I’ve sat across from five different therapists in my life.
Every single one of them, at some point, looked at me with a kind face and said some version of: “You just need to try harder to connect with people.”
Or: “Have you considered that your anxiety might be because you’re overthinking?”
Or my personal favorite: “Let’s work on making more eye contact.”
None of them were cruel. Most of them genuinely wanted to help.
But every session left me feeling like I was the problem—not because I was “broken,” but because I couldn’t do therapy the way it was designed to be done.
It took me years to realize: the problem wasn’t me. The problem was that traditional therapy wasn’t built for brains like mine.
Content
What Traditional Therapy Gets Wrong (And Why)
4 The Social Skills Industrial Complex
What Actually Helps: Neurodivergent-Affirming Approaches
1 Trauma-Informed, Body-Based Approaches
2 Sensory Accommodations
3 Flexible Pacing
4 Neurodiversity Education
5 Peer Support and Lived Experience
The Invisible Mismatch
Here’s the thing about most therapeutic approaches:
They assume that your brain works a certain way.
They assume:
You can sit still for 50 minutes in a fluorescent-lit office
You process emotions primarily through talking
You can identify what you’re feeling in real time
Eye contact = engagement
Social skills = mental health
If you’re struggling, it’s because of distorted thoughts—not because the world is genuinely overwhelming for your nervous system
If you’re neurotypical, these assumptions might be mostly true.
If you’re autistic, ADHD, or otherwise neurodivergent? These assumptions can make therapy feel like trying to read instructions written in a language you don’t speak.
What Traditional Therapy Gets Wrong (And Why)
1. The Eye Contact Obsession
I’ll never forget the therapist who spent three sessions trying to “work on” my lack of eye contact.
She genuinely believed it was a symptom of social anxiety or trauma avoidance. She thought if I could just learn to make eye contact, I’d feel more connected.
My own father used to yell on me until I successfully maintain eye contact as he was disciplining me, then yelled again to lower as I tried to defend or justify myself.
I’ll pass on the various potential employers that were interviewing me, for them my lack of eye contact was taken as a sign to reject the job application.
What they didn’t understand: Making eye contact for me is like staring directly into a bright light while trying to have a conversation.
It’s not avoidance. It’s sensory overload.
For many autistic people, eye contact is physically uncomfortable—even painful. It takes so much energy to maintain that we can’t actually focus on what the other person is saying.
But traditional therapy treats it as a deficit to fix, not a difference to accommodate.
2. “Just Tell Me How You Feel”
Most talk therapy is built on the assumption that you can verbally articulate your emotions.
But many neurodivergent people experience alexithymia—difficulty identifying and naming emotions.
It’s not that we don’t have feelings. It’s that they show up in our bodies as:
A tightness in the chest
A buzzing in the limbs
A sudden urge to flee
Complete shutdown
Dissociation
When a therapist asks, “How does that make you feel?” and you genuinely don’t know—not because you’re avoiding, but because your brain doesn’t translate body sensations into emotion-words easily—it can feel like failing therapy itself.
3. The 50-Minute Box
Traditional therapy sessions are 50 minutes. In an office. Often with no breaks.
For ADHD brains, sitting still that long without movement or fidgeting is torture.
For autistic brains, the sensory environment (lighting, sounds, textures, smells) can be so distracting that you spend the whole session just trying to regulate—leaving no bandwidth for actual processing.
For trauma survivors, the rigid structure can feel triggering—like being trapped in a space you can’t leave even if you’re activated.
Having to brave all this alone, all at once as a complete stranger (with authority) screens for things you’ve been desperately trying to hide and mask is very triggering and most of the time doesn’t come out in the logic, work efficient way we want to provide.
But most therapists aren’t trained to adapt. The structure is the structure.
4. The Social Skills Industrial Complex
I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been offered “social skills training.”
The message underneath: “The way you naturally communicate is wrong. Here’s how to perform normalcy better.”
This is especially harmful because:
It teaches masking, which leads to burnout and loss of self
It frames neurodivergent communication as inferior, rather than different
It places the burden of change entirely on the neurodivergent person, not on society
Imagine going to therapy for depression, and being told: “Let’s work on you smiling more so people feel comfortable around you.”
That’s what social skills training feels like for many autistic people.
As a child, I was kept in primary class as a punishment for my poor “social integration” results. That’s one full year of school life lost, wasted, thrown out for daring talk back on ableism and preferring solitude .
An an adult, in a corporate context, I was put to the ultimate nonsense : Toast Masters International training.
Because for them, learning to progress on masking, cheap chats and hierarchy pleasing protocols was even more important than skills.
5. CBT and the “Distorted Thinking” Trap
Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) is the gold standard in many therapeutic settings.
The premise: Your thoughts create your feelings, so if you change your thoughts, you’ll feel better.
For neurotypical people with situational anxiety or depression, this can work beautifully.
For neurodivergent people? It often backfires.
Because when a therapist says, “Let’s examine if your thoughts are rational,” and you say, “I think people find me annoying because they keep leaving conversations abruptly,” and the therapist responds, “That’s a cognitive distortion”—
But what if people actually are reacting negatively because you’ve been masking so hard you can’t track social cues anymore? What if the thought is accurate, not distorted?
CBT can end up gaslighting neurodivergent people into doubting their own lived experience.
6. The Pathology Model
Traditional therapy is built on the medical model of disability: something is wrong with you, and we need to fix it.
Neurodivergent-affirming therapy is built on the social model: your brain works differently, and the world is set up in ways that make life harder for you—but the problem is the design, not your brain.
When a therapist sees your stimming as “self-soothing you need to outgrow” rather than “a healthy way your nervous system regulates,” you’re not going to feel safe or understood.
The Harm of ABA and Compliance-Based Approaches
I have to name this explicitly: Applied Behavior Analysis (ABA) has traumatized generations of autistic people.
ABA is often framed as “therapy” or “treatment for autism,” but at its core, it’s about training autistic children to behave more like neurotypical children—through compliance, repetition, and often, punishment for “undesirable” behaviors like stimming.
Many autistic adults who went through ABA describe it as:
Teaching them to ignore their own needs and boundaries
Conditioning them to perform normalcy even when it’s painful
Creating a foundation of shame around their natural ways of being
If you went through ABA or similar approaches and now struggle with people-pleasing, lack of boundaries, or difficulty knowing what you want (separate from what others expect), that’s not a coincidence.
That’s trauma.
What Actually Helps: Neurodivergent-Affirming Approaches
So if traditional therapy often fails neurodivergent people, what works instead?
Here’s what I’ve learned—both from my own healing and from the clients I work with:
1. Trauma-informed, body-based approaches
Therapies like:
Somatic Experiencing (working with body sensations, not just thoughts)
Internal Family Systems (IFS) (honoring different parts of yourself)
Polyvagal-informed therapy (understanding your nervous system states)
EMDR (for trauma processing, especially when words fail)
These approaches don’t require you to verbally articulate everything or perform social scripts. They work with your nervous system, not against it.
2. Sensory accommodations
A neurodivergent-affirming therapist will:
Let you move, fidget, or stim during sessions
Offer different seating options (floor, beanbag, standing desk)
Allow sunglasses or headphones if the environment is overwhelming
Offer virtual sessions if in-person is too draining
Not pathologize your need for these accommodations
3. Flexible pacing
Some sessions might be 30 minutes if that’s your capacity.
Some might need to pause mid-session if you’re dysregulated.
Some might be mostly silent while you process internally.
A good therapist adapts to your needs, not a standardized protocol.
4. Neurodiversity education
A neurodivergent-affirming therapist understands:
What masking is and how it causes burnout
Why autistic people often develop CPTSD even without “Big T trauma”
That ADHD isn’t about laziness—it’s about executive function differences
That stimming is healthy, not something to extinguish
That your social differences are not pathology
They see you as a whole person, not a list of symptoms.
5. Peer support and lived experience
Sometimes the most healing “therapy” isn’t therapy at all—it’s connecting with other neurodivergent people who just get it.
Online communities, support groups, or working with a coach/therapist who is also neurodivergent can be transformative.
Because when someone says, “I completely shut down when there’s too much noise,” and the response isn’t “Let’s work on your coping skills” but rather “Yeah, me too. Here’s what helps me,”—that’s a different kind of medicine.
A Note on Geography and Access
I’m writing this from Martinique, a small island in the Caribbean where access to neurodivergent-affirming therapy is almost nonexistent.
Most therapists here are trained in traditional French psychoanalytic or CBT models. Autism and ADHD are still heavily stigmatized. The concept of “neurodiversity” is barely in the conversation.
If you’re in a similar situation—rural area, small island, non-English-speaking country, limited mental health infrastructure—know that you’re not imagining it. The lack of support is real.
And it’s not your fault that you can’t find the right help.
What to Do If You’re Stuck in Unhelpful Therapy
If you’re currently seeing a therapist who:
Focuses on fixing your “symptoms” instead of understanding your nervous system
Pushes eye contact or social skills training
Dismisses your sensory needs
Makes you feel more broken after sessions
You’re allowed to leave.
You’re allowed to say, “This isn’t the right fit.”
You’re allowed to take a break from therapy entirely and focus on things that actually help—like movement, creativity, community, rest.
Healing doesn’t only happen in a therapist’s office.
What I Offer Instead
I’m not any common therapist. I’m a trauma-informed coach with lived experience of neurodivergence and healing.
What I do differently:
I don’t pathologize your brain
I honor your sensory needs and pacing
I use somatic and nervous system tools, not just talk
I adapt to how you process (visual, movement-based, written, metaphorical—whatever works)
I integrate my own experiences as an autistic, ADHD person—so I’m not just reading from a manual
My work is about empowerment and self-trust, not compliance and normalization.
If that resonates, you can learn more at www.lgs-solutions.com.
The Bottom Line
Traditional therapy fails neurodivergent people not because we’re “too complicated” or “resistant to treatment.”
It fails because it was designed for a different kind of brain—and then labeled us as the problem when we didn’t respond.
You’re not broken.
The system is.
And there are other ways to heal.
— Lætitia
P.S.
If you’ve had experiences with therapy (good or bad) and want to share, I’d love to hear them. You can reply to this email or leave a comment if that feels safe. Your story matters.