Shame and Object Permanence (Or Why My Car Is Still Filthy)
Let’s talk about something that carries an enormous amount of shame for so many people, object permanence.
Object permanence is a psychological concept that originally comes from child development. It describes the understanding that something continues to exist even when you can’t see it. Babies learn this over time, that when you hide a toy under a blanket, it hasn’t vanished from the universe.
Now here’s where it gets interesting.
In neurodivergent brains, ADHD, autism, trauma-impacted nervous systems, object permanence doesn’t always function in the neat, linear way textbooks describe. It’s not that we think people or things literally disappear. It’s that if something isn’t visible, present, or actively in our awareness… it can drop out of our working memory completely.
Out of sight can become out of mind.
Take my car.
It’s filthy. Muddy paw prints. General life chaos. Every time I get into it, I think, “I must clean the car.” Very sincere. Very determined.
Then I get home, go inside, and the car ceases to exist.
Not metaphorically. Neurologically. It is no longer in my brain. Until the next time I sit in it.
Vitamins? They live on top of the air fryer. Or the microwave. Put them in a drawer and it’s game over. Drawer equals disappearance. Visibility equals survival.
Friends? If I don’t see them, if they don’t pop up on socials, if I don’t think of them at a time I can immediately message, I don’t. Not because I don’t care. Not because they don’t matter. But because the thought leaves my working memory and something else takes its place.
The bag for the charity shop? That’s been known to hang around for six months. Three bags currently live by the freezer. They have a better social life than I do at this point.
For years, the shame around this was brutal. The internal narrative was harsh. Lazy. Useless. Inconsistent. Why can’t you just do the thing? Add to that the frustration of people around you. The eye rolls. The “how did you forget?” The understandable irritation from my husband when something slips again.
It took me a long time to understand this isn’t a moral failing. It’s neurology.
ADHD sits under the neurodivergent umbrella. Autism does too. Trauma impacts the brain in similar ways, particularly around working memory, executive function, and cognitive load. When your brain is busy scanning for threat, regulating emotion, or juggling ten internal tabs at once, things that aren’t directly in front of you can genuinely fall offline.
Understanding that changed everything.
It didn’t magically fix it. The car still needs cleaning. The charity bags are still loitering. If I’m in a rush and walk straight out the door, I don’t see the vitamins, and I don’t take them.
But I take them more often than I don’t. Because they’re visible. Because I’ve adjusted. Because I’ve stopped trying to force myself to function like someone I’m not.
That’s the difference.
When we understand our brains, we can work with them instead of constantly fighting them.
The shame used to be debilitating. Now it still bites me occasionally, but it doesn’t define me. I can laugh at the muddy car. I can create systems that actually fit how I operate. I can explain to the people around me what’s happening instead of absorbing all the blame.
This is why psychoeducation matters. This is why being neurodivergent-informed matters. This is why compassion, especially towards ourselves, matters.
If any of this resonates, if you’ve been carrying shame for things that might actually be neurological, you’re not broken. You might just need a different strategy and a bit of understanding.
Feel free to get in touch for a free, no-obligation intro call.
Stay safe.
Stay connected.
Take gentle care.
Louise x
