The Alien Within

There are days when I move through the world like an undercover alien.

Everything looks almost normal, same air, same streets, same conversations, yet something hums beneath the surface that no one else seems to hear. The lights are too bright. The sounds have edges. People speak in rhythms that never quite match my own. The rules of belonging feel written in a code I was never given the key to.

Others drift easily through small talk, through noise, through the constant push and pull of social gravity. I study it like astronomy (I'm a student of the universe, another story), predictable orbits, unspoken forces. I know how to smile at the right time, to nod when the script expects agreement. I know how to camouflage in plain sight. But the longer I wear the disguise, the more it feels like my own skin is slipping away underneath it.

There is a loneliness that comes with seeing too much, feeling too deeply, noticing what others miss. The air between words. The shift in tone that carries more weight than what was said. The undercurrent of emotion in a room before anyone else names it. These sensitivities are my home planet, both gift and burden, blessing and noise. They make life vivid, but they also make it f...ing exhausting.

The world likes neat edges, not hypersensitivity. It prefers efficiency over empathy, charm over honesty, small talk over silence. So, I’ve learned to shrink parts of myself that don’t fit, to sand down the corners of my intensity until they’re smooth enough to pass inspection. And yet, every time I do, something essential fades.

There are moments, though, rare and electric, when I meet another of my kind. Someone whose presence doesn’t demand translation. Someone who understands that quiet can hold whole conversations. With them, I don’t need to edit myself. I don’t need to apologise for the depth of what I feel or the way I see. Those connections are oxygen. Proof that maybe we are not aliens at all, but scouts, here to remind the world that sensitivity is not weakness, it’s a different kind of intelligence.

When I stop fighting my difference, I notice how it opens doors others can’t see. I hear what’s unspoken, sense when someone is near breaking, and find beauty in patterns that others overlook. My nervous system might be tuned too high for this world, but that same sensitivity allows me to map its hidden terrain.

So no, feeling like an alien isn’t the wound. It’s the signal. It’s the sign that you’re tuned to a deeper frequency, one that measures truth by resonance, not popularity.

We don’t need to land. We’re not here to blend in. We’re here to translate, to turn what we sense into language, art, care, and clarity. To remind others that humanity was never meant to be uniform.

And maybe one day, when enough of us stop disguising our difference, the world will tilt just slightly, until what once felt alien becomes the new definition of home.

Let us help you

If you’ve ever felt like you’re from another planet, know this: you carry treasures the world needs. At Little Red Notebook, our neurodivergent coaching helps you uncover those treasures, translating your sensitivity, intuition, and depth into real-world strength, purpose, and belonging.

Work with us to bring your otherworldly brilliance down to Earth. Reach out at thecatalysts@littlerednotebook.com.au to begin that journey.