Today in Caffè Nero, I found myself in one of those situations that many neurodivergent people will recognise—where a simple moment becomes unexpectedly intrusive and overwhelming.
A woman at the next table began asking me a series of personal questions:
- Was it cold outside
- Where my accent was from
- Whether I was Scottish
- And finally telling me I was “very crabbit”
When I tried to disengage with a simple “Oh just leave me alone,” she continued her behaviour—changing clothes at the table, interrupting another customer who was clearly on a phone call, and generally disregarding social boundaries. He eventually moved seats.
What struck me wasn’t the conversation itself, but the feeling: that sudden tightening in the chest, the sense of being trapped in someone else’s unpredictable energy, the discomfort of having your boundaries crossed in a space where you’re just trying to exist quietly.
For many neurodivergent people, this kind of interaction isn’t just awkward—it’s destabilising.
It disrupts the sense of safety we build in familiar routines, like sitting in a café with a warm drink. It can leave us overstimulated, unsettled, or unsure how to respond without escalating things.
Naming it helps.
Recognising that discomfort is valid helps.
And remembering that protecting your own boundaries—even with a simple “I’d prefer not to talk”—is completely okay.
NeuroDivine 
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