08/04/2026
Here’s a gentle re-share of a piece I wrote on alexithymia.
It’s a word that’s being used more and more… but it’s never quite sat right with me.
What I see, both personally and in the therapy room, isn’t a lack of emotion, it’s emotion that doesn’t always live in words.
Not an absence… but a different kind of fluency.
What are your thoughts on the term?
Alexithymia is often described as a difficulty identifying or describing emotions. The word itself means “without words for feelings.” It emerged in psychiatry in the 1970s, when clinicians observed people who seemed detached from emotion or unable to verbalise what they felt. Since then, it’s been measured through self-report scales and language-based questionnaires, tools shaped by cognition rather than by lived emotional experience.
But as a therapist who works closely with the nervous system and expressive forms of communication, I’ve come to question this. Alexithymia has become another one of those heavily used terms in the neurodivergent community that I feel we need to gently challenge. Not because it isn’t real, but because it might not mean what we think it does.
Traditional psychology assumes emotional awareness is something that happens in the mind, a cognitive act of identifying, naming, and interpreting. But emotional awareness is a living, sensory, and relational process. For many neurodivergent or trauma-impacted people, emotions aren’t tidy concepts that translate easily into words. They move as energy, rhythm, colour, imagery, vibration, or breath. They show themselves through art, sound, play, movement, stillness, music, writing, or the quiet presence shared between people.
When we measure those ways of feeling against a verbal or cognitive model, they’re often misread as absence or deficit. Yet “difficulty describing” is not the same as “not feeling.”
What we often call Alexithymia may be better understood as non-linguistic emotional fluency, the capacity to feel, process, and communicate emotion in ways that exist beyond words. For some, what appears as emotional disconnection is actually a protective adaptation, a nervous system holding emotion safely until it senses security again. When we label this a disorder, we risk pathologising what may have once been a wise and necessary survival response.
The construct of Alexithymia also reflects the limits of the framework that created it. It grew out of analytic and cognitive traditions that prioritised thought over felt experience, language over sensory awareness, and interpretation over connection. These traditions were never designed to recognise the sensory, relational, and intuitive languages of emotion… the ones spoken through posture, tone, gaze, resonance, rhythm, and shared presence.
So maybe Alexithymia isn’t a deficit at all. Maybe it’s a mirror showing us how incomplete our understanding of emotion still is.
Because when we only value emotional expression that sounds like words, we risk missing the beauty of all the other ways humans feel, process, and connect. Maybe what we call Alexithymia is simply a unique emotional grammar.