I grew up around powerful, neurodivergent women. My mother and my grandparents could walk into a room and command respect. Whatever else was complicated about them, there was no mistaking their presence.
As the first grandchild for years, I had a lot of time to absorb that before I had much to compare it with. They did not need to be conventional to have authority, and I did not need a title to tell me they had it.
Later, I found myself around people in positions of authority who seemed to be operating from fear. I sensed it in their responses and in the atmosphere around them. It felt different from what I had known growing up.
What confused me was that these were the people I was supposed to look to for guidance. They were older, more experienced, further along. When their presence did not match my understanding of power, I assumed the problem was with my understanding.
They are the leader, so they must know something I do not.
If they were afraid, perhaps there was something to fear that I had failed to recognize. Their position made their perspective seem more reliable than mine.
When Respect Becomes Self-Doubt
We learn to listen to those who came before us. We want to be open to guidance and honest about what we still have to learn.
I can see how easily I moved from that willingness into doubting myself. When something felt off, I looked for the explanation in my own shortcomings. Perhaps I was too young to understand. Perhaps I was misreading the person.
I did not give the original observation much room before trying to correct it.
No one necessarily had to insist that I was wrong. The hierarchy could do that work inside my own thinking. Their role suggested they understood, while I had a feeling I could not yet explain.
What I could not see clearly then was that someone could hold authority and still be afraid. Their apprehension might come from their own history or uncertainty. I did not have to interpret it as evidence of a danger they could see more clearly than I could.
I’m less focused now on why they acted that way and more on why I trusted their fear over my own instincts.
Sensing Something Before You Can Explain It
This is where I keep thinking about sensitive, neurodivergent, perceptive people. Some of us register the atmosphere in a room before we have words for it.
That does not mean every impression is accurate. It does mean there may be something worth considering before we dismiss it.
An observation can be hard to defend while it is still taking shape. You might be able to say only that something feels uneasy. Beside an established leader’s experience and standing, that can feel like very little.
If you are also used to having your reactions misunderstood, you may already check other people’s responses before trusting your own. When everyone else seems comfortable, your discomfort can feel like one more thing about yourself that needs explaining.
So the thought becomes: This is not lining up, which must mean I am wrong.
I want to be more patient with that early stage of understanding. I can take time to consider an observation, ask questions, and discover that I misunderstood something. I can also discover that I noticed something important. Neither possibility gets much room if I have already decided that the person above me must know better.
The Weight of Spiritual Authority
I wonder how often this happens in church spaces, especially to people who are deeply intuitive or feel connected to something larger than themselves.
You have an experience of the sacred that matters to you. Then you encounter someone with spiritual authority whose understanding feels different, perhaps more fearful or limited than what you have experienced. Because they hold that role, you begin to question your own connection.
It can be hard to separate the person from what their position represents. Their interpretation carries the weight of the role, while yours can seem like a private feeling you have no right to place beside it.
For someone who sincerely wants to learn, that difference may feel like evidence of spiritual immaturity. Their desire to grow becomes another reason to set themselves aside.
The person guiding them may be sincere, too, sharing what they understand through the fears and limitations they carry. Yet their words can feel definitive because of who is offering them.
I want to be able to learn from someone without making their understanding the boundary of my own relationship with the sacred.
Giving My Own Experience a Place
Being raised around powerful women gave me an early familiarity with power, but it did not prepare me for this confusion. I recognized a difference in the people I later encountered without knowing how to hold on to that recognition when they were leading me.
What feels important now is remembering that another person’s fear can affect me without becoming an accurate description of the world. I can care about it and consider what they are saying while asking whether it belongs to my experience.
When I think about sacred listening, I think about making space to hear what I have been too quick to dismiss in myself. What did I notice? What made me uneasy? Did something help me understand it differently, or did I simply decide that the person with authority must be right?
Respecting someone’s experience can coexist with taking my own seriously. I can be teachable and still ask a question, or remain uncertain without turning that uncertainty into a judgment about myself.
