Who I Am
I am Neus Planelles: autistic and with late-diagnosed ADHD. A few months later, I began my path as an activist on social media, and today I dare to open this space where, in a more organised way, I will be able to share much more information.
I share this very valuable gift, based on my own experiences, because it is exactly what I wish I had known and found when I was diagnosed. It is created both for people who are currently being diagnosed and for all professionals who work with autistic and neurodivergent people in general.
Photograph: Neus Planelles Bort with Temple Grandin.
Taken on 9 June 2025 at the Torremolinos Congress Palace (Málaga).
© 2025 Neus Planelles Bort. All rights reserved.
My brain is not a mistake; it is its own language.
My way of seeing the world is a superpower, even if sometimes it feels heavy.
My story
Before the diagnosis
After the diagnosis
A little more about me
Why this website exists
What I learned
I wonder...
Neurodivine phrases and words
Autistic humour corner
Before the diagnosis
When you function differently… and you do not know it until your thirties
I was born on 22 October, over thirty years ago, like any other girl. When I was around one year old, I cried at every sound. At the time, nobody — not even me — knew why. My mother concluded that it was simply because I was not used to either rural or urban environments.
Around four years ago, I was given my autism diagnosis. From then on, by watching first-person videos from adult autistic women, I began to uncover many mysteries, questions and doubts that I had never even realised existed until I was diagnosed.
In 2022 I started my outreach account, and I became so hyperfocused on autism that, in 2023, I began noticing signs and symptoms in myself that did not fully fit the explanation of autism given in the manuals professionals use for diagnosis (DSM-5 and ICD-11).
After insisting several times, in different ways, to the psychologist I had at that time, at the beginning of 2024 she told me she would assess my suspicions. To my surprise — and against what I myself expected — the results showed that I also have ADHD, both physically and mentally.
After the diagnosis
At present I am part of the organising board of an association in the Terres de l’Ebre that fights for the rights of neurodivergent people and, specifically, autistic people of all ages: children, young people and adults.
I have some traits, thanks to these neurodivergences that are part of me, that I feel proud of and practise whenever I can. But do not be misled: even if you are not support level 3, you still suffer. You suffer from bullying at school, secondary school, vocational training or university, workplace mobbing, ableism, gaslighting, contempt from the people closest to you, and even suicide attempts. In my case, I have had three.
I do not say this to frighten anyone or to seek pity, but to make the reader aware that they should not only look at the difficulties of someone who is completely or almost completely dependent.
In fact, most neurodivergent people are level 1 or level 2, and their voices are silenced no matter how loudly they cry out. The Government of Catalonia, with its new Autism Plan 2025, wants to silence them even further. We must raise our voices and claim our place loudly so that we are heard.
I am Neus. I am autistic, dyspraxic, ADHD, greysexual and bisexual.
As for sexual orientations, because there is no formal “diagnosis” to identify them in the same way that there is for neurodivergence, I sometimes find myself in a situation similar to impostor syndrome, or I self-sabotage because I do not fully believe that other parts of me found it so hard to accept my change in sexual identity.
But I have decided to stop thinking about what my other parts want to accept or not accept, and to let myself flow with what feels right in each moment.
A little more about me
I speak in the voice of many neurodivergent children, young people and adults who, like me, have suffered and still suffer because their diagnosis was not known in time or because, even when it was known, they came up against teachers and professionals who did not know how to support them. Many end up pushed out of school, secondary education or university, especially when they reach stages such as vocational training.
In my case, from a very young age I experienced insults and mockery from classmates, while teachers tried to control it with little success. I was often punished by losing break time, not because I did not want to do homework, but because my attention would drift towards a poster, a detail in the classroom, or simply because I felt overwhelmed.
Even so, there were also some lights along the way. I especially remember Encarna, in the final years of primary school and perhaps in my first year of secondary school. She gave me a simple but very useful strategy: if I got lost during dictation, I could draw a line and continue; that way I avoided speaking and losing focus completely.
She also acted like a kind of “classroom soldier”, helping me start my homework with fewer distractions. Thanks to that, even though I could not always finish all the tasks, I was able to feel that I could at least get started more safely.
In secondary school, the mockery continued, and in vocational training I went through more of the same: classmates hiding my materials, making fun of my strabismus, making me feel like the “class attraction”. In adulthood, already more aware of my diagnosis, the lack of understanding did not always come from classmates, but even from some teachers. They repeated over and over that I was not fit for certain studies or professions, that I would never make it, that I was “not enough”.
Even so, there were exceptions. I remember Elisa very fondly, my English teacher in International Trade vocational training. Her classes were the only ones I truly enjoyed. She was kind and empathetic, different from most of the staff, and connected with me in a way that made me feel capable. When I stopped studying that course, I deeply felt her absence.
Later, during my healthcare assistant studies (between 2021 and 2023), I finally found a teacher who made me feel genuinely supported and respected: Cinta. With her, I was able to use the sensory tools I needed, including noise-cancelling headphones during exams. If I had a crisis and had to leave the classroom, she would come and sit with me when she could, not to judge me, but to stay by my side and stop me from hurting myself. She was empathetic, approachable, and treated me like a person, not a problem.
She was the first person in a very long time who truly understood me, and that made a huge difference in my journey.
The most painful part, however, was this feeling: that no matter how much effort I put in, for some teachers it was never enough. And that led me to very intense crises, even to rock bottom.
Over time, and thanks to finding support in associations and people who truly believed in me, I have been able to move forward and keep fighting. But I cannot stay silent: the difference is not in us, but in how we are treated.
Why this website exists
A healthcare vocation and the clash between my condition and some teachers
I began posting on Instagram because of one very specific experience.
At the age of 30, I decided to study to become a nursing assistant. It was not an impulsive decision: it had been my main deep interest for years, and I started with a great deal of excitement.
On the third day of classes, after a perfectly ordinary lesson, one of my teachers asked me to stay behind. Simply because she had noticed one of my stims in class, she told me that perhaps those studies were not suitable for me, that someone should guide me towards something more appropriate, and that nurses could not be constantly looking after me.
That was the day I understood, for the first time, that before anyone assessed what I could do, they were already judging what I was.
The situation did not end there.
In practical exams, any mistake immediately turned into “I give up on you”. It was not academic feedback; it was a sentence passed in advance.
Months later, with another teacher, I experienced an even clearer episode. After hours of doing the final group project in a classroom full of noise and sensory overload, I was already overstimulated. When they called me to repeat a blood sugar test, I asked if I could go a bit more slowly so I could make sure I did it properly.
In the middle of the attempt, the teacher began shouting that I would never be able to work in a hospital like that, that results are often needed immediately.
The result was not learning, but collapse. I went into meltdown: crying, self-injury to my hand, and several days doubting all my abilities. Even now, when I pass near that school, my body reacts with anxiety as if I were still there.
What I learned
Over time I understood something important:
I had not failed because of a lack of interest or effort, but because nobody was interpreting correctly what was happening to me. The problem was not medicine, nor the practical work, nor responsibility; it was the lack of understanding of a different way of processing the environment, stimuli and time.
That is why this website exists.
I started explaining all this on Instagram so that many people — students, families and professionals as well — can identify similar situations before they become drop-outs, anxiety or feelings of incapacity.
This is not about looking for guilty parties, but about understanding what happens when a neurodivergent person is assessed only according to criteria designed for people who are not.
If this project helps someone understand a student, a child, or themselves a little better, then it already makes sense that I created it.
I wonder...
Things I wonder about. Do you wonder about them too?
Where does the Spanish expression “eso es la leche” come from?
It comes from a time when milk symbolised life and energy. Over time, in popular speech, it began to be used to say that something is very strong, surprising or out of the ordinary. Today, if someone says “¡esto es la leche!”, they usually mean that it is great or impressive (although depending on the tone, it can also be a complaint).
And the Catalan expression “ser curt de gambals”?
Thanks to AI, I can now answer it: it comes from the word “gambal”, which in the past meant leg or thick leg. Saying that someone is “curt de gambals” literally meant they had short legs, but over time it became a figurative way of referring to someone as not very bright or not very sharp. It is a colloquial way of saying that someone is “a bit short on mental range”.
Where does the expression “estar a la lluna de València” come from?
The explanation is this: it comes from the time when Valencia was a walled city and its gates were closed at nightfall. Whoever arrived late stayed outside, “under the moon”, sleeping outdoors. Over time, the expression came to mean that someone is absent-minded or living in their own world, as if they had been left “outside” reality.
The hardest element in history is not diamond, but boron nitride, or at least this one is harder than diamond.
Where does the expression “ser un moniato” come from?
The expression comes from the fact that the sweet potato is a rough, irregular and somewhat ugly root, even though it is sweet inside. In popular speech, it began to be used to describe someone as clumsy, not very sharp, or a bit foolish, comparing them to the strange shape of the tuber. In short, calling someone a “moniato” is a soft and colloquial way of calling them dull or slow-minded.
And “quedar-se més llarg que ample / quedar-se tan ample”?
It comes from the physical sense of “ample”: when someone relaxes or feels relieved, they open up their chest and “widen”. Over time, the idea of widening came to mean feeling calm or satisfied after doing or saying something. From there also comes the modern version “quedar-se tan ample”.
What is the Catalan equivalent of the Spanish expression “no te acostarás sin saber una cosa más”?
In Catalan, people say “Cada dia s’aprèn una cosa nova”, a traditional saying that expresses that there is always something new to discover or learn, even if it is only a small curiosity. Another more colloquial version is “Mai te’n vas a dormir sense aprendre res de nou”, and both remind us that life is constantly teaching us.
Neurodivine phrases and words created by my brain
“This is not a bit of work, but not that much either” → instead of saying “This is a bit of work, but not that much”.
Inventing the metaphor “at the top of the mountain” → to refer to a message that is very far up in a conversation.
Writing “not only not” → instead of “not only (...), but also...”.
Autistic humour corner
Until last week, whenever I saw the word “cotilleria”, I imagined a place where you could go to find out all the gossip.