Have you ever met someone who technically hasn’t done anything wrong, yet your brain files them under “absolutely not” within three minutes?
No evidence.
No witness statements.
No CCTV footage.
Just a vibe.
An irritating little feeling that follows you around like a fly at a barbecue.
Now before anyone starts accusing me of thinking I’m psychic, let’s calm down.
I lose my phone while holding it.
I walk into rooms and immediately forget why I’m there.
And only last week I reheated the same cup of tea twice because I kept forgetting to drink it.
I am hardly Mystic Meg.
Yet there have been countless times throughout my life when I’ve met someone and thought:
“Hmm. Something’s not right there.”
I couldn’t explain it.
I couldn’t prove it.
But the feeling was there.
Then six months, two years or sometimes ten years later, something would happen and I’d find myself thinking:
“Ah. There it is.”
Human beings leave clues everywhere.
The funny thing is most of us don’t notice them until they’re practically waving semaphore flags from the rooftop.
People Are Walking Patterns
One thing I’ve noticed about life is that people are surprisingly predictable.
Not all people.
But most.
We all have habits.
Tells.
Patterns.
The emotional equivalent of leaving your socks on the floor and insisting you’ll pick them up later.
Some people constantly interrupt.
Some people always play the victim.
Some people only ring when they want something.
Some people celebrate your success.
Others go quieter than a teenager who’s just been asked to unload the dishwasher.
The clues are usually tiny.
On their own they mean nothing.
Together they start painting a picture.
That’s where things get interesting.
Because many neurodivergent people spend years observing.
When you don’t quite fit in, you watch.
When people confuse you, you study them.
When social rules seem to change every five minutes, you become a reluctant anthropologist.
After fifty years of that, you start noticing things.
My Slightly Odd Obsession
Many years ago I became fascinated with graphology.
For anyone unfamiliar, that’s the analysis of handwriting.
Yes, I know.
Not exactly the career your school careers adviser had in mind.
Give me a paragraph of handwriting and I’d tell you things about yourself that would make your eyebrows disappear into your hairline.
Some people were fascinated.
Others suddenly became very protective of their shopping lists.
What I loved wasn’t the handwriting itself.
It was the person hiding behind it.
The confidence.
The self-doubt.
The perfectionism.
The stubborn streak.
The need to please everyone while secretly wanting to tell them where to go.
The handwriting was simply the doorway.
The real fascination was understanding people.
Looking back, I realise that’s been a recurring theme throughout my entire life.
I’ve always been curious about what makes people tick.
Or occasionally explode.
The Family Bit Gets Awkward
Strangers are easy.
If somebody feels off, you can simply avoid them.
Family is where things become interesting.
Or annoying.
Depending on the day.
You know that feeling when somebody is perfectly polite to you, yet if you disappeared for six months they’d probably notice around Easter?
Nothing obvious has happened.
No dramatic argument.
No flying Christmas puddings across the dining table.
Yet something feels… different.
You notice things.
Who gets invited.
Who gets called.
Who gets remembered.
Who gets celebrated.
You start seeing little patterns.
Then comes the really frustrating part.
You begin arguing with yourself.
Am I imagining this?
Am I overthinking?
Am I being unfair?
Or am I simply noticing something that everybody else is pretending not to see?
The older I get, the less interested I am in talking myself out of my own observations.
Not because I think I’m always right.
Far from it.
Have you met me?
I once spent twenty minutes looking for my glasses while wearing them.
A Small Problem With This Theory
Before we all start congratulating ourselves on our superior detective skills, there is one small issue.
Sometimes we’re wrong.
Sometimes what feels like intuition is actually anxiety wearing a fake moustache.
Sometimes old wounds convince us we’re seeing patterns that aren’t really there.
Sometimes we’re spotting genuine warning signs.
Sometimes we’re carrying baggage from twenty years ago and dragging it into completely innocent situations.
Most of the time it’s probably a messy combination of both.
Which is deeply irritating because I’d much prefer a simple answer.
Sadly life rarely consults me before making these decisions.
So Where Have I Landed?
Honestly?
I’m still figuring it out.
I don’t think neurodivergent people are psychic.
I don’t think we possess magical superpowers.
I do think many of us have spent a lifetime observing human behaviour.
And after enough years, those observations start adding up.
Human beings leave clues everywhere.
Some leave breadcrumbs.
Some leave entire baguettes.
The challenge is figuring out which is which before you’ve invited them round for Christmas dinner.
What do you think?
Have your instincts about people usually been right, or has your brain ever sent you completely down the wrong path?
