What’s Left After All the Things You Can’t Do Might Surprise You
When I was tested, my working memory came back at the 3rd percentile. Numbers, directions, even a grocery list—gone in seconds. For years, I thought that score defined me. What I didn’t know was that the very thing I lacked was pointing me toward something else entirely.
Dear Friend,
I’ve lost count of how many times people have reminded me of what I can’t do. Plan ahead. Stay organized. Follow through. Hold more than a few things in working memory. For me, it isn’t just one or two—it’s all of them.
My memory for details is so low it scrapes the bottom of the chart. Numbers don’t slip through my fingers—they vanish, like water disappearing down a drain. Trying to make a plan feels like being locked in an escape room with no clues.
For a long time, I thought those deficits were a sentence. Proof that I’d never measure up. Every reminder chipped away until the list of can’ts started sounding like my obituary.
But here’s what I missed: when you take away what isn’t there, something still remains. And what was left for me was presence.
The Surprise of What’s Left
I used to hate the fact that I couldn’t feel the flow of time. People talk about planning their week or mapping out their future like it’s nothing. My brain never worked that way. I felt broken because of it.
But eventually I realized: being “stuck” in the present wasn’t brokenness. It was clarity. A strange gift hidden inside the gaps.
How My Wiring Shows Up
Autism pulls me toward details most people overlook—the hesitation before someone speaks, a flicker in their tone, the weight in the room.
ADHD jolts me into action. I’ll ask the question no one else is asking, point out the tension everyone else is ignoring, or crack a joke when someone’s mask starts to slip.
Combine those traits with a brain that doesn’t hold much in memory, and what’s left is an unfiltered clarity of the present moment. A spotlight on what’s real right now.
Why It Matters
That way of being has changed lives I’ve touched.
I’ve seen a teenager drowning in self-doubt sit up straighter when I named the heaviness in their voice.
I’ve seen a parent stop spinning in circles when I cut through to the heart of the matter.
That ability to bottom-line in the moment—that’s what’s left. And it matters.
Turning the Question Toward You
I know how tempting it is to measure yourself by the list of what you can’t do. That list is real. But it isn’t the whole story.
The deeper question is: what’s left?
Maybe for you, it’s the way you sense the mood of a room before anyone speaks. Maybe it’s staying steady when chaos breaks out. Maybe it’s the way you turn pain into art or humor. Maybe it’s remembering conversations word for word.
Whatever it is—that’s what’s left. And that’s where your strength lives.
The Bottom Line
The world will always remind you of your can’ts. Don’t let that bury you. Look at what’s left. That’s where your gifts are. That’s the part of you worth building on.
So let me ask: when you set the can’ts aside, what’s left in you? I’d love to hear.
Thanks for being you,
Brian