I wish I know earlier

— if I am an Octopus Invisible

I tried so hard to be just like everyone else, to fit in and be part of the crowd. But in doing so, I endured exclusion, bullying, and countless moments of self-doubt. Then one day, it hit me—I realized that I’m like an invisible octopus…

You might be wondering, “Why an octopus?” To answer this question, let me take you back to my school days. Every first day of school was the most nerve-wracking day of my life. I’d walk into a classroom full of strangers, and within minutes, my classmates would be laughing and chatting like they’d known each other for years. And there I was, sitting quietly, looking around, too afraid to be the first to speak. I didn’t know how to start a conversation, let alone how to keep it going.

What do you say after, “Hi, my name is…”? Even if I mustered the courage to talk to someone, I’d get stuck at the point of introduction. It was like I forgot all my past experiences and didn’t know how to do a simple presentation. What others heard was just a long pause between two sentences because I needed time to process. They would always lose their patience after talking with me, so the next time, they would just keep going and not let me finish my words.

It felt like I was invisible, like an octopus blending into the background, trying to hide my anxiety and fear.

Growing up, I wasn’t particularly worried about having friends. Instead, I found immense joy in playing alone, shaping my fingers into butterflies, horses, birds—anything that could fly in my imagination. I loved drawing, creating colorful pictures that my teachers praised with warm smiles and kind words. But every now and then, I would quietly observe the world around me.

I’d pass by a group of kids, huddled together, laughing like they were in on the world’s best-kept secret. I’d wonder what was so fun about their games. I thought, Maybe, if they made a little space for me, I would’ve joined. But they didn’t, and I didn’t. So things stayed the same. I always played alone, without friends, and I genuinely enjoyed it.

On the rare occasion when one of the outgoing kids asked me to join them, I would be astonished, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and fear. I was happy, but not as happy as when I played alone, where I had complete control over my world and decisions. It was my sanctuary, a place where I could be free and unafraid.

As time went on, I noticed how effortlessly people formed their little groups—and how easily I was left out. They’d share everything—where to go on weekends, who to ask for help with homework—but I was never a part of that. I couldn’t help but wonder, Why is it so easy for me to be the one who’s excluded?

Then came the teenage years, when the feeling of being on the outside grew stronger. I started doubting myself—a lot. I hated how quiet my voice was. I hated how people would make fun of the way I looked. I hated always being the one left out. I couldn’t even make eye contact; I kept my gaze glued to the ground, trying to blend in as much as possible.

At some point, I couldn’t take it anymore. I looked up at the sky and asked, “What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I just fit in? Why is it so hard to be like everyone else? Am I really that different?”

Then, one day, I stumbled upon an article that changed everything. It described a person who felt like an octopus trying to live on land. The octopus struggled to communicate because it needed water to speak, which muffled its voice, and everytime, it had to retreat into its tank just to breathe.

When I read that, I broke down in tears. That was exactly how I felt. The article was describing what it’s like to be on the autism spectrum, living in a world built for “normal” people. It’s like trying to express yourself without the right tools, while being hypersensitive to everything around you.

That was the day I finally understood myself. At 23, I got a preliminary diagnosis for autism. When I shared this with the people around me, they were shocked. They just thought I was a bit shy. But you know what? I should be proud of myself. It means I worked so hard to fit in that no one even noticed. Right?

But here’s what I want to say: you don’t need to pretend to be normal. Just be yourself because you are the greatest! You’re that octopus—unique, special, and perfect just as you are.

For anyone out there who feels different, who struggles with self-doubt, I want you to know that you are the best version of yourself. Embrace it. To help you navigate the stress and challenges, I’ve also prepared a little guidebook about living as an extra introvert, where I share my feelings, experiences, and insights. It’s free, and you can download it with just a click.

The octopus has its own world, and so do you.

This reminds me of my time in kindergarten. While all the other kids were running around, playing games, I was perfectly content sitting by myself, enjoying my own company, without worrying about what anyone else thought.

And that’s why I started this podcast. I wanted to find meaning as an individual, to explore the things I love. I began writing songs, and slowly, I broke free from that deeply insecure version of myself. Now, I want to share the true inner world of those who feel like me—those I call extra introverts.

And hey, don’t forget to subscribe and leave a review! It took a lot of courage for me to start this podcast, and I’m excited to keep sharing my journey with you. Thanks for listening, and remember—you are the greatest!