Queer, Autistic, and Still Typing at 3 AM
Why I Write: Neurodivergence, Identity, and Resistance In the Age of Legislative Cruelty
This personal essay examines the intersection of autism, ADHD, transgender identity, and relentless political hostility as the driving forces behind a prolific research and writing practice. Drawing on peer-reviewed research linking anti-transgender legislation to measurable mental health harm (Restar et al., 2024), the documented co-occurrence of autism and gender diversity (Warrier et al., 2020), and the minority stress framework (Meyer, 2003), the author argues that neurodivergent hyperfocus, channeled through a multi-platform publishing strategy, functions as both a survival mechanism and a form of civic resistance. The essay contextualizes the author’s experience within South Dakota’s legislative environment, the broader national escalation of anti-trans bills, and the Trump administration’s attempts to attach anti-LGBTQ+ provisions to unrelated federal legislation, such as the SAVE America Act (Center for American Progress, 2025).
Keywords: autism, ADHD, transgender, anti-trans legislation, Christian Nationalism, minority stress, hyperfocus, South Dakota
Author Note: Grace Ann Hansen is an independent researcher and an MBA graduate student in health informatics and artificial intelligence. Correspondence concerning this essay should be addressed to Grace Ann Hansen at grace@graceannhansen.com
People ask me why I write so much. They ask it like it is a hobby, like I collect stamps or refinish furniture on weekends. It is not a hobby. It is the way my brain works, and it is the only thing that keeps me from losing my mind.
The Wiring
I am autistic. I was diagnosed as an adult, which means I spent decades not understanding why the world felt like it was made for someone else. Autism gave me pattern recognition that borders on obsessive. I see systems. I see connections between data points that other people scroll past. When I read a policy document or a piece of proposed legislation, I do not just read it. I disassemble it. I trace its funding. I track its sponsors. I map its downstream consequences. My brain won’t let me stop at the surface of anything.
I also have ADHD. Specifically, I hyperfocus. Ashinoff and Abu-Akel (2021) described hyperfocus as a state involving intense, sustained attention to an engaging task, diminished perception of non-task stimuli, and improved task performance. What they described clinically, I live daily. When a topic grabs me, I do not set it down for meals or sleep or because it is a reasonable hour to stop working. I lock in. Eighteen hours will pass, and I will look up from my screen and realize I forgot to eat. That is not an exaggeration. That is a Tuesday. Hupfeld et al. (2019) found that adults with higher ADHD symptoms reported more frequent hyperfocus episodes across school, hobbies, and screen time. Sedgwick et al. (2019) identified hyperfocus as a positive aspect of ADHD, part of a pattern of cognitive dynamism that shifts between curiosity, drive, and sustained engagement. The hyperfocus is not something I control. It is something I have learned to aim for. Point it at something that matters, and it becomes a weapon. Point it at nothing, and it eats me alive.
So I point it at research.
