Layers of Life: Unpeeling My Onion

Shrek had a point when he compared ogres to onions. Humans, too, are layered in ways not immediately visible. As I sit here, contemplating the task of dissecting my own layers, I'm struck by how daunting it feels. How do you begin to unravel the threads of experiences, traits, and identities that make up a person? It's not easy, but I reckon it's worth doing.

The Outer Layer: The Mask We Wear

The outermost layer is what we show the world - that carefully curated version of ourselves we think society expects. For years, I've been perfecting this layer, learning to blend in and conform. It's the me that can sit still in meetings, maintain eye contact during conversations, and engage in small talk at parties without saying that I’m bored and need to change the channel. This was me, but not really me - a facsimile designed to function in a neurotypical world.

Recognising this mask's existence was my first step towards authenticity. It's not about completely shedding this layer - sometimes it serves a purpose - but about acknowledging its presence and understanding its function. It's about finding a balance between being true to myself and navigating a world that isn't always built for people like me. I want to reiterate that I have done well in life despite this mask so almost want to keep some of the bath water and the baby!

Peeling Back: The Neurodiverse Core

Beneath that socially acceptable veneer lies my neurodivergent self. Discovering my ADHD and autism (I am acknowledging this here publicly for the first time. My initial diagnosis was high-functioning autism, but I sought a second opinion, reluctant to accept the label at first) wasn't a sudden revelation, but a gradual unmasking. I slowly realised that my constant exhaustion wasn't just from 'adulting', but from trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. It had been coming a long time but I was really grateful to my counsellor, Ali, for encouraging me to seek help and support in this area. 

Unmasking, allowing my true neurodiverse self to emerge, has been both liberating and terrifying. It's like stepping out of a restrictive suit I've worn for years, only to realise I'm now exposed in a crowd. Vulnerable, yes, but finally able to breathe.

This process isn't about rejecting all societal norms. It's about finding a balance between authenticity and functionality. It's realising that it's okay to stim when I'm excited, to need breaks during social interactions, to have intense interests that others might not understand. It's about honouring my authentic self while still existing in a predominantly neurotypical world.

The Mental Health Maze

Peeling back the layers of neurodiversity inevitably led me to confront another core aspect of my identity – my mental health. Depression has been a relatively constant companion, an unwelcome house guest that occasionally takes over the entire property. It's a layer of my onion that's particularly pungent, often bringing tears to my eyes and those around me. I have battled belonging and identity as long as I can remember and almost got used to the idea that suicide would be my end. As cold as that sounds, it seemed like that would be the only logical option when I felt so much like I didn’t fit. I used to walk through the woods and work out which tree branches would hold my weight (part of my sadness was about my up and down weight). 

In 2013, it came to a head in my bridge episode which I have discussed previously but essentially culminated in my riding my bike to a motorway bridge close to my house and climbing on to jump off. Something dragged me back that day and I’m grateful to that unseen hand. I knew I needed help. I was due to go on a works trip to Manchester for drinks with my pals. I told Jenni, one of my closest pals about the bridge and that I was worried that if I went on a train, I was more likely to jump in front of it than on it. She was wonderful and helped me get support. 

The decision to start medication wasn't easy. There's still a stigma around mental health treatment in the UK, a lingering Victorian-era stiff-upper-lip mentality that suggests we should be able to "snap out of it". But depression isn't a bad mood or a negative attitude – it's a serious medical condition that requires treatment.

This struggle reminds me of what psychologist William James called "the sick soul" – a state of existential dread that can't be reasoned away. James, who battled depression himself, recognised that for some, happiness is a constant struggle rather than a natural state. His insights have helped me understand that my battle with depression isn't a personal failing, but a part of the human experience.

Medication wasn’t a magic bullet, but it's been a vital tool in managing my mental health. It allowed me to peel back the layers of fog and despair to reveal the vibrant, complex person underneath. It's not about changing who I am, but about allowing myself to be who I am without the crushing weight of depression. I am now almost seven years since I came off my anti-depressants but I know they were crucial in my journey and wouldn’t hesitate taking go back on them if I needed to. Interestingly, my holiday read was Lost Connections by Johann Hari - I might have to rethink this completely!

The Faith Journey: From Evangelical to Ex-vangelical

As we peel even deeper into this onion of mine, we find layers that are less visible but no less impactful. My faith journey, from evangelical Christian to what I now call 'ex-vangelical', has been a profound and sometimes painful process of growth and change.

Growing up in the evangelical church, faith was a central part of my identity. It provided structure, community, and a sense of purpose. I built friendships, developed my love for working with young people and fanned my desire to grow and learn all within this context. There was so much beauty in so much of my faith but it was almost like that picture of that child who has piercing blue eyes but is filthy from living in poverty and has pain behind the blueness.  But as I grew older and began to question and explore, I found that the rigid doctrines and often judgmental attitudes no longer aligned with my evolving values and understanding of the world.

This deconstruction process reminds me of philosopher Søren Kierkegaard's concept of the "teleological suspension of the ethical". Kierkegaard argued that sometimes, one's personal relationship with God might require actions that seem to go against conventional morality or religious doctrine. For me, ‘leaving’ evangelicalism felt like this – a necessary step in my spiritual journey, even though it went against everything I'd been taught. (I’m not averse to going back to church but left the place I called ‘home’ for 30 years or so about 18 months ago.)

The process of deconstructing my faith has been like peeling an particularly stubborn layer of the onion. It's been messy, painful, and at times, I've been tempted to abandon the whole process. But underneath, I’m finding a more nuanced, compassionate understanding of spirituality and my place in the universe. I genuinely don’t know where this will lead but am excited and nervous in almost equal measure. 

The Hidden Layer: Uncovering Personal History

At the very core of my onion lies a layer I didn't even know existed until I was 13 – the truth about my biological father and the abuse he had inflicted on my mother. This discovery was like suddenly finding a rotten layer in what I thought was a perfectly good onion. It forced me to reevaluate my understanding of my family, my identity, and my place in the world. My biological father was a married vicar who started grooming my mum, which led to her having a daughter who she was forced to give up for adoption and then me just over a year later. I found out by accident when my mum and dad (the only father I have ever or would ever need to know - Mick is a giant amongst men for taking us on) were having an argument in our old living room! Talk about ripping the onion skin off!

Psychologist Alice Miller's work on childhood trauma has been instrumental in helping me process this. Miller argued that unacknowledged childhood suffering often leads to adult dysfunction. Understanding this has allowed me to see how this hidden layer of my history has influenced every other aspect of my life – my relationships, my values, my understanding of masculinity and fatherhood. I had to process this with Ali who I mentioned earlier whose counselling has been so important in my own self-understanding. 

“The results of any traumatic experience, such as abuse, can only be resolved by experiencing, articulating, and judging every facet of the original experience within a process of careful therapeutic disclosure.” Alice Miller

Integration: Embracing the Whole Onion

The process of unpeeling these layers – of neurodiversity, mental health, faith, and personal history – has been challenging, often painful, but ultimately rewarding. The real work, however, comes in integrating all these layers into a cohesive whole.

This idea of integration reminds me of Carl Jung's concept of individuation – the process of integrating the conscious with the unconscious, creating a well-functioning whole. Jung believed that this process was essential for psychological health and personal growth. I talked about work-life integration in FRiDEAS #####

For me, integration doesn't mean these different aspects of myself no longer conflict or cause tension. Rather, it's about acknowledging and embracing all parts of myself, understanding how they interact and influence each other. It's realising that my ADHD and autism aren't separate from my creativity and passion, that my struggles with depression have deepened my empathy and resilience, that my faith journey has broadened my understanding of spirituality and ethics.

The Ongoing Process of Growth

As I reflect on this journey of self-discovery and integration, I'm struck by how ongoing and dynamic the process is. Just when I think I've uncovered all there is to know about myself, life has a way of revealing new layers, new complexities.

Recently, I've been exploring how my neurodiversity influences my parenting style, how my evolving spirituality shapes my approach to ethics and social justice, how my personal history informs my choices in relationships and career. Each new insight adds another layer to my understanding of myself and my place in the world.

This ongoing process of growth and self-discovery aligns with existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre's concept of "existence precedes essence". Sartre argued that we are not born with a predetermined nature, but rather we create ourselves through our choices and actions. This idea has been liberating for me, reminding me that I'm not bound by my past or my diagnoses, but am continually creating myself through my choices and experiences.

One of the most profound lessons I've learned through this process of unpeeling my layers is the power of vulnerability. Sharing our authentic selves – all our layers, even the ones we're not particularly proud of – can be terrifying. But it's also incredibly liberating and can forge deeper, more meaningful connections with others.

When I first started being open about my ADHD, I was petrified of being judged or misunderstood. But I've found that vulnerability often begets vulnerability. By sharing my experiences, I've created space for others to share theirs, leading to richer, more authentic relationships. In fact, this week’s topic wasn’t supposed to be this one but two lovely DMs from people who I have never met but heard my speaking openly about my challenges, tipped the scales towards having to write about it!

This reminds me of one of my heroes, Brené Brown's research on vulnerability. Brown argues that vulnerability is not weakness, but rather the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change. She suggests that embracing our vulnerability is key to living a wholehearted life.

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.” Brene Brown

For me, this has meant being honest about my struggles with executive function, my sensory sensitivities, and my occasional need for solitude. It's meant admitting when I'm overwhelmed or when I've made a mistake due to my ADHD. Each act of vulnerability has been a step towards greater self-acceptance and deeper connections with others.

Throughout this journey of self-discovery and integration, I've come to appreciate the vital importance of community but in a totally different way I thought that I needed iy. Finding others who share similar experiences – whether it's neurodiversity, mental health struggles, or faith deconstruction – has been invaluable. Connecting with other ADHD and autistic adults, ex-vangelicals, and mental health advocates has helped me feel less alone in my experiences. These communities have provided support, validation, and a sense of belonging that's been crucial in my journey of self-acceptance. I do actually need to point out though that I used to think the quality of a community was measured in the number of people in it (there’s that evangelical ‘conversion’ saving souls nonsense again!). I have shifted to acknowledge that community is almost certainly better if it is smaller and tighter knit. 

This sense of community reminds me of sociologist Émile Durkheim's concept of "collective consciousness". Durkheim argued that shared beliefs, ideas, and moral attitudes operate as a unifying force within society. In my experience, finding communities of people who share my experiences has created a kind of collective consciousness that's been incredibly validating and empowering.

As I've peeled back the layers of my identity, I've come to embrace the concept of neurodiversity – the idea that neurological differences like ADHD and autism are natural variations in the human brain rather than disorders to be cured. This perspective, pioneered by sociologist Judy Singer, has been transformative for me. It's allowed me to see my ADHD and autism not as deficits, but as different ways of processing and interacting with the world. Yes, they come with challenges, but they also bring unique strengths and perspectives.

For instance, my ADHD might make it hard to focus on tasks I find boring, but it also gives me the ability to hyperfocus on things I'm passionate about. My autistic traits might make social situations challenging, but they also give me a keen eye for detail and a deep capacity for empathy (contrary to popular stereotypes).

Embracing neurodiversity has meant learning to work with my brain rather than constantly fighting against it. It's meant creating systems and environments that support my neurology rather than trying to force myself into neurotypical moulds.

I've also come to realise the vital importance of self-compassion. It's all too easy to be harsh with ourselves, especially when we're grappling with the challenges that come with neurodiversity, mental health struggles, or complex personal histories. The concept of self-compassion, as developed by psychologist Kristin Neff, has been transformative for me. Neff argues that self-compassion involves treating ourselves with the same kindness and understanding that we would offer a good friend. It's about recognising our shared humanity and understanding that imperfection is part of the human experience.

"Happiness is not dependent on circumstances being exactly as we want them to be, or on ourselves being exactly as we’d like to be. Rather, happiness stems from loving ourselves and our lives exactly as they are, knowing that joy and pain, strength and weakness, glory and failure are all essential to the full human experience." Kristin Neff

For me, practising self-compassion has meant learning to be gentler with myself when ADHD symptoms interfere with my plans, or when my autistic traits lead to social misunderstandings. It's meant acknowledging the pain of my past without letting it define me. It's meant accepting that my faith journey, with all its twists and turns, is valid and worthy of respect.

This self-compassion extends to the very process of 'unpeeling the onion'. It's about recognising that self-discovery is a lifelong journey, not a destination. There's no perfect end state where all our layers are neatly arranged and all our inner conflicts resolved. The goal is not perfection, but growth and self-understanding.

As I've become more accepting of my own complexity, I've found that it's changed the way I approach relationships. Understanding and embracing my own layers has made me more patient and understanding with others. This shift reminds me of Martin Buber's philosophy of dialogue which I also used to teach about in my A-Level philosophy classes, particularly his concept of 'I-Thou' relationships. Buber argued that genuine dialogue occurs when we approach others as whole beings, rather than as objects or means to an end. It's about recognising the inherent dignity and complexity of each person we encounter. Its moving being transactional relationships towards deeper levels of intimacy.

In practice, this has meant being more open about my own struggles and peculiarities, which often encourages others to do the same. It's meant being more patient when misunderstandings occur, recognising that we're all navigating our own complex inner worlds. And it's meant being more willing to engage in genuine, vulnerable conversations that go beyond surface-level small talk.

Key Takeaways

1. Embrace your layers: Your complexity is what makes you unique and valuable. Recognise that your ADHD, autism, mental health challenges, and personal history - or whatever your layers are - are integral parts of your whole self.

2. Practise self-compassion: Be kind to yourself as you navigate your journey of self-discovery. Treat yourself with the same understanding you'd offer a good friend. I used the phrasing ‘gracing myself’ the other day. I’ll take that. 

3. Seek understanding before judgement: Approach aspects of yourself or others that seem contradictory or challenging with curiosity rather than criticism. I read a brilliantly influential book in university called Faith Seeking Understanding. It’s that. 

4. Value authenticity over conformity: Find ways to honour your authentic self while navigating the world. Balance being true to yourself with adapting to your environment. It’s not about being a dick though. It’s not an excuse to treat people unkindly. 

5. Recognise the power of vulnerability: Sharing your true self, including your struggles, can lead to deeper connections and personal growth. Just be careful where you do it and who with. 

Each day brings new experiences, new insights, and yes, sometimes new challenges.

The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard once said,

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards." Søren Kierkegaard

This echoes deeply with my experience of unpeeling my own layers. We can reflect on and make sense of our past experiences, but we must continue to move forward, embracing the uncertainty and potential of each new day. For me, living forwards means continuing to explore and embrace my neurodiversity, nurturing my mental health, evolving my understanding of spirituality, and integrating new insights about myself and the world around me. It means remaining open to growth and change, while also honouring the core of who I am. In the end, I've come to see that the beauty of the onion metaphor lies not just in the layers themselves, but in the process of peeling – the ongoing journey of discovery, growth, and integration. It's a messy process, often uncomfortable, sometimes painful, but ultimately deeply rewarding.

So here's to embracing our inner onions – layers, complexity, occasional pungency and all. Because it's in acknowledging and integrating all these aspects of ourselves that we truly come alive, that we become fully ourselves. And that, I believe, is a journey worth undertaking.