Do Neurodiverse People Grieve Differently?
By Nicholas Bamonte
Loss, Grief, and Fear
On the afternoon of Tuesday, March 4th, 2025, Dr. Harold “Hackie” Reitman, the founder and head of Different Brains, passed away. When I saw the email notification alerting those of us partnered with Different Brains of his passing, I did nothing. I did not break down crying, unable to do anything but wallow in the tragic news, nor any of the usual things one would normally expect of a person hearing of the death of someone to whom were close. This is hardly the first time that I’ve found myself in this situation. I did not wail and cry when I learned of the death of a family pet that had been part of my family longer than my brother and myself had. Nor when my long-lived grandmother passed. Not when my aunt, the sister that my mother was closest to, my godmother, a fixture in my life and beautiful radiant soul finally succumbed to the long-term effects of radiation and chemo treatment. Not even when another aunt, one who lived in our general area and we constantly saw on most holidays and family gatherings, died so suddenly and without warning. And just like in those other times, I feared that there was something wrong with me.
I am a highly sentimental and soft-hearted person, I care for people and things deeply, and struggle to let go. At least, that’s how I view myself. I often dread the prospect of “that final goodbye”, so why is my reaction so seemingly muted when it finally comes around? It’s not even always consistent. There have been times where I’ve cried and grieved as expected, mostly in regards to three other pets that I sat with as they passed away. Yet when that first aunt, my godmother, passed away, I felt like I had a stronger and more lingering sense of loss over learning of the break up of two characters in a comic that I had just started reading. I was terrified at these implications. Was I broken? Were my feelings so shallow? Was I, ultimately, a completely self-centered person, incapable of legitimate empathy, and had deluded myself into thinking otherwise? These were my fears, and while they were extreme and unreasonable conclusions, if there was ever a time to be extreme and unreasonable, it would be when faced with the death of a loved one. And yet, I seemed disconcertingly calm and unbothered. Emphasis on seemed.
Still Waters Run Deep
On some level, I felt normal, fully capable of functioning as I would any given afternoon, well enough to goof off with a hobby or pastime. In some ways, I was more thrown off by my sense of calm. In spite of my fears, looking deep within, I could also tell that things were not quite right, that I was not quite as calm and unbothered as I initially seemed. To compare my inner world to an ocean, the surface was calm, pristine even. But below the surface… well the waters were also calm and still. However, far below the surface in the deep, dark depths, I felt the whispers of a stirring storm. I do not know why my grief and pain remained so deep, only barely licking at the limit line of where I could consciously perceive my emotions, but that seems to be what happened.
I have a history of a certain behavior that my family and I have colloquially referred to as “shutting down”. After reaching a certain threshold of stress, (such as with homework or arguing with my parents), I would find myself “giving up”. I would adopt a flat emotional affect, a tired, sort of depressed expression and tone, and I would turn my emotions “inward”. Rather than continue engaging with whatever frustrating or stressful situation or conversation, I would just become a little numb and wait for it to pass. With the beauty of hindsight and the wisdom of age, I can better see this for what it was, a self-defense mechanism. When my emotions would become too volatile and stimulating, I seemed to subconsciously bury and detach myself from them, perhaps to avoid a more visible and explosive meltdown. While I have historically attributed this behavior to be a response to stress, according to the Life Change Index Scale (The Stress Test), the death of a spouse, a close family member, or a close friend can be some of the most stressful events that one can experience. Instead of becoming overwhelmed and breaking down with grief, and rather than not feeling any grief at all, perhaps I simply bury my feelings into my subconscious, where they can be processed silently in the background, as opposed to “wasting energy” by consciously fretting with emotions and situations that can’t be changed, no matter how much you fixate on them consciously.
Another possible explanation for this difference in my expected and perceived emotions is alexithymia. Alexithymia is a difficulty identifying and communicating one’s own emotions. As with “shutting down” and suppressing these feelings, I may have felt strongly and deeply, but I was unable to recognize and identify them, perhaps because they did not manifest in a way that they are stereotypically depicted. While it has been shown that alexithymia can manifest as a symptom of multiple conditions, (or even in the absence of other symptoms of a mental health disorder), it is most frequently associated with autism spectrum disorder, and while I did not receive an ASD diagnosis when I was tested as a child, I did receive such a diagnosis later in life. Regardless of whatever source, I believe that alexithymia is a valid explanation for my emotional confusion, as I can often struggle to express and understand my feelings without a good deal of time and self-reflection, especially when I am stressed out, (such as with the death of a loved one).
Grieving While Neurodiverse
Regardless of my theories and self-analysis, one can be left wondering, “What’s the point”. Indeed, why bother subjecting others to my own little self-therapy session? Well, other than as an excuse to further memorialize Hackie Reitman and share how he was a great man who should and will be mourned and missed, I’m weird and different, but hardly that unique. While I’ve hardly experienced an overabundance of loss and grief, it has happened enough throughout my life, and seemingly every time, from a relatively young age, I’ve gone through this process. Every time that I have experienced death in my life, I have fretted and worried whether I was experiencing it “correctly”. And while it’s always mentioned that everyone experiences grief in their own way, and that we must allow people to experience it as they naturally will, it was never enough. Whether as a sign of some underlying pathology, a form of denial, or some other form of unhealthy coping mechanism, these are all still natural phenomena, ones that should be recognized and addressed rather than ignored or buried. I’ve experienced this fear and struggle to understand my emotions, and I highly doubt that I’m the only one who’s had these thoughts and fears. I did not have much guidance other than the common platitudes of “Everyone grieves differently,” and “Let yourself feel your emotions,” and, while true, they were never enough to quell those fears. Rather than merely being told these “truths”, I needed to understand and “feel” them. I needed to understand why I did not show grief or experience the same debilitating emotions that I felt was expected of me; an explanation that helped reaffirm my self-image as an empathetic person, and I’ve only really just started to find one and accept it.
I’ve finally accepted that I’ve been too hard on myself, that there’s nothing wrong with my tendency toward a quieter form of grieving. My pain and emotions are there, and perhaps, so strong that I subconsciously hold them back, lest they overwhelm me. If my experience can help others on this same path of self-discovery have a marginally easier time, then it would have been all worth it. After all, that was the spirit behind the founding of this organization and website. Though our founder may be gone, his work will carry on through us.
