Letters to Juliet, neurodiverse marriages, and a deeper, more conscious way of loving
Why I Traveled to Verona
As a marriage and family therapist for over 30 years—and a neurotypical wife in a neurodiverse marriage, (a partnership where one spouse is neurotypical (NT) and the other is neurodivergent (ND), typically meaning one partner is on the autism spectrum). I’ve spent my life witnessing the joys, confusions, and heartbreaks of couples in love. Different people, different stories, same themes.
So when the opportunity arose to visit Verona, Italy, the city of Romeo and Juliet, I realized it wasn’t just a vacation. It was a pilgrimage. A chance to immerse myself in the romantic mythology the world holds so dear, and to reflect on what love really looks like in the lives I see every day…. and in my own.
On Juliet’s balcony in Verona, Italy
Romance That Feels Effortless… Or So It Seems
There are places in the world that seem to hum with romance the moment you arrive. Verona is one of them.
Walking through its cobblestone streets, past ancient stone walls glowing in soft golden light, it’s easy to believe in the kind of love stories we’ve been taught to long for: effortless connection, instant passion, and emotional reciprocity that just happens. As Shakespeare wrote in Romeo and Juliet:
“My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.”
It’s a line that seems to capture the romance Verona promises—a love so natural, so all-encompassing, it feels infinite.
But sitting in Juliet’s courtyard, reading letters from women around the world, I realized that what we often call “romance” can be a fantasy. A beautiful one, yes, but not always reflective of the reality most couples experience, especially in neurodiverse marriages.
Not fantasy.
Not effortless romance.
But longing.
Confusion.
And a quiet, aching question so many of us carry:
“Why doesn’t love feel the way I thought it would?”
Letters, Longing, and Familiar Themes
At Casa di Giulietta, something extraordinary happens every day. People from all over the world write letters to Juliet, pouring out their deepest longings, heartbreaks, confusion, and hopes about love. Then there are the “Juliet’s Secretaries,” volunteers who read these letters and write back.
I sat there reading, some letters left behind, some shared, strangers opening their hearts, yearning to be chosen, to be understood, to feel emotionally met.
And the themes were strikingly familiar:
- Love that feels one-sided
- Longing for deeper connection
- Confusion about why something that looks “fine” on the outside feels so empty on the inside
- Hope that somehow, it could be better
As Juliet herself might have said:
“My only love sprung from my only hate!
Too early seen unknown, and known too late!”
It is a line that perfectly captures the tension between desire and reality, longing and the heart’s unexpected turns, a feeling that echoes through many of these letters.
As a therapist, I recognized the stories I see in my practice reflected in these letters—and in my own life. My husband, for example, has a hard time with relational cues. He’s not naturally expressive or emotionally fluid in the ways the world expects. Early in our marriage, I often felt unseen or misunderstood, frustrated that love didn’t feel intuitive.
But over time, with intentional communication, patience, and the tools we now share in my work with couples, my husband has learned to connect in ways that are meaningful. He checks in, he asks questions, he listens—sometimes in ways that feel small but carry enormous significance. Through this, I’ve gained a deeper perspective: love isn’t always about effortless romance. It’s about consistency, intentionality, and mutual growth.
It felt as though all the couples I’ve ever worked with were speaking again—just in different handwriting.
The Cassandra Experience
There is a particular kind of loneliness that often exists in neurodiverse marriages, especially for the neurotypical partner. It is sometimes referred to as the Cassandra phenomenon, the experience of feeling unseen, unheard, or emotionally unreciprocated while still deeply loving your partner.
Reading those letters, I couldn’t help but feel that many of these women, even if they would never use that term, were expressing a version of that same experience.
They weren’t just asking for love.
They were asking for felt love.
For emotional presence.
For reciprocity that goes beyond surface-level functioning.
I didn’t feel pity.
I felt compassion. Respect.
And a quiet familiarity.
Because I understand that space—personally, and professionally.
Writing My Own Letter
I found myself wanting to write a letter too.
Not from a place of desperation, but from reflection.
What would I say, standing in one of the most romantic cities in the world, as a neurotypical wife in a neurodiverse marriage, and as a therapist who has spent decades helping couples navigate love?
Would I ask for something different?
Grieve what isn’t there?
Honor what is?
Maybe all of it.
Because love, in my world, has not always been intuitive or easy. It hasn’t followed the script where connection flows effortlessly and passion speaks for itself.
Instead…. it has required translation.
My husband’s growth over the years has been a l
iving example of this. He may never naturally “read” my emotional state in an instant, but he has learned tools—scales, check-ins, and shared language—that make him more present and responsive. And I have learned, through this shared work, how to see and celebrate the ways he shows love that aren’t obvious at first glance.
Coming Back to Yourself
As I began responding to the letters, something became very clear—something I’ve known for years, but felt even more deeply in that space.
Again and again, I found myself gently guiding people back to themselves.
Not away from love.
But toward a stronger sense of self within it.
Because when love doesn’t go the way we hoped—when it feels one-sided, confusing, or incomplete, we can lose ourselves in the longing.
And that is where the deepest suffering lives.
So I wrote about coming back to oneself.
About developing a clearer, steadier sense of identity, independent of whether a relationship fulfills every hope.
About building a life that grounds you, so that even when love feels uncertain…. you are not.
Because when you have yourself—your voice, your clarity, your emotional center—you are no longer waiting to be completed.
You are choosing how to love.
Redefining Love and Expectation
Places like Verona amplify a narrative: that love should be natural, expressive, emotionally rich, and instinctively mutual.
And when your relationship doesn’t look like that, it’s easy to assume something is wrong.
But what if it isn’t wrong?
What if it’s simply…. different?
In a neurodiverse marriage, love may not arrive in the form we expect. It may not be poetic. It may not flow with emotional ease.
But that does not make it any less real.
It means we have to learn how to see it.
And sometimes… how to teach it.
And always… how to stay rooted in ourselves while we do.
As Shakespeare reminds us in Romeo and Juliet:
“These violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,
Which, as they kiss, consume.”
A caution, perhaps, that love imagined or idealized can burn us if we forget to stay grounded in reality and in ourselves.
The Love We Build Ourselves
We are taught to expect Verona.
But we are rarely taught how to navigate difference.
How to build connection when it doesn’t come naturally.
How to advocate for our needs in a way that can truly be received.
And how to stay connected to ourselves when love feels uncertain.
As I walked away from Juliet’s courtyard, I didn’t feel disillusioned.
I felt grounded.
Because while my love story may not resemble the ones written about in Verona, it asks something meaningful of me:
- To grow
- To communicate more clearly
- To understand more deeply
- To love more consciously
- And to remain anchored in myself along the way
I spent three days reading and answering letters from people around the world. Each one carried longing, heartbreak, confusion, and hope, so many echoes of the love we all crave.
If I could respond to every single letter, this is what I would say:
Your longing makes sense.
Your pain is real and valid.
Your desire for emotional connection is not too much.
But the answer may not be found in waiting for a perfect love story to arrive.
It may be found in learning how to create one yourself—intentionally, imperfectly—while staying deeply rooted in who you are.
Because when love feels uncertain… you can still come home to yourself.
A Note From Me
If you’re a woman navigating the complexities of love—especially in a neurodiverse relationship—and sometimes feel unseen, unheard, or unsure of how to be met emotionally, you are not alone. I’m semi-retired these days, whatever that really means—but I still love working with women who want to strengthen their connection to themselves, navigate their relationships with clarity, and create love that feels real and sustainable.
If this resonates, I’d be honored to walk alongside you on that journey.
Website: www.CouplesCounselorSanDiego.com
Phone: 858.735.1139
