Divergent or Difficult?

PDA, ADHD, Trauma, and the Difficulty of Participation – Why Facilitation Is Actually Easier

I love learning.

I crave it, actually. Skill-building, ideas, frameworks, new ways of understanding the world- I want it all. But workshops, training sessions, even collaborative spaces I choose to be in- these things so often leave me dysregulated, dissociated, and desperately wanting to escape.

Not because I don’t care.

Not because I’m lazy.

Because I can’t.

Because when I’m there as a participant, something in me shuts down.

I get flooded. I forgot how to speak. My thoughts fragment. My body wants to bolt. And the worst part is that this happens even when I want to be there, even when I know the people are kind, even when the content lights me up inside.

So often, it’s not that I won’t participate. It’s that my nervous system has decided I can’t. And it’s devastating.

Participation Isn’t Neutral

The world assumes participation is neutral.
Show up. Join in. Speak up when it’s your turn. Contribute.

But for those of us with PDA (Pathological Demand Avoidance), ADHD, or complex trauma histories, participation is an act of survival. It’s not just “joining in”; it’s navigating a minefield of sensory, social, emotional, and cognitive overwhelm.

PDA isn’t a personality trait. It’s a neurological profile. It means that demands-even gentle, implied ones-can cause an extreme stress response even if the task is enjoyable, even if I want to do it.

“PDA comes with a very high level of anxiety. Demands on us are constant and overwhelming. They can be implied or explicit; they can be big or small. They come from others and ourselves. They are everywhere.”
~ from my blog- I'm not just defiant and stubborn

ADHD brings its own constellation of challenges- executive dysfunction, time blindness, difficulty with sequencing and regulating emotional energy. Add in a trauma-informed brain that’s scanning every room for danger, and suddenly, even the most well-meaning group space can become unbearable.

I’ve spent time in workshops I couldn’t wait to attend, clutching my drink bottle with white knuckles, quietly dissociating while others share insights and make connections. I watch, wanting so badly to join, but unable to climb the internal mountain of being seen, knowing I might be called on, and trying to “do it right.”

It’s Not About Being Better - It’s About Survival

Here’s the contradiction I live with:

I can lead a room, support participants, hold space, attune to distress, and manage pastoral crises. I can also offer one-to-one mentoring, peer support, and creative facilitation with clarity and ease.

Put me in a workshop as a facilitator, and I’m calm, capable, and even joyful. I can track nervous systems, gently reshape spaces, and offer comfort and options. It’s not performative. It’s natural. It makes sense to me.

But put me in the same room as a participant, surrounded by so-called peers, and I shrink. I fall apart. I lose my words. I doubt everything. I often leave early, cry in the toilet, or disassociate to survive the discomfort.

And people think I’m choosing not to engage, that I’m being aloof. That I think I’m “too good” to play the game. They don’t realise it’s not hierarchy- it’s fear. It’s a body that’s been taught, over time, that participating when you don’t feel safe is dangerous.

This isn’t about ego. It’s about protection.

Participation Demands More Than We Realise

When people talk about participation, they rarely consider the invisible labour behind it.
For neurodivergent and trauma-impacted people, showing up and staying regulated takes monumental energy.

Participation involves:

•            Being perceived – having others’ eyes on you, even when you’re silent.

•            Navigating unpredictability – what will happen next? Will I be asked to speak?

•            Masking – trying to appear “fine” so no one notices how much you struggle.

•            Processing – keeping up with content, body language, and your own dysregulation.

•            Negotiating demands –internal and external, spoken and implied, real and remembered.

No wonder it’s easier to lead.

As a facilitator, I have structure. I know my role. I’m allowed to move, to take space, to speak first. As a participant, I’m bound by unspoken rules. I’m supposed to blend in, absorb, and perform. And if I can’t, I’m seen as disinterested or disruptive.

But I’m not difficult. I’m divergent.

Why Facilitation Is Actually Easier

People assume facilitation is harder- that adapting to everyone’s needs and maintaining the room's energy must be exhausting. But when done well, it’s the opposite.

Facilitation isn’t about control. It’s about care. It’s about noticing what’s happening and making space for it.

It’s relational. It’s slow. It’s honest.

Facilitation asks:

“What do you need to be here?”

Participation assumes:

“You’re here, so just join in like everyone else.”

Facilitation softens the edges. It invites, adapts, and trusts that people are doing their best—even if their best looks different. It makes the space more significant, not smaller.

“My potential to add value to a situation was rejected because my inclusion left others feeling puzzled and uncomfortable, because having been included, I wasn’t conforming in the way they expected or understood. This was not inclusion.”

~from my blog- I don't want to be included. I want true inclusion.

Rewriting the Narrative

This isn’t about making excuses.
It’s about making sense.

It’s about recognising that group participation is not an equal-opportunity activity. For some of us, it requires immense courage and still often ends in collapse. Facilitation, when done with compassion- creates the conditions for our nervous systems to settle.

We need to stop asking:

“Why won’t you join in?”

And start asking:

“What does joining in feel like for you?”

We need to stop assuming facilitation is about power and remember that it’s about presence.

And we need to remember that so many of us want to grow.
We’re hungry for learning, for belonging, for connection.
We need to do it differently.

From Surviving to Belonging

There’s a unique ache in being someone who loves ideas and thrives in learning environments but can’t participate the way others do. It feels like a betrayal of your own potential, like watching a door you built being locked from the inside.

But I’ve learned that leading, mentoring, and facilitating aren’t second-best options. They’re not what I do because I can’t cope as a “regular” participant.
They’re what I do because I know how painful exclusion feels, even in well-meaning spaces.

Facilitation lets me build the rooms I wish I could have entered safely.

And in doing that, I’m still learning. I’m still growing. I’m still connecting.

Just not the way I was told I had to.

Lots of love

Hannah x