Feeling Shattered: A Neurodivergent Mind Navigating Italian Culture

It’s been a year and a half since we moved to Italy, and I find myself feeling more shattered than ever. As a neurodivergent individual, adapting to Italian culture has been incredibly difficult. When I was in England, I found a sense of fulfillment and purpose, especially in my involvement with schools. I worked hard to be proactive, supporting primary schools and contributing to enrichment programs for students. I even birthed the Biophilia Project, which was something I felt incredibly proud of. There, I felt seen, respected, and truly valued.

Looking back, I realize that my time in England allowed me to find my path, one that was deeply aligned with my values and skills. But I also think there was a personal dimension to it, something that my little self, Elena, might have been trying to show me. Perhaps, in a way, she was trying to offer me a different perspective on the journey I was on.

I am a neurodivergent individual who was raised in an old-fashioned world. My soul carries scars that I can never erase. They hurt every day, and just like kryptonite is to Superman—his one vulnerability—these scars are a deep source of pain and weakness for me. In the place where I grew up, the very environment that should feel familiar and comforting only intensifies this pain, making it harder to navigate.

I had to endure hours of sitting still at a desk, lessons that made no sense to me, bullying, and constant triggers. As if that wasn’t enough, I was desperate to feel normal, but deep down, I already knew I wasn’t “normal.” Somehow, that realization sank under my skin, and I adapted, surviving in spite of it all. But then, London gave me something I had never experienced before: freedom, understanding, and acceptance.

In England, I felt calm in the quieter, more respectful dialogues and appreciated the gentle distance. I felt understood. But here in Italy, it’s been an entirely different story.

Since moving, I’ve tried to replicate the same proactive approach with my children’s education. I volunteered as a class rep, but almost every meeting left me feeling profoundly sad, and at times, completely shocked. The education system here feels like it’s stuck in the past. I hear outdated, even medieval views being expressed. The comparison to England has become unavoidable. My daughters are falling behind—not compared to their peers here, but compared to what they would be doing back in England. The gap in education is painfully clear.

Let me be clear: I’m not accusing anyone. In principle, I have deep respect for those who choose teaching as a profession. It’s, without question, one of the most important jobs in the world. However, what I’m struggling with is the lack of openness to meaningful exchange or constructive feedback. Here, it often feels like a competition, like a football match where one side wins and the other loses. And the ones who lose?

The children.

In England, I felt heard, seen, and respected—even if things weren’t always perfect. That sense of respect made a world of difference. Here in Italy, I see my daughter losing faith in adults and in the school system—especially after experiencing bullying, with no response from the teachers. She’s been excluded from school trips because of the actions of a few misbehaving classmates or simply because, they don’t want to go. They don‘t care.

Then there’s the case of a mother whose child had an accident at school because the teacher denied her permission to go to the toilet. The mother, who doesn’t speak Italian, reached out to me, and I helped her navigate the system. But after months of waiting for a response from the headteacher, all I received was a dismissive, “It’s an accident, come on.” No apology, no plan to address the issue with the mother. Nothing. I was almost mocked.

I feel utterly lost and deeply worried for my children’s well-being and for mine. The Italian school system hasn’t changed in decades, and it’s the same broken system that left me scarred as a child. What England gave me—hope, a sense of belonging—Italy seems to be taking away.

Tonight, I resigned as a class rep. I’ve lost hope. I no longer want to enter that space, and I want my children to know that if it was for me, they wouldn’t have to endure this.

I have lost hope in this culture. Which is still so painful I just want to shut down my system and forget I can make a difference. Because indeed here, I cannot.