Neurodivergent Pride: Why Being Typical Is Overrated and You’re Already Optimized
Neurodivergent Pride: Screw Being Typical, I’m Already Optimized
by Amber Casperi, Patron Saint of the Neurospicy and Empress of Doing It My Own Damn Way
Let’s be real.
There’s nothing virtuous about being “typical.”
It’s not noble. It’s not aspirational.
It’s just… default.
Typical is fine if you’re picking lightbulbs. Or trying to land a role as “Background Civilian #3” in a toothpaste commercial. But in actual life? In actual creativity, insight, innovation, beauty, excellence?
Typical is the floor.
Neurodivergent is the ceiling, the scaffolding, the architect, and the rebel who said, “Wait—why do we even need a ceiling?”
Your Brain: Unapologetically Unusual. Unreasonably Brilliant.
You don’t think in straight lines. You think in constellations. You don’t just connect dots—you invent entire new shapes, then teach everyone else how to see them.
You didn’t miss the memo on how to be normal. You read it, annotated it, and then used it to build a rocket out of sarcasm, spreadsheets, and forgotten genius.
They told you your mind was too much, too fast, too chaotic, too deep.
But really, it was just too damn advanced for their bandwidth.
Because here’s the truth they won’t say out loud:
Neurodivergent people don’t just think differently—we do differently.
We do obsessively.
We do exhaustively.
We do brilliantly.
You will build a whole new workflow at 2am because the current one is stupid.
You will hyperfocus for twelve hours straight on something no one else understands—until it’s the most elegant, intuitive solution on the planet.
You will spend five years refining the thing that “should have” taken two weeks—because you care about the craft, not the checkbox.
That’s not broken.
That’s unmatched excellence.
“Socially Appropriate” Is a Scam. Excellence Doesn’t Ask Permission.
Let’s pause here. Because I know what some of you are thinking.
“But Amber, I struggle with executive dysfunction.”
“But I burn out.”
“But I can’t keep up with ‘normal’ routines.”
Yup. Me too.
That’s not the contradiction—it’s the proof.
Because even with those so-called deficits, even with half your dopamine duct-taped together, you are still producing brilliance that neurotypicals can’t touch.
That’s the flex.
You’re not winning because life is easy. You’re winning because your weird, wild, chaotic brain insists on making it better anyway.
You were told your brain wasn’t built for this world.
The secret is, the world wasn’t built for your brain.
And it shows.
Exceptional Means Being the Exception.
And You're the Blueprint.
Neurodivergent folks don't “pass” the test.
We rewrite the test.
We notice the assumptions the test was based on.
We invent an entirely new assessment that measures what actually matters—and then ace that instead.
That’s the power of seeing sideways. Of thinking diagonally. Of being the only person in the room who can connect the user manual from a 2008 toaster to a breakthrough in your startup's onboarding experience.
You make the unreasonable effort that creates improbable success.
You bring nuance where others bring noise.
You invent the thing no one asked for—but suddenly can’t live without.
That’s not dysfunction. That’s differentiation. That’s the edge. That’s the magic. That’s the stuff that makes revolutions happen, one “Oh god, what if we did it this way?” at a time.
You’re Not Broken. You’re Built Different. And That’s the Point.
You were never meant to blend in.
You were meant to break molds, burn templates, and birth new paradigms in between deep dives on Norse mythology, niche productivity hacks, and how to rewire your fridge light to function as a habit tracker.
You are the overclocked computer in a world of fax machines.
You are the high-speed train in a parking lot full of beige sedans.
You are the beautiful, chaotic thunderstorm that waters a garden everyone else thought was dead.
And sure, your brain might forget appointments and struggle with transitions and rewrite your entire plan at 11pm because it just clicked.
But what it lacks in “predictable” it makes up for in god-tier ingenuity.
Social Norms? Never Met Her.
“Why can’t you just do it like everyone else?”
Because everyone else is inefficient and mildly delusional, Sarah.
You don’t follow rules that don’t make sense.
You don’t accept systems that weren’t built for people like you.
You don’t mimic, conform, appease, or dilute.
You reimagine.
You reconstruct.
You reclaim.
And in the moments you do have to conform?
You do it with all the grace of a caffeinated raccoon in a meeting about quarterly synergy goals—while secretly designing a better org chart in your head.
Let’s Be Loud About It.
Don’t shrink your light to fit someone else's dimmer switch.
Don’t hide your chaos because someone else can’t handle contrast.
Don't flatter mediocrity by pretending you’re not a fucking unicorn.
So next time someone hits you with that patronizing tone, or that smug little “helpful” suggestion about being more typical, do the only sane thing:
Drink from a mug that says what your mouth doesn’t have time for.
Shop the full Neurocurious Mugs collection.
Seriously. Show your work, Karen.
Because I’d rather master quantum theory than figure out how to small talk at a baby shower.
I reprogrammed the whole system while you were writing your fourth “gentle reminder” email.
Last Thing, Because I Know Your Brain’s Already Skipping Ahead
You’re not just valuable. You’re vital.
You’re not just smart. You’re singular.
You’re not just different. You’re divine in your divergence.
The world doesn’t need you to be typical. It needs you to be exactly what you are.
So keep building the future with your entire heart.
Keep breaking things that never worked.
Keep going deep when the world begs for shallow.
Because you’re not a problem to fix.
You’re the possibility they never planned for.
You are so. Fucking. Awesome.
Now go make something they can’t ignore. Exceptional means being the exception.
About the Author
Amber Casperi is the unapologetically neurospicy Head of Gifting Neuroscience at Buy the Mug, where she channels her executive dysfunction into deeply optimized sarcasm, emotional depth, and highly judgmental ceramic drinkware. She writes about the glory of being built different, the quiet rage of social norms, and why “just do it normally” is her personal villain origin story. A proud rollercoaster in a world of beige commutes, Amber specializes in turning overthinking into an art form, and intrusive thoughts into bestselling mugs. Her work has not appeared in The New Yorker, but only because their submission form doesn’t support 47 browser tabs, a meltdown, and a last-minute redesign of the entire piece. Typical.