For Little Ivy

Since I was very little, I never felt like I belonged.

I felt everything. Too deeply, too quickly, too often. As if I was not really part of the world, but experiencing it from the inside as something I had to endure.

People described me as “weird”, “too sensitive”. In reality, I was simply too full of everything. Too full of emotions, exhaustion, questions, and sensations I did not yet know how to name.

I had to adapt to a world that felt completely unfamiliar to me.

I thought it was normal to cry at the beauty of a landscape, or for dead animals I had never even known. I also thought it was normal to struggle to explain what I felt, to be unable to find the words, when I did not even understand what was happening inside me.

After a simple day spent around other people, I had to recharge. Two activities in the same day could be enough to leave me breathless. Over time, the most ordinary parts of daily life became more and more difficult.

I saw countless psychiatrists and psychologists. I went from one diagnosis to another, without always being truly supported.

“Miss, after seeing you for this long, I suspect that, in addition to your generalized anxiety, there may be a possible bipolar disorder.”

“No, miss, you are simply anxious.”

“No, miss, you have ADHD and anxiety.”

Then came a day hospitalization program. Better doctors. People who were finally able to refer me to other specialists.

Today, at 29 years old, I have been diagnosed as autistic, with ADHD and borderline personality disorder. I also suffer from post-traumatic stress, generalized anxiety disorder, and social phobia.

The path has been long and perilous. I wanted to give up more than once. I was exhausted in every part of my life.

But I did not give up. Not only for myself. For little Ivy too, the one who suffered all her life from her difference without ever having the words to understand it.

Relief took up a huge space in me, but it did not come alone. Emotion followed. It overwhelmed me. I felt immense grief for the child I used to be: a child who was never truly understood, who went through things she should never have had to endure.

I grew up far too fast. Only in the past few years have I started trying to make up for lost time.

Today, I have decided to speak about it with serenity, with an open heart, and without taboo.

Sometimes, the road is long. You must not give up, even through exhaustion, even through anxiety. It is okay to fall. It is okay to have doubts.

Perhaps the most important thing is to learn to love yourself.

Because our differences are not mistakes to be fixed. They are also the heart and beauty of this world.