand. But the truth is, we’re not too much. We’re just enough. Every part of who we are helps make sense of the whole.
The Role of Community in Healing
It’s not just the labels that help us heal. It’s the people we find because of them.
“When I finally accepted my OCD and non-binary identity,” Ricki said, “I could stop trying to fix myself. I started finding ways to ease my discomfort, to self-regulate. I could finally explain to others why I don’t like masculine pronouns or why I have systems to interrupt thought spirals.”
Finding community also meant finding safety. For both of us, knowing others who share our experiences—whether through diagnosis, gender identity, or lived reality—helps affirm that we aren’t alone. And more importantly: we were never broken.
Advocacy's Ripple Effect
There’s a sense of responsibility that often comes with self-discovery, especially when you exist at multiple margins. When you speak your truth out loud, it opens a door for others.
As Ricki said, “Advocating gives guidance to the younger generations and to our peers. For a long time, I didn’t know my identities. I had coping mechanisms, and from the outside, I looked fine. But I always felt ‘other.’ Now I understand myself, and I feel a responsibility to pay it forward.”
That ripple effect is part of what drives both of us. We speak out not just to clear up misunderstandings, but to protect those who aren’t safe enough yet to speak for themselves. And hopefully, the stories we share will help someone else feel seen—and begin their own journey of naming and claiming their identities.
The Importance of the Social Model
What if the problem isn’t us? What if the distress we feel doesn’t come from being neurodivergent or queer, but from being misunderstood, misdiagnosed, or unsupported?
This is the heart of the social model of disability (2, 6), which CAYR Connections embraces. Disability and difference aren’t flaws, they are part of the natural variation of being human. The problem is the lack of understanding, access, and affirmation.
The "cure" is not to change who we are, it’s changing the systems around us.
Our Stories Are Political and Powerful
“Unfortunately, if we like it or not, our existence is political,” Ricki said. And they’re right. Simply living openly as queer, neurodivergent people can be an act of resistance. It shouldn’t be, but it is. And while that can be exhausting, it can also be empowering.
It’s not just about rainbows or awareness months. It’s about truth-telling. It’s about reshaping the narratives that have excluded us for so long. It’s about saying: we are here. We are whole. And we are worthy.
Conclusion: From Survival to Belonging
At the start of this conversation, I thought maybe the arc of our story would be: “Labels save us” or “Community saves us.” And in some ways, that’s true.
But the deeper truth is this: We save each other.
We find language, we find people, we find power and then we create ripples so that someone else might have an easier path.
We are fortunate to be here, to be alive, and to understand ourselves. But that understanding comes with responsibility: to advocate, to connect, to challenge stigma, and to ensure that others know they’re not too much. They’re not broken. They’re not alone.
They’re just enough. And so are we.
Want to support more stories like this?
CAYR Connections is committed to creating neuro-affirming spaces where neurodivergent people can thrive. If you'd like to get involved, support our work, or share your story, visit www.cayrconnections.org or reach out to us at info@cayrconnections.org.
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