When Your Brain Doesn’t Fit the Mold (Part 1)

A Conversation on Neurodivergence and Faith

I’ll be honest — I’m hesitant to write this.

Usually, I try to process things deeply with God before I share them publicly. I believe in using wisdom before handing pieces of your heart to the world.
But lately, I’ve been watching so many conversations happening—especially in faith spaces—about neurodivergence.
I hear what is happening on the political stage and in the media. And I see the fear, the struggles, and the silent ache rising up in so many.

There are so many different types of neurodivergence, and everyone’s story is unique.
So if this doesn’t fit your story exactly, that's okay.
I'm not here to speak for everyone or anyone, really.

I just want to open up a conversation—one that, for me, has been a long time coming.

I’m 30 years old.
I’m a Christian.
And I also happen to be autistic—specifically a high-functioning, high-masking individual on the spectrum.

Is that my entire identity? Absolutely not. Just a small part of it.
In fact, most people outside of my immediate family don't even know.
But it does impact a lot of areas of my life.
People often assume autism looks one very specific way—but that's a conversation for another day.

Here’s the part you might not expect:
I'm someone who has won multiple community awards.
I’ve been recognized by the California State Legislature for my service.
I’ve trained thousands of people, both inside and outside the U.S., on how to work with vulnerable populations.
I’ve dedicated my life to Jesus—to building His Kingdom, to teaching, and to loving others well.
I’m deeply creative, passionate, gifted.
I get good grades, I learn easily for the most part, I don’t appear to have challenges.

In many ways, my life checks a lot of the "successful" boxes.
It fits the mold people like to celebrate.
But not everyone looks like they fit the mold.
Not everyone can mask or hide or blend in.
And really, no one should have to.

Sometimes, especially in faith communities, there’s an invisible pressure:
An expectation to not just succeed outwardly, but to fit an unspoken mold internally too.
And when your brain moves differently—when you process, feel, or engage differently—sometimes it feels like there's no space for you to simply be.

Historically, the Church as a whole hasn't always done a great job at understanding or welcoming neurodivergent people.

I want to be clear that when I talk about this, I’m speaking about the Church as a whole, historically — not about my current home church.
I’ve been incredibly blessed to find a community that has welcomed me with so much love, understanding, and support.
And while no church is perfect, I’m grateful beyond words for my church family whom I get to do life with.

Sometimes autism, ADHD, or anything outside the "norm" gets misunderstood, dismissed, or even demonized or just not acknowledged. 

And for me personally...
I'm finally starting to process just how heavy, lonely, and sometimes scary it has been to hide this part of myself or at least deal with it alone. 

I’ve spent years fielding comments about being "too quiet" or "not trying hard enough" to socialize. 
And I have actually have a very active social life. I know a lot of others don’t. And can’t. 

I’ve endured well-meaning but deeply painful moments when people tried to cast demons out of me—when really, they were confronting nothing more than simple autistic traits that made me different, but not broken.
I’ve carried the weight of being misunderstood, of being seen as a project to fix rather than a person to love.

And the saddest part?
Somewhere along the way, I started to believe it too.

Recently, I had an experience that started to shift something in me.

I took a trip to Oregon for a conference—my first time visiting.
While I was waiting for the conference to start, I ended up talking with a woman who was also attending. She was a Soul Care Specialist—a kind of spiritual director—and somehow, our conversation moved from surface topics to something much deeper.

We started talking about life, about identity.
And eventually, we stumbled onto a word that’s shadowed my whole life: weird.

Growing up, weird was the label that stuck to me.
The reason I was moved into Christian schools as a kid was because I was “weird” and “different,” and my family hoped a faith-based school would be a safer environment.
And for so long, I just wore that label like a coat I didn’t ask for—accepting it, letting it shape the way I saw myself.

As we talked, I casually mentioned it—expecting the usual nods or polite smiles.
But she looked at me and said, very firmly:
"Sable, you are not weird."

I just stared at her, unsure how to respond.
It almost didn’t compute.

She said it again:
"Sable, God says you are not weird."

And in that moment, something inside me cracked open.
After years of being told I was "different" in all the wrong ways, hearing that simple truth felt almost foreign.
I didn’t even tell her about my autism—but somehow, God still used her to speak right into it.

She went on to say,
"Just because your mind works differently doesn't mean anything is wrong. It means you can see things others can't. That's how you were designed."

And that conversation... it healed something I didn’t even realize was bleeding.
Since that day, I've been on a journey to not just accept, but honor the parts of me that are different—the parts God intentionally created.

And here’s what I’m learning (slowly, tenderly, imperfectly):

-My mind is not a mistake.
-My wiring is not defective.
-I am not a problem that needs to be solved.

The way my brain works—the speed, the sensitivity, the way I sometimes struggle in spaces others thrive in—none of it is a surprise to God.
He’s not standing over me, frustrated that I don't process like everyone else.
He’s not wishing He could go back and rewire me differently.

He crafted me.
He knit me together.
He saw every detail of how my brain would work and He called it good.

Maybe you’re reading this and you know exactly what I’m talking about.
Maybe your brain doesn't fit the mold either.

Maybe faith feels complicated because your mind craves certainty, order, and tangible evidence.
Maybe church has been a hard place for you, not because you don't love God, but because you don't move through the world the way others expect you to.
Maybe you've spent a long time hiding, performing, masking—just to be accepted.

If that’s you, I just want to say:

You are still loved.
You are not too much.
You are not too little.
You are not broken.
You are not a disappointment.

You are fearfully and wonderfully made—in all the intricate, complex, beautiful ways your mind is different.
You don’t have to hide from God.
-Even if sometimes it feels like you have to hide from people, you never have to hide from Him.
-He already knows you. He already loves you. He already sees you fully.

And if you don’t fully understand yourself yet?
That's okay too.
You can seek Him—the One who formed your inmost being.
You can ask Him the hard questions.
You can wrestle, wonder, and explore, knowing that He isn’t offended by your processing.

And if you're someone who’s curious about faith but still wrestling, still questioning—
You're welcome here too.
God can handle your questions.
He welcomes them.

This is just Part 1 of the conversation. I’m sure there will be many more.
I'm still walking through a lot of these feelings myself.
I don’t have all the answers.
But what I do know is this:

You are not alone.
You are not forgotten.
You are not defective.

You are seen.
You are loved.
You are safe in the hands of the One who made you exactly as you are.

Notes from the Journey (So Far)

I’m still walking through this, but here are a few things that are helping me step forward in faith — even when my mind moves differently:

1. Let the Right People In.
Community matters.
You weren’t meant to walk this journey alone.
It’s okay to let trusted people know the things you struggle with.
Letting safe, loving people into your real story doesn’t make you weak—it makes you wise.
It gives others the opportunity to love you well and support you in the places you’re growing.

I’m incredibly grateful that my home church has been such a blessing in this area.
They’ve created a safe space where I’m loved for who I am—not for how well I can perform or fit a mold.
That kind of Christ-centered community makes a real difference.

2. Give Yourself Permission to Move at Your Pace.
Some things might take you longer to do—and that’s okay.
Just because it takes longer doesn’t mean you’re less called, less gifted, or less anointed.

3. Remember That Fear Doesn't Mean "Don't."
Sometimes I get nervous praying out loud in large groups.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not called to teach or pray.
It just means I might need a little more time, a little more prayer, and a little more grace to get there.
And that’s okay too.

4. Celebrate the Small Steps.
Every time you try—every time you show up—you are being brave.
It’s not about perfection.
It’s about being faithful with what you have in your hands today.

5. Anchor Your Confidence in God's Voice, Not People's Expectations.
People might misunderstand you.
They might label you.
They might set molds you were never meant to fit.
But God's call on your life is not fragile.
He sees you clearly and speaks identity over you that no crowd can erase.

6. Stay Close to the One Who Designed You.
You don’t have to figure this out alone.
You can seek Him.
You can bring Him your questions, your fears, your victories.
He’s not frustrated with your process—He delights in walking with you.