You probably know someone who has recently been diagnosed with ADHD or autism, right? Well, it's no coincidence that this topic is on the rise. Neurodivergence has become a trend.

There are a few explanations for this increase in diagnoses:

• Greater awareness –The more information circulates, the more people recognize symptoms in themselves and others.
• Advances in science –more funding, more research, more precision.
• Growing social acceptance –less taboo, more courage to seek help.

All of this is positive. But it also shows the uncomfortable truth that for too long, too many people have struggled alone.

And yet, even with so many studies and evidence that ADHD, autism, and other conditions are distinct brain functions — not defective, just different — we remain trapped in a narrow view of what's acceptable. As if there were a universal yardstick capable of measuring focus, empathy, discipline, or sensitivity. As if existence could be quantified in ideal doses of behavior. Of course, there are more serious cases that require specific care; but for the vast majority, this yardstick simply doesn't make sense.

It turns out that these functions are spectral. Symptoms vary absurdly from person to person. It's impossible to put everyone in the same box.

And doctors say: "You don't have a disorder unless you have a dysfunction."

But dysfunction is not in the person. It's more in the world that has been designed to favor the normality of those who are considered "neurotypical". And in this view, it's obvious that those who function differently will feel out of place. But tell me: what is "normal" anyway? Who is normal?

If we put a magnifying glass to anyone's mind, we won't just see manias, addictions or compulsions. We'll also find an insecure child still living inside, old traumas that have shaped behavior, defense mechanisms that made sense at some point in life. Addictions disguised as hobbies, anxieties disguised as discipline, silences that hide fears. Every habit has a reason for being. So I ask you again: do you know anyone who is normal? To this day, I never have.

I believe that many more people on the planet are neurodivergent than statistics can capture. Perhaps these so-called "disorders" are part of the very evolution of our species. Because diversity is not a biological error. Diversity is what guarantees our survival.

Think about it: a world of only "neurotypicals" would be efficient, more predictable, organized, but also... tedious. A world with only "neurodivergents" would be chaotic, vigorous, creative, but probably inefficient. It's the mix that matters and works. It's the collision of differences that guarantees innovation, adaptation and resilience.

That's why the feeling of dysfunction that so many adults have today doesn't mean that there's something wrong with them. It means that the world was built with systems that don't fit their way of being. The error is in the mold, not in the part.

A proper diagnosis can be liberating: it's like finally receiving the correct manual for an object that you misuse every day. Suddenly, everything makes sense. A bad diagnosis, on the other hand, is like being given the wrong manual for that same machine: instead of showing you how to use it properly, you end up confusing the way it works even more. And when we're talking about the mind, it's not an object that gets lost – it's the identity that gets disoriented.

Of course, there are cases where the extremes of the spectrum really do require special care, and that's when it makes sense to talk about a disorder. But for the vast majority, the issue isn't pathology, it's just fitting in.

The problem is that we spend our lives trying to fit into a tight shoe called "normality". Forced to believe that there is only one acceptable way of being in the world. It's suffocating. And when neurodivergence is finally talked about out loud, when it becomes an issue, some of this taboo is broken – and we finally start to find the right shoe for us.

You might ask: "But, Cha, if you think all this should be considered normal, why did you want a diagnosis and why do you take medication?" I'll answer: because before the diagnosis I was reading the wrong manuals. I identified myself with chronic anxiety, dysthymia, depression – which were real, but symptoms didn't cause it. The right diagnosis threw out those wrong manuals. And medication, in my case, works like biological retraining – it's not a life sentence, it's just a temporary tool.

And I ask again: could the so-called neurotypicals really represent the "normal"? Or is the idea of normality just a collective invention to disguise the fact that everyone has their own compensation strategy?

Perhaps, given our immense diversity, almost everything could be normal. Or, on the other hand – and perhaps more accurately – we could conclude that normality simply doesn't exist.

The sooner we accept this, the less we will waste energy trying to mold people to a standard that only exists in our imagination, fueled by a collective obsession with normality and perfection.

From my world to yours,