When Gossip Hurts the Body: Half-Truths, Full Impact

I recently found out that in a place where I worked for less than a month, people are still talking about me.

Not neutrally.

Not accurately.

And definitely not kindly.

Some of what’s being said is based on fragments of truth. Other parts are pure fiction.

For example: I was described as slow.

That part is technically true—in one very specific task, unpacking new stock. It was new to me, and I needed more time to understand the system. In other tasks, I was speeding up quickly: decartoning, cashier work, learning routines. But nuance doesn’t survive gossip very well.

Another claim: that I refused to learn product codes.

The reality? I struggled with learning them in my free time and needed explanations repeated. I asked questions. A lot of them. The day before I was fired, I scored 85% on the product code test—not the worst result in the store. But “needed repetition” somehow turned into “didn’t want to learn”.

And then there’s the part that crosses from misunderstanding into a straight-up lie:

That I supposedly said the system there was bad and that I would change it.

That never happened.

Anyone who knows me knows how absurd that sounds.

I was the new person. I’m a textbook impostor. I was very aware of my position. The closest thing to the truth is that I had originally applied for a managerial role — and I said I was actually relieved not to get it.

Somewhere along the way, asking questions became criticizing.

Curiosity became arrogance.

Context disappeared.

The Emotional Whiplash of Being Gossiped About

When my partner told me what was being said, my first reaction was laughter.

What? That makes no sense.

Then I cried.

Because why would someone spread distortions about me when I’m no longer even there?

Then I got angry.

Could this affect my future job prospects? Is this why finding work feels so impossible? Small towns have long memories and short fact-checking habits.

For a brief moment, I spiraled into thoughts of formal complaints and legal action. Not because it was realistic—but because injustice activates something primal.

Later, once the storm passed, I reframed it.

What helped me finally settle was something surprisingly simple: The Let Them Theory by Mel Robbins. One idea from the book kept echoing in my head: I cannot control what other people think about me. I can explain, clarify, correct—and still fail to change their narrative. So instead of continuing to argue with invisible conversations, I tried to let them. Let them misunderstand. Let them talk. Let them believe their version. Not because they’re right, but because my nervous system deserves peace more than my ego deserves vindication.

Later on, I reminded myself of the only feedback that actually matters: the direct feedback I received from the store's managers when they were saying good bye to me.

And I know I did my best with the tools, time, and energy I had.

The idea that I would waltz in and announce plans to “change the system” says more about how I was perceived than about who I am.

Still, it hurt.

Why Gossip Hits Neurodivergent People Especially Hard

Being gossiped about isn’t just unpleasant.

For many neurodivergent people, it hits a core nerve: injustice.

We often:

• value accuracy and context

• rely on clear communication to feel safe

• assume that asking questions is neutral or positive

• struggle when intentions are assigned to us instead of clarified

So when lies or half-truths circulate, it’s not just reputational damage. It’s a violation of reality.

Someone rewrites your story without you in the room.

And you can’t fix it. You can’t explain. You can’t add footnotes.

You’re left carrying the emotional weight of something you didn’t create.

When Emotions Don’t Stay in the Head

What struck me most came after the emotions settled.

Once I stopped crying, once my thoughts slowed down, my body crashed.

My arms felt heavy.

My shoulders ached, like I’d been carrying something far too long.

My whole body felt slowed down, thick, exhausted.

This happens to me after emotionally intense situations—arguments, conflicts, moments of deep unfairness. And if you’re neurodivergent, you might recognize this too.

This isn’t “being dramatic”.

What I experienced has names. You might know it as a post-stress crash or an emotional hangover. Among autistic people it’s sometimes described as a shutdown. In ADHD bodies, it can feel like a nervous collapse after prolonged hyperactivation. Different words, same nervous system reality.

The emotions pass.

The body pays the bill.

If This Is You Too, You’re Not Broken

If you experience physical exhaustion after emotional stress—heavy limbs, muscle pain, fatigue—you’re not weak.

You have a nervous system that:

• processes deeply

• stays engaged longer

• and needs real recovery afterward

That’s not a flaw.

It’s a different operating system.

You don’t need to feel less.

You need more space to recover.

Closing the Loop

I can’t control what people say about me once I’m gone.

I can’t correct every misunderstanding or stop every whisper.

What I can do is trust my own memory, my own intentions, and the feedback that was actually given to me directly.

And I can say this—to myself, and to anyone reading who recognizes themselves here:

If being misunderstood and gossiped about leaves you emotionally and physically drained, it’s not because you’re too sensitive.

It’s because injustice is heavy.

And you’ve been carrying it with your whole body.

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