"I Am a Quiet Storm": An INFJ and Neurodivergent Voice to the World

Imagine a lighthouse in a thunderstorm—calm and glowing on the outside, but inside, the keeper is chasing sparks, tending fires, trying to hold it all together. That is what it feels like to be me: an INFJ and neurodivergent. A quiet storm. A paradox in motion.

As an INFJ, I perceive the world not as it appears but as it resonates. I navigate life with a heart akin to a tuning fork—vibrating with others' unspoken truths, discerning the ache beneath the smile and the narrative behind the silence. My inner world is expansive and cathedral-like, reverberating with thought, significance, memory, and hope.

But neurodivergence brings wind to that stillness. My mind doesn't follow straight paths—it leaps, loops, and dances in spirals. Focus slips through my fingers like water. One thought becomes ten, and soon, I'm carried off by currents I didn't see coming. My world is rich but restless. It's beautiful—and exhausting.

People often don't understand. They see my calm and assume control. They see my depth and expect consistency. But the truth is messier: I care deeply, yet forget appointments. I listen endlessly, yet vanish to recover. I feel everything, yet sometimes lose myself in the noise.

Please don't mistake my silence for absence. It's how I process the world's volume. Don't confuse my scattered energy with apathy—it's simply too much electricity behind fragile glass. I'm not broken. I'm wired differently. And in that difference, there is strange magic.

My neurodivergence ignites sparks, and my INFJ soul gives them purpose. Together, they make me both dreamer and healer, wanderer and anchor. I may not always show up the way you expect, but I promise—I am always reaching, always feeling, always trying.

So if you know someone like me—quiet but electric, lost in thought yet deeply present—be gentle. We're not here to shine the loudest. We're here to light the corners no one else sees.