3 Reasons Why Caryll Houselander May Have Been Neurodivergent (and Why It Matters)
Caryll Houselander was a colorful, chain-smoking therapist who didn't fit in anywhere.
Except for one place—right at the heart of divine Love.
Called “eccentric” by her friends, Caryll lived a life of such profound compassion and mystical insight that her writings became instant international bestsellers.
As it sometimes happens with misunderstood women, the world soon forgot about her.
But as I’m exploring her life and her insights, I am becoming obsessed with this woman.
Who could forget about Caryll??
She was a blunt, gin-drinking, 1950’s Brit who cursed like a sailor.
And whose visions of Christ in ordinary people propelled everything she did.
During the London Blitz of World War II, she wrote a moving work called The War is the Passion.
That is: God suffers with us. In us.
She redefined the Virgin Mary for a whole generation of Catholics.
And wrote in such a candid way that religious leaders denounced her work for being “overly emotional.” (This was the 1950’s after all.)
But one thing I don’t see anyone talking about is her neurodivergence.
Given, you can’t “diagnose” a dead person.
But the way she described her experiences and the way her friends talked about her sure sound neurospicy!
Why does this matter?
Well, I’m neurodivergent. And I bet a handful of the people you know are, too.
“Neurodivergence” can describe a whole range of experiences, from ADHD to the Autism Spectrum to High Sensitivity.
Neurodivergent people may feel things more deeply.
Sometimes so deeply that it can be overwhelming. A big part of neurodivergence is learning to regulate stimulus.
Sometimes, noise or wind or even a person’s gaze can feel overstimulating.
Sometimes more stimulus is desperately needed.
Now this is not an article explaining all the heights and depths and shapes of neurodivergence.
But the reason I bring it to the fore is that we are all made differently.
Our bodies have a wide plethora of gifts and abilities, and it’s important to recognize and celebrate that!
While history didn’t use our modern clinical terms, neurodivergent people have always been around.
Nature has always painted in a wide variety of colors.
And it’s important to recognize that diversity everywhere, including among the saints and mystics.
While I might not relate to the story of Saint Jerome or the hagiographies of Saint Catherine of Siena, I can get down with an offbeat therapist who didn’t fit in.
She gives all the rest of us misfits hope.
This is why I’m so excited for the Caryll Houselander masterclass in our Modern Mystics School.
Taught by the bestselling, ever-wise Carl McColman, we’ll explore all the profound gifts Caryll has to share–including how she encourages us to trust our own quirky splendor.
You’re invited–learn more here!
Without further ado, here are 3 clues that Caryll Houselander was likely neurodivergent.
1. She had social anxiety.
Social interactions can pose challenges for neurodivergent folk for many reasons. It can be overstimulating. The social “rules” that are considered normal and understood by neurotypical may seem baffling to a person on the autism spectrum, for example. (“Why don’t people just say what they mean instead of all this sarcasm and innuendo and metaphors?”)
Now, social anxiety can be rooted in a variety of causes. This alone does not mean a person is neurodivergent. But the way it showed up in Caryll’s life makes me think it was more than typical anxiety.
Caryll lived her life almost as a recluse. She described how that the fear of social interactions showed up at a young age: “Even in my own home I could not bring myself to enter a room in which there were other people, even people I knew well, until I had first gone to the door two or three times and failed to force myself to walk in.”
Sometimes this led to panic attacks. She would later be diagnosed as “neurotic,” in the jargon of her day.
When Caryll was able to take care of herself in the way she was inclined, it usually looked like solitude.
She loved carving wood (and even created statues for several churches), and would find refuge in the hours she dedicated to this. “There is no work on earth, which in my mind is more soothing and healing than carving wood.”
I can imagine wood was much less baffling than social interactions.
2. She had overwhelming empathy for those who suffer.
One writer described Caryll as having “pathological empathy.” In modern terms, this sounds like high sensitivity, where you feel something so deeply that you share in another person’s pain.
For example, seeing the violence of war on the news might cause a highly sensitive person significant anguish. Not just concern, sadness, anger–but intense anguish.
One theory is that a highly sensitive person has overactive mirror neurons (or in more neutral language, extra excited mirror neurons) that can lead one’s nervous system to think whatever is being experienced on the outside is also being experienced on the inside.
The depth of the emotions can be overwhelming.
After World War II, when doctors and therapists were scrambling to figure out how to help hundreds of thousands of people with shellshock (read: PTSD), Caryll devoted much of her time to helping child refugees and war veterans.
One psychologist, who would go on to become the President of the British Psychological Association, would frequently send her his trauma patients, because she provided healing in a way no one else could. She simply “loved them back to life,” he said.
3. She had a very blunt, sometimes off-putting, communication style.
Caryll was known to have a razor-sharp tongue. Her sense of humor was off-beat and frequently colorful. She swore in settings others found inappropriate, lacked the patience and gentleness expected of women at the time, and “did not suffer fools gladly or even tactfully,” as one writer put it.
This is a reflection of those social rules mentioned above. At times, neurodivergent people can come across as rude or awkward, simply because they are operating under different social rules. Their brains are wired a bit differently. There is zero malice behind it–as exemplified by Caryll’s profound empathy and tireless efforts to heal the brokenhearted.
She may have come across blunt, awkward, even “eccentric,” as one friend put it–but she was also deeply loving, and moved to share that love with those on the margins.
In my opinion, it was probably her very sensitivity that disposed her to such spiritual depths. Sensitive people–think artists, poets, and empaths–tend to see the world more deeply. They’re porous to reality. This includes all its stimulus, pain, and chaos–but it also includes those gentle divine currents that we are all forever swimming in.
What do you think? Those of you who are neurodivergent - what do you make of this list? What has your experience been?
And who else, among the cast of saints and mystics, do you think was likely divergent?
Let us know in the comments below.
Kelly Deutsch specializes in audacity. Big dreams, fierce desires, restless hearts. When seekers are hungry for unspeakably more, she offers the space to explore contemplative depths and figure out where they fit in the vast spiritual landscape. She speaks and writes about divine intimacy, emotional intelligence, John of the Cross, trauma-informed spiritual practice, and neuropsychology. Kelly offers spiritual direction, coaching, contemplative cohorts, and retreats. She is the bestselling author of Spiritual Wanderlust: The Field Guide to Deep Desire. When she isn’t exploring the interior life, you might find her wandering under Oregonian skies or devouring red curry.
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