“That’s such a double standard!”
I can’t count how many times I’ve said this to my husband in the middle of a conversation. And every time, he just shrugs. Maybe he even chuckles a little.
And then comes the response that hits me like nails on a chalkboard:
That’s just the way it is.
Usually, we’re talking about the disparity in expectations when it comes to gender.
Don’t get me wrong—I know men’s and women’s brains differ. We have different hormones and biologies. I’m not expecting something unreasonable that goes against our physiology.
I’m talking about the social double standards: how it’s “normal” for men to suppress their emotions, and they’re rarely labeled for it—while women who act similarly are seen as cold or heartless. Or the way a woman expressing emotion is often brushed off as “just hormonal.”
That example is only the tip of the iceberg. Gender norms are just one minefield in a world loaded with double standards.
Because double standards are everywhere.
They apply to race, ethnicity, gender, class, personality—every facet of identity.
If you’ve been following my blog lately, this post probably feels like the natural next step. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been unpacking some deeply personal realizations. And last week, I finally let myself feel something I’d long suppressed:
Anger.
For the first time, I gave my anger space to breathe. And in doing so, something unexpected emerged:
Curiosity.
I’ve only recently allowed myself to fully experience emotions like anger, and the wisdom that’s come from it is this: every emotion has a purpose.
Anger’s purpose?
To protect us.
To signal when our boundaries are being crossed.
To alert us to injustice.
That realization sent me spiraling inward, questioning: What was this fire in me really about? What was the root of my passion for fairness and justice?
It didn’t take long to connect the dots.
Even before I was diagnosed with autism and ADHD, I knew something wasn’t fair in how I was being treated.
I knew I wasn’t getting the support I needed—from others or from myself.
I knew I was being edged out socially because I didn’t quite “fit.”
I knew being called a “know-it-all” or “too sensitive” was a misreading of who I truly was.
Most of all, I knew that how others perceived me didn’t line up with the reality I lived inside.
That mismatch? It hurt. Deeply.
And it planted this wedge in my heart—a constant reminder that the world around me didn’t make sense.
Because if the world worked the way my brain did, that kind of pain wouldn’t happen.
To my autistic mind, equality isn’t just an ideal.
It’s logic.
Equality simply makes sense to me. The judgments people make based on race, gender, neurotype, or other factors that are out of our control—they don’t add up. They’re not based in fact. They’re not rational.
Inequality is a survival instinct—one rooted in fear. A way for the brain to sort out who is “different” because difference feels dangerous. And which part of the brain does that sorting?
The emotional brain.
The lizard brain.
The mammalian brain.
And as we talked about in Spring Clean Your Mind: emotions are not facts.
Realizing that was like cracking open a shell I didn’t know I was trapped in.
It finally made sense why injustice pierced me so deeply. Why my rage wasn’t just reactive, but rooted.
Because of my neurodivergent wiring, I didn’t just want justice—I expected it.
And when I didn’t find it in the world around me, it felt like betrayal.
That insight was like opening a positive version of Pandora’s box. It illuminated so many corners of my life and explained why last week’s post felt like it came from the deepest part of me.
So now what?
I know the world will never be perfectly just. I know I can’t change everything.
But I can change how I live with that knowledge.
The breakthrough came when I used the same coaching tools I use with clients—on myself.
I realized I wasn’t just hurt by injustice. I was hurt because the world didn’t meet my expectations.
And what am I in control of?
My expectations.
My capacity for compassion.
My ability to hold space for others—even when they don’t value justice like I do.
That’s where growth lives.
In that space, I find my voice. A powerful one—one that comes not from a wounded place, but from a whole, rooted one.
When I start leading from a full heart—in a world that shies away from the strength of vulnerability—I become exceptional.
If this post resonated with you, don’t let the reflection stop here.
✨ Subscribe to the blog so you don’t miss future posts.
📲 Follow me on Instagram @exceptional__living for daily insights and tools.
💬 Book one of my limited free 1:1 coaching calls—I have just four spots left. If this touched something in you and you’re ready to work through it, I’d be honored to hold that space with you.
Let’s turn your truth into transformation. 💫
Exceptional Living 
Leave a comment