A Catalyst for Self-Discovery

My journey into understanding my own neurodivergence began unexpectedly with my experiences related to dental work. What initially seemed like inexplicable discomfort and “irrational” fears surrounding dental restorations became the crucial starting point that pushed me to investigate patterns in my life that had felt “off”.

A core aspect of this experience is a heightened sensitivity to tactile and visual stimuli, particularly concerning dental restorations. The texture of composite fillings, for instance, feels distinctly unpleasant and unnatural to my tongue, creating a sensory impression that is bothersome. I often noticed my tongue repeatedly returning to specific surfaces, hijacking my focus completely — a feedback loop that made it hard to think about anything else. I also experienced what felt like phantom toothaches: vague, hard-to-define sensations that weren’t exactly pain, but still triggered concern or discomfort. I couldn’t clearly tell if I was anxious, in pain, or just overwhelmed — only that something wasn’t right.

This tactile discomfort isn’t superficial; it amplifies my awareness of the restorations and can even influence how I perceive them visually. Adding to this, I would sometimes feel like my teeth were dirty again just half an hour after brushing, which only added to the unease. Visually, I’ve struggled with the appearance of tooth-coloured restorations that attempt to mimic natural teeth but fall subtly short. Even minor discrepancies in shade, translucency, or texture create a perceptual mismatch that triggers an unsettling reaction. This experience strongly resonates with the uncanny valley effect, a concept I initially knew only in relation to robotics but discovered also applies to dentistry. My brain seems less tolerant of these subtle imperfections, perceiving them as an imperfect imitation. This effect becomes more pronounced as natural teeth age, while restorations remain unchanged, highlighting the interaction with the ageing effect.

This visual and tactile discomfort has manifested as specific, recurring anxieties, such as an unfounded fear of breaking teeth, concerns about losing fillings, and an exaggerated perceived risk of fracture for porcelain restorations. Interestingly, despite this anxiety, I do not experience typical dental fear; in fact, I often find the process of dental work itself enjoyable, describing it as similar to a deep meditation and the energising feeling of pushing physical limits in sports, except for the moments when vibrations resonate. This contrast between finding dental procedures engaging yet being distressed by the outcomes highlights a conflict between the natural sensory experience and the artificiality of the fillings.

For some time, I dismissed these feelings as irrational, struggling to pinpoint the underlying cause. I knew logically that my dentist’s work was excellent and functional, but the unease persisted. This dissonance between my logical understanding and my persistent feelings was perplexing. It felt like a psychological issue tied specifically to my teeth, involving health, self-image, confidence, and social perception. This difficulty in connecting my emotions to logical thought or articulating my internal state is a pattern I now associate with alexithymia and broader challenges in emotional processing.

In contrast to the discomfort caused by “almost natural” restorations, my experience with metal braces as an adult was profoundly positive. I specifically chose metal brackets over clear ones for their clarity, as they are straightforward and leave no room for uncertainty that I observed on others. I even maximised their visibility with bold colours. Wearing them provided a strange but pleasant and extremely satisfying sense of protection, both visually and tactilely, and the constant pressure felt oddly energising. This period brought an unexpected and strong boost of self-confidence like never in my life. Upon removal, the absence of the braces left me feeling like something was missing; the reassurance they provided was gone. This preference for intense, consistent sensory input and contrast, and the sense of security it provided, now makes sense as a form of sensory regulation, potentially related to stimming often seen in autistic individuals.

Reflecting on these experiences, I realised that my intolerance for subtle dental imperfections wasn’t random but a reaction to ambiguity. Tooth-coloured restorations with their low contrast and “almost natural” appearance trapped my brain in a loop: “Is this real or fake?” ➔ “Why does it feel so wrong?” ➔ “It’s all I can see!”. This cycle revealed that my intolerance wasn’t fundamentally about my teeth but about how my contrast-dependent brain processes imperfection. Contrast is a fundamental aspect of how I experience and process the world across multiple domains. I was absolutely fascinated by my dependency on contrast and wondered how come I didn’t realise earlier.

I considered using mental strategies like cognitive reframing to manage this discomfort, but the thought evoked mental burnout. This highlights the challenge of overriding deep-rooted sensory and cognitive processing patterns. The experience with a minor malocclusion also caused significant distress, feeling like a major disruption. Furthermore, witnessing others with poor dental health triggers an intense, visceral fear by proxy that my own teeth might break, incapacitating my ability to focus on the interaction. This intense and disproportionate reaction to dental integrity mirrors other areas where sensory or emotional triggers can feel overwhelming and difficult to regulate.

In summary, these dental experiences, driven by heightened sensory processing sensitivities, cognitive patterns related to contrast and ambiguity perception, and challenges in emotional identification and regulation, were not mere “irrational fears.” They were significant indicators of a different internal wiring. Analysing these specific struggles, particularly the recurring discomfort and the stark contrast in reaction to subtle versus bold restorations, provided the critical insights that ultimately led me to explore and identify patterns consistent with a neurodivergent profile.

The Labyrinth of Self-Discovery

I dove into research, adopting a problem-solving mindset, much like when troubleshooting complex issues. This journey involved exploring the intersection of psychology, design, and dentistry. Specific areas I investigated included perceptual effects, such as the uncanny valley effect, the ageing effect, and Gestalt principles. I compared the physical properties of various dental materials and rediscovered how contrast acts as a perceptual compass, leading to the discovery of my own contrast dependency. I realised that contrast wasn’t only something all around me, but its lack caused an unsettling discomfort. I found that hidden personal trait fascinating and did some internet searches related to how the brain processes sensory input.

This personal discovery about my contrast dependency ultimately guided my research toward neurodivergence. I first identified patterns of Sensory Processing Differences (SPD), which are commonly associated with Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) and can also appear in Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). From there, I recognised that 233 out of 300 of my findings — spanning experiences, behaviours, preferences, and thoughts — matched known neurodivergent patterns. A few years earlier, someone had suggested I might have ADHD. I briefly explored it but dismissed the idea at the time, as many traits didn’t resonate. So while neurodivergence wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to me, which made this journey not a complete travel into the unknown.

Along the way, I encountered several dead ends. At one point, I was so perplexed that I couldn’t even articulate what was wrong, which led me to do something out of character—I reached out to my dentist for help. This was a significant step for me, as I almost never seek assistance from others (a tendency that I later identified as hyperindependence trait), and it truly was a distress call, given that my concerns didn’t align with my existing knowledge. In addition, my alexithymia, which I wasn’t aware of at the time, caused me to misinterpret my emotions, further complicating my understanding of my own state. She provided valuable support after I shared my struggles with her and confirmed my major assumptions, just a day before I delved into the realm of neurodivergence.

Overall, the experience was similar to finding my way to the exit of a labyrinth, a complex journey made clearer with the support of those around me, but also those who publicly shared their experiences on the internet.

The Evolution of My Dental Sensitivities

Interestingly, my reaction to tooth-coloured restorations has evolved over the last few months. Initially, they evoked a visceral reaction similar to discovering mould on food I was about to eat — an instinctive, unsettling disgust. However, as I’ve come to understand my contrast dependency and sensory processing differences, this reaction has diminished. While I still find these restorations slightly annoying, they no longer cause the same level of distress. The fear of breaking my teeth is gone, replaced by a more neutral acceptance of my dental work. This shift suggests that much of my initial discomfort stemmed from the uncertainty and lack of understanding about why these restorations felt so wrong to me.

This journey also taught me how to identify and express my needs — a skill I’ve often struggled with in various aspects of life. Discovering this ability felt like unlocking a new level in a game called “My Life,” bringing me closer to understanding and embracing my unique self.

Subnote to my dentist: This exploration of neurodivergence was initiated shortly after we discussed my discomfort with certain restorations. It was driven by my natural tendency to solve problems and my fascination with how subtle details shape perception. Thank you for being part of my self-discovery adventure. I often clench my jaws, which helps release my stress, and feeling the elasticity of the teeth ligaments is extremely satisfying. Having had TMJ issues, I am very mindful of this habit. I assume it’s one of my ways of stimming that I can safely do in public, and I acknowledge that this habit helps keep me regulated. Dismissing it could have unexpected side effects, so I kindly ask that we take this into account for my future dental care.