Neurodivergence and Moral Injury: When the System Forces Us to Betray Ourselves

Bridgette Hamstead

Moral injury is a concept that originated in military psychology, used to describe the deep emotional and psychological pain that occurs when someone is forced to act in a way that violates their core moral beliefs. It has since been recognized in many other contexts, including healthcare, education, and social work, where individuals may be required to participate in systems or actions that contradict their values. While it is still underrecognized, moral injury is a powerful and relevant framework for understanding the pain experienced by neurodivergent adults who have spent years, sometimes decades, conforming to environments that demanded they betray themselves to survive.

For late-diagnosed autistic and otherwise neurodivergent people, the path to diagnosis is rarely straightforward or affirming. Most of us were not only undiagnosed but actively misidentified, misjudged, and misunderstood by the systems around us. We were labeled difficult, defiant, dramatic, lazy, sensitive, or weird. We were told that our reactions were inappropriate, our needs were excessive, and our emotions were too much. Many of us adapted by disconnecting from our own instincts and internalizing the idea that we were fundamentally flawed. We became experts in masking, in suppressing our sensory needs, in mimicking neurotypical social norms, and in performing a version of ourselves that would be deemed acceptable.

Over time, this performance becomes costly. It is not simply exhausting or frustrating. It is a form of self-betrayal. When we are asked to behave in ways that contradict our own nervous system, our own boundaries, our own sense of what is right, we experience harm. We may be praised for our adaptability and resilience, but the praise only deepens the wound. It reinforces the idea that the “good” version of us is the one that denies our own needs. The result is a kind of moral injury, one that occurs not from a single act but from years of chronic misalignment between who we are and what the world expects from us.

Moral injury in neurodivergent adults often shows up as persistent self-doubt, shame, emotional numbness, or an enduring sense that we are somehow broken or inauthentic. It is different from burnout, though the two are closely connected. Burnout is the body and mind collapsing under the weight of continuous stress. Moral injury is the grief and dissonance of having had to abandon parts of ourselves to be safe or accepted. Many late-identified autistic adults describe the realization of their neurodivergence as both a relief and a reckoning. It explains so much. But it also brings into focus how many times we were put in positions where we had no real choice except to comply with systems that erased us.

One of the clearest examples of moral injury comes from education. Many neurodivergent children are punished not for misbehavior but for being dysregulated, overwhelmed, or unsupported. They are taught that their natural reactions are wrong. Over time, those children become adults who believe they are incapable of trust, belonging, or rest. Those who went into helping professions may have found themselves perpetuating the very systems that harmed them, using behavior charts, token systems, or compliance-based interventions that once caused them pain. When we look back and realize we were forced to co-sign practices that we now find harmful, it leaves an ache that is hard to articulate.

In workplaces, the demand to betray oneself is often framed as professionalism. We are expected to smile when we are distressed, attend meetings under fluorescent lights that cause physical pain, and process criticism without accommodations or context. We are praised for being flexible, for not making a fuss, for quietly producing excellent work despite unbearable conditions. But inside, we know we are not okay. We may find ourselves pushing through overload, suppressing meltdowns, and enduring toxic environments just to keep a paycheck or maintain our reputation. The longer we live in this dissonance, the harder it becomes to access our own inner voice. We lose track of what we want, what we like, what we believe in. We become estranged from ourselves.

Healing from moral injury begins with naming it. It begins with recognizing that our distress is not just emotional or psychological but ethical. We feel wounded not because we failed but because we were forced into impossible choices. It matters that we had to act against our own values to be safe, to be loved, or to survive. Naming that truth helps return dignity to our pain. It makes space for grief and for self-compassion. It also helps us reconnect with the parts of ourselves that we had to exile in order to stay functional.

Recovery is not linear, and it is not something we can do alone. Community is essential. When we are in spaces with other neurodivergent people who understand what it feels like to have lived in chronic dissonance, we begin to soften. We begin to see ourselves more clearly and more kindly. We start to rebuild a sense of agency, not by trying to force independence or productivity, but by learning how to live in alignment with our actual needs. We unlearn the lie that worth comes from compliance. We unmask not to be seen but to belong to ourselves again.

The systems that create moral injury are still very much in place. Schools continue to use rigid behavioral expectations. Workplaces continue to reward burnout. Clinicians continue to pathologize difference. But those systems are not inevitable. They were built, and they can be dismantled. Naming moral injury in the context of neurodivergence allows us to understand that the pain we carry is not personal failure. It is evidence of how deeply the world has demanded we betray ourselves.

We are not broken. We are not fragile. We are people who have had to survive at great cost, and we deserve a life that does not ask us to keep paying that price.