My Story
I’m Tonya, and like many Neurodivergent humans, I spent years believing something was wrong with me. Why couldn’t I function like everyone else? Why did simple tasks feel impossible? Why did I push myself to exhaustion just to keep up?
I didn’t grow up learning how to take care of myself in a way that made sense.
No one taught me how to regulate my emotions, listen to my body, or build daily rituals that actually supported me. Survival was the priority. Coping was the goal. And like so many Neurodivergent kids, I had to figure it out on my own.
So, I tried.
I latched onto every wellness trend, diet, and “life-changing” routine. I followed influencers who seemed to have it all together, thinking this time, it’ll work.
But every time, the same thing happened—I couldn’t keep up. The routines were too rigid. The plans didn’t fit how my brain or body actually worked.
I’d burn out, blame myself, and start the cycle all over again.
It took me years to realize the problem wasn’t me. The problem was the world expecting me to function in ways that weren’t designed for Neurodivergent humans.
The Moment Everything Changed
For years, I ignored my own needs. I pushed through exhaustion, thinking that’s just what life was. I didn’t realize how deep I was in survival mode—until my cat, Charlie, showed me what I couldn’t see in myself.
She started acting out, showing signs of stress and distress. Something was off, but I couldn’t figure out what. When I took her to the vet, they suggested an antidepressant. Within days, she changed. She was calmer, lighter—more herself again.
And then it hit me: If I could recognize her suffering, if I could make space for her healing, why couldn’t I do the same for myself?
Trying medication wasn’t easy. I had spent years convincing myself I just needed to be stronger, to push through, to keep going. But I finally gave myself permission to try. Not for ADHD—at that point, I didn’t even know I had ADHD. I started an antidepressant for depression, hoping it might take the edge off.
What I wasn’t expecting was the clarity. It was like stepping out of a fog I hadn’t even realized I was living in. And with that clarity, I started to see the patterns—the neurodivergence that had always been there.
I had always thought ADHD meant being hyperactive, impulsive—constantly bouncing off the walls. But how could I have ADHD if I was exhausted all the time? It didn’t make sense—until I learned about inattentive ADHD.
ADHD wasn’t just distraction or forgetfulness, like the stereotypes I’d heard my whole life. It showed up differently for me.
Masking my struggles so well that even I didn’t recognize them.
Feeling everything so intensely that it was exhausting.
Burning out over and over again without knowing why.
Being creative and intuitive but unable to sustain momentum.
Medication Was a Step—Not the Whole Answer
Taking an antidepressant gave me clarity, but clarity alone wasn’t enough. I needed real tools and real ways to regulate my energy—something that actually fit my life.
That’s where ritual came in.
Simple, intentional practices that helped me reconnect with myself—my emotions, my energy, and what I truly needed.
⭐Medication was the right choice for me, but it’s not the only path. Everyone’s journey is different. What matters most is finding what works for you—whether that’s therapy, movement, community, ritual, or something else entirely.0
Breaking the Cycle: What I Was Never Taught
⚠️ Trigger Warning: depression, suicide, and substance use
My father, a talented artist and Vietnam veteran, struggled in ways he never faced. He had ADHD and other Neurodivergent traits, likely intensified by his service, but he never sought help. He couldn’t function within structure, couldn’t cope with a 9-5, and instead of finding another way, he pushed responsibility away, blaming everyone but himself.
My mother carried her pain differently. She bore the weight of everything—until it crushed her. Depression wasn’t silent in my house. It was loud, raw, and inescapable. She attempted suicide twice. She self-medicated with prescription drugs while my aunt turned to alcohol and my grandmother to food. It was generational. It was all they knew. In the end, the very medication meant to help my mother is what took her life.
For a long time, I carried so much resentment. They weren’t the parents I needed. They didn’t teach me how to care for myself, regulate my emotions, or listen to my body. I wasn’t shown how to move through the world in a way that made sense for me.
But about a decade ago, I came to a crossroads. I could keep blaming them for what I didn’t get—or I could choose to learn from them. I could see the parts of them that live within me, with open eyes and an open heart, and try to do better for myself.
I see where I came from. I see the cycles that shaped my life. And now, I get to decide what comes next.
Why I Created Wholly Divergent
Breaking the cycle didn’t mean forcing myself into someone else’s version of wellness. It meant learning to work with my mind and body instead of fighting against them.
For years, I thought healing meant fixing myself—becoming more disciplined, more structured, more like the people who seemed to have it all figured out. But I wasn’t broken. The problem was never me.
The world isn’t built for Neurodivergent minds. Most wellness advice doesn’t take into account how we actually function—how our energy shifts, how focus comes in waves, how emotions and intuition play just as big of a role as logic and structure.
So I stopped trying to fit into systems that weren’t made for me. Instead, I created my own.
What I offer was born from that realization—that we need a different way. One that is flexible, intuitive, and sustainable. One that honors our natural rhythms instead of forcing us into routines that don’t fit.
This is the space I wish I had when I was struggling. Now, I get to create it—for myself, and for others who need it too.
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