A neurodivergent reflection on manipulation, vulnerability, and stepping out of the pattern

I’m neurodivergent. And for much of my life, I couldn’t quite explain why I kept finding myself drained, overextended, or quietly harvested of my time and energy.

Usually nothing dramatic. Usually nothing obviously abusive. Just a repeating feeling of “How did I end up here again?”

For a long time, I assumed the answer was personal failure: not being firm enough, not being savvy enough, not seeing things soon enough.

Now I understand something different.

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Manipulation isn’t always malicious — and vulnerability isn’t weakness. Manipulation isn’t a type of person. Vulnerability isn’t a flaw. They are roles that can form when empathy, influence, and structure fall out of balance.

Many people imagine manipulation as overt deception or cruelty. But more often, it looks like engineering situations where choice quietly narrows— where consent is assumed instead of asked, where proximity replaces invitation, where attention is guided rather than freely given. And vulnerability? It often comes not from naivety, but from openness.

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Why neurodivergent people are often at risk? As a neurodivergent person, I tend to:

• read patterns quickly

• feel deeply

• seek coherence and meaning

• value harmony

• empathize instinctively

Those are strengths.

But in certain social environments, they also create frictionless access—especially in spaces with:

• unclear rules

• authority figures

• charismatic leaders

• social performance

• or unspoken expectations

In those spaces, my empathy didn’t protect me. It kept me present longer than I should have been.

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Conditioning matters more than we admit. I also grew up in a very rigid religious environment. Being under authority, following structure, and suppressing personal signals were presented as moral strengths. Obedience and endurance were framed as virtue. Questioning internal discomfort often came last.

That training stayed with me far longer than I realized. This isn’t an indictment of belief or faith. It’s an acknowledgment of how structure shapes nervous systems. When control is normalized early, later influence can feel familiar—even when it quietly costs autonomy.

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The quiet confusion of being “used” without ill intent. One of the hardest things to understand was this: many people who benefit from influence don’t experience themselves as manipulative.

They experience themselves as:

• socially skilled

• helpful

• confident

• effective

• or simply “good with people”

Often, these patterns were learned early— in families, institutions, or environments where steering others was adaptive or rewarded. That doesn’t erase impact. But it explains why confrontation often goes nowhere. Because the harm wasn’t intentional — it was structural.

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Empathy is often the hook. This took me a long time to see. After an uncomfortable interaction, my mind would ask:

• Did they mean to do that?

• What might they have been going through?

• Were they aware of how that landed?

That instinct is compassionate. But it can also reopen doors that were wisely closing. Empathy, when ungated, becomes continued access. And not everyone who enters through empathy respects autonomy.

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What changed for me?

I stopped trying to fully understand people who bypassed consent. Instead, I started listening to how my body felt inside interactions.

Not fear.

Not attraction.

Not politeness.

But choice.

Did I feel:

• ease

• agency

• room to say no

• the ability to leave without consequence

If the answer was no, I didn’t need further analysis. I learned that leaving quietly is sometimes the cleanest boundary available.

No accusations.

No explanations.

No narratives for others to manage. Just absence.

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How people with influence can step out of the pattern. This isn’t about shame. It’s about awareness.

Questions that matter:

• Did I ask, or did I arrange?

• Was consent explicit, or implied?

• Would this still feel okay if roles were reversed?

• Am I comfortable with someone disengaging here?

Influence doesn’t need to disappear. It just needs consent back at the center.

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How empathetic people can protect themselves without hardening. The answer isn’t to become colder or suspicious. It’s to remember this:

You can understand someone without letting them in.

Empathy does not require proximity.

Understanding does not require access.

Compassion does not require self-erasure.

You are allowed to leave.

You are allowed to disengage.

You are allowed to stop being available.

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A shared relief

When manipulation decreases, everyone benefits. The influencer no longer needs control to feel safe. The empath no longer needs armor to survive connection. Healthy spaces allow desire without pressure, connection without extraction, and empathy without cost to autonomy.

I’m still empathetic.

I’m still open.

I just no longer mistake endurance for kindness.

This is Oddly Robbie