MGEL Mini: What If You’re Using the Wrong Hand?
I’ve always been hyper-aware of people who might think I’m “too sensitive,” “too soft,” or “just a crybaby.” That was the message I got growing up—over and over. My sensitivity setting is stuck at 11, like I’m a raw nerve exposed to the elements. When I was younger and less emotionally regulated, I cried constantly, which only reinforced that label.
Now, I find myself constantly trying to explain my experience—not to complain, but to translate. I want people to understand how monumentally hard daily life can be when your brain runs differently. Because I have been trying. I’ve been trying this whole time. And when I still don’t get where I want to go, it makes me feel like a failure. That failure triggers shame, and the shame sets off another spiral, and suddenly I’m stuck on the merry-go-round again.
So I try to find the words.
Not just for them—to understand me.
But for me—to understand myself.
Because from the outside, I might look like I’m functioning the same as everyone else. But the machinery under the hood? It’s wired entirely differently.
It’s like this:
Imagine you’ve spent your whole life writing with your non-dominant hand. You can do it—it’s legible—but it never feels natural. It’s slow. It takes so much effort. You’ve used all the same tools everyone else uses: pens, pencils, paper. But no matter what you try, your output never matches what’s in your head. Where you see calligraphy in your mind, you produce shaky crayon scribbles on paper. And it’s maddening. Not because you’re lazy or incapable—but because you know you’re capable of more, and you just can’t make it translate.
Then one day, someone from outside your system—someone who sees the gap between your effort and your outcome—says,
"Hey… what if you tried your other hand?"
And just like that, something shifts.
The lines smooth out. The words flow easier.
And for the first time, it becomes clear:
You were never broken.
You were just using tools designed for someone else’s grip.
