Neurodivergent girls don't talk too much. They gift us their "Star Writing."

The work your daughter is doing to pull her constellation down for you.

She started the conversation by herself before she rounded the doorway.

You were already supposed to be paying attention. To intuit that her words were directed at you this time. Because she does not always make that clear.

So you listen while you chop carrots. Trying to give her as much attention as you can while you also half organize the evening ahead in your mind.

Words are always surging from her. A bubbling froth of champagne gushing out. They cannot be held back. Her words are meant to burst forth. To be uncorked. To gather others around to partake.

Other girls think in a linear way. Words moving forward, regularly and controllably brought to a stop. Like a train on a track. Well organized and timely.

Making it much easier to follow when your own mind is busy.

She doesn’t think that way. She thinks in magnificent ways.

Her thoughts swirl — a centripetal force drawing inward other concepts to see how they relate to those in the center.

Her thoughts stretch — a star reaching out in a hundred different directions seeking associations, asking if they have meaning for one another.

Her thoughts twinkle and blaze — the new constellation she has just drawn lighting up the sky of her mind.

And then she uses all her might to corral that wonder, that brilliance, that beauty and stuff it on a narrow train track of linear thought.

To get it to you.

In a world where facial expressions are confusing and tones of voice enigmatic, words are the golden bridge.

Covering the expanse between her and you. And everyone else. Bringing her thoughts. Her fears. Her dreams. Her constellations.

Into your brain.

She offers the words as the gift of herself to be understood. Known. And loved.

By you.

Her incessant talking may seem selfish. To take up a great deal of space. To demand your energy. To be badly timed.

But her talking is also one of the most vulnerable things she does. With and for you.

Intimate. Her deepest way to connect. When hugs are not a shared joy.

She shares with you her star writing. Her way of seeing connections between shimmering concepts in the world that no one else sees.

And if you listen carefully to her words, you just might get to see what she sees, too. And you will be very lucky, indeed. To experience something so singularly beautiful.

What has your daughter or grand-daughter shown you that you would never have seen without her?

Recognition, Reframe, Restore Her Nerve

This is the Reframe post in a three-part series on neurodivergent girls and talking. The series follows the same arc each time — a specific issue explored across three posts: See Her. Understand Her. Restore Her Nerve. See my archive to find She Is Trying To Mute Herself, the See Her moment that preceded this.