Fighting Battles You Don't See

Stop Making Assumptions

You see someone stumble over their words during a presentation and think they're unprepared. You watch someone fidget in their chair and assume they're disrespectful. You notice someone avoiding eye contact and label them as rude or antisocial.

Stop. Right there.

What if I told you that the person you're judging just delivered the performance of their lifetime? What if their "stumbling" was actually them conquering a speech impediment that tries to silence them every single day? What if their fidgeting isn't disrespect—it's someone with Tourette's syndrome fighting against tics they cannot control, desperately trying to appear "normal" in your presence?

The Reality You're Missing

Let me paint you a picture of reality. The person with high-functioning autism who just gave that presentation? They rehearsed it fifty times because social interaction feels like navigating a foreign country without a map. Every pause you interpreted as hesitation was them translating neurotypical expectations into a language their brain understands. They're not awkward—they're bilingual in a way you'll never have to be.

That colleague who seems "weird" in meetings? They might be processing sensory information that feels like someone cranked the volume to eleven on everything—the fluorescent lights are screaming, the air conditioning sounds like a freight train, and your pen clicking is like nails on a chalkboard. Yet there they sit, participating, contributing, succeeding—while their nervous system wages war against the environment.

The friend who cancels plans last minute? Maybe they're not flaky. Maybe they spent three hours that morning convincing themselves they're worthy of friendship, battling depression that whispers lies about their value. Maybe showing up anywhere feels like climbing Mount Everest, and you're annoyed they couldn't make it to dinner.

We Don't All Start at the Same Line

Here's what I need you to understand: We don't all start from the same starting line. Some people are running a marathon while carrying invisible weights you can't see. Some are sprinting uphill while you're cruising on flat ground. Some are running backwards and still somehow keeping pace.

That person who "just" delivered a successful speech? If they have a speech impediment, that speech wasn't just successful—it was miraculous. Every word was a victory. Every sentence was proof of their refusal to be silenced by their own neurology.

The student who "only" got a B while you got an A? What if they have ADHD and their brain fights focus like you fight off mosquitoes? What if that B represents hours of battling their own mind, developing systems and strategies just to sit still long enough to study? Your A might be good. Their B might be extraordinary.

That person who flinches when someone raises their voice or slams a door? They might be a domestic violence survivor whose body remembers what came after those sounds. The crash of dishes breaking doesn't just startle them—it transports them back to ducking flying objects and wondering if this time would be the time they didn't survive. Heavy footsteps in the hallway don't just mean someone's walking—they trigger a full-body alarm system that screams "hide, run, protect yourself." Yet there they are, in your meeting, at your dinner party, trying to act normal while their nervous system is convinced they're still in danger. Every day they choose to trust the world again, even when their body is screaming that it's not safe.

That person who seems distracted or unfocused? What if they're living with schizophrenia and there's a constant commentary track running in their head that they can't turn off? Imagine trying to have a conversation while voices whisper, argue, or shout things that have nothing to do with what's happening around you. Even with medication, the chatter might never fully stop. Yet they're sitting there, engaging with you, fighting to stay present in your reality while their brain broadcasts a completely different show.

Check Your Privilege

The next time you're tempted to judge someone's performance, behavior, or response, ask yourself: What battles am I not seeing? What mountains are they climbing that I don't even know exist?

And while you're at it, take a moment to appreciate the struggles you DON'T have. Can you make eye contact without effort? Can you sit still without medication? Can you speak without your tongue betraying you? Can you enter a room without your heart racing? Can you process sounds, lights, and textures without sensory overload?

These aren't small things. These are enormous privileges disguised as normal.

The Truth About "Their Best"

The person you're making fun of might actually be doing their best in THEIR situation. And their "best" might be something you could never achieve if you were walking in their shoes.

So here's your mic drop moment: The next time you see someone struggling, remember this—you're not watching someone fail. You're watching someone fight. And the fact that they showed up to the battle at all makes them braver than you know.