Graced with Grit

we’re still responsible for how we treat others

Getting a diagnosis, whether it’s anxiety, depression, BPD, ADHD, or anything else, can be deeply empowering. It gives you context. Language. It can help you understand yourself more fully and feel less alone in the chaos.

But over time, I’ve also seen something else happen. Something harder to talk about.
I’ve seen people use their diagnoses not as tools for understanding, but as shields to avoid accountability.

I say this gently, but honestly:
A diagnosis can explain your behavior,
but it doesn’t excuse your harm.

Being anxious doesn’t make it okay to lash out.
Having ADHD doesn’t mean it’s fine to constantly forget or disregard other people’s time.
BPD doesn’t give permission to manipulate.
Bipolar doesn’t justify continually being unreliable.
Depression doesn’t make ghosting or passive-aggression fair.

These are real diagnoses. With real weight. And yes, they affect how we move through the world; how we process, regulate, respond. But when we start using them as a way to shut down feedback or bypass growth, we’re not helping ourselves. We’re certainly not helping the people who love us.

What’s hard is that some of these behaviors are symptoms, and that’s real. Regulation is difficult. Reactions are strong. Emotions can be overwhelming. But if we know this about ourselves, it becomes even more important to do the work of managing it, not just naming it. There’s a difference between self-awareness and self-justification. One leads to healing. The other just leaves people around us feeling unsafe.

And when someone brings up the ways they’ve been hurt, and the response is, “Well, that’s just how I am,” or “That’s my anxiety talking,” or “I can’t help it, I’m neurodivergent,” the message underneath is: You don’t get to ask for better. You just have to accept this.

That’s not fair. And it’s not love.

We can hold both truths at once:
Yes, people are doing the best they can with what they have.
Yes, mental health and neurodivergence are real, serious, and valid.
And yes, we’re still responsible for how we treat others.

Owning a diagnosis doesn’t free us from that. In many ways, it invites us into it. Into deeper reflection, better coping strategies, clearer communication, more intentional repair. The most powerful thing a diagnosis can give us is not a reason to stay the same, but a path forward.

So if someone in your life constantly uses their diagnosis to justify harm, to deflect every hard truth, to dodge accountability, or to silence your hurt; it’s okay to say: I see your struggle, and I still need respect.

It’s okay to say: I understand this shapes how you experience the world, and I’m still allowed to name when I’ve been mistreated.

You can have compassion without abandoning yourself.
You can honor their humanity without minimizing your own.

Because at the end of the day, a diagnosis doesn’t erase impact.
And growth, real growth, doesn’t sound like, “That’s just how I am.”
It sounds like, “This is something I’m working on.”

We all want to be seen clearly. But clarity cuts both ways. And it can only truly liberate us when we stop using it to excuse who we’ve been, and start using it to shape who we’re becoming.