Who Actually is Neurodivergent?
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A little story about little me
Growing up in the 1980s, I had no idea that I was neurodivergent. I knew I was sensitive, had strong opinions about what clothes I wore, hated to be hugged, didn’t fit in with my noisy extended family, got anxious in the middle of multi-step directions, and was easily distracted at school.
I knew I was a problem.
My parents and my teachers were bewildered and frustrated. I was a polite kid, an eager to please rule-follower. I scored well on standardized tests, usually in the top 2-5% nationally.
But even with my intelligence, sometimes I just didn’t get it. I made mistakes on things they told me were easy. I missed social cues. I cried. A lot.
In desperation, my teacher sent me to the school psychologist. Maybe she could fix what was wrong with me. It might sound weird, but I felt relieved.
Yes! The grownups thought there was something wrong with me. I wasn’t just lazy or unintelligent or a “bad kid.” I felt validated.
In peak Gen X fashion, I was put in a social-emotional counseling group consisting of kids who bullied their classmates. We learned from a puppet called Duso the Dolphin how important it was to be kind to everyone.
I cried at the educational stories because I was heartbroken for the characters who were treated poorly. Cue more bewilderment from everyone. Yet once again, I wasn’t behaving correctly.
I don’t know for certain, but it was probably around this time that I started pretending like I was “normal” (or trying to, anyway). Hiding whatever parts of me didn’t seem to be socially acceptable was worth it to lessen the emotional pressure from the well-intentioned (but also confused, annoyed, and disappointed) people around me.
Given that I was 7 or 8 years old, I didn’t always get it right. But over time I learned what parts of me people approved of and which ones they didn’t. I learned that to be accepted in mainstream society, it’s what I needed to do.
Today, I know that this is called masking. As you can imagine, masking isn’t fun. It’s invalidating and exhausting.
But for those of us who have the ability to mask, it’s a valid response to the bias and discrimination we face as people whose bodies or minds don’t fit societal ideas of what is “normal.”
For us, this ableism is everywhere. But no one should have to hide parts of themselves to be accepted in a space or succeed in society.
Who is neurodivergent?
There are countless everyday actions we can take for greater neuro-inclusion. However, it’s hard to make progress when there is so much confusion around neurodiversity.
One of the most common areas of confusion is knowing who actually is neurodivergent. Here are some questions I’ve been asked:
How can you tell if someone is neurodivergent?
Is it rude to ask someone if they’re neurodivergent?
Is neurodivergence a disability?
Is it a superpower?
Isn’t everybody a little [OCD, autistic, anxious, etc]?
Is “neurodivergent” a polite way to say “special needs”?
Are “neurodivergent”" and “neurodiverse” the same thing?
What’s up with “neurospicy”?
Can children grow out of being neurodivergent?
How do people find out if they’re neurodivergent?
Perhaps you wonder if you are neurodivergent.
First step - definitions!
To have meaningful conversations about neuro-inclusion, we need a shared understanding of who actually is neurodivergent.
The first step is understanding basic concepts. Here’s a quick introduction to the five most important terms:
Neurodiversity - inspired by the term “biodiversity,” neurodiversity just means brain diversity. Neurodiversity is well-documented. It’s also common sense. We don’t all think and experience the world in the exact same way.
Pathology paradigm - The conventional way to explain why brain diversity exists. It’s a well-entrenched explanation that distinguishes between so-called “normal” brains and those that are considered abnormal or disordered.
Neurodiversity paradigm - an alternate explanation for brain diversity. Developed in the 1990s, it’s a framework that says brain variances are natural. In this model, there are no brains that are abnormal, wrong, sick, broken, or disordered. There are simply natural variations.
Neurotypical (NT) - originally an amusing term within the neurodivergent community, it has come to represent people whose brains allow them to function effectively in mainstream environments (and for whom that functioning is sustainable over time). Commonly simplified to mean people with “typical brains.”
Neurodivergent (ND) - people whose ways of thinking, learning, perceiving the world, and socializing diverge from what is typically accepted and supported in society.
We experience varying levels of bias, discrimination, and exclusion based on how our neurodivergence intersects with other aspects of our identity (e.g. race, gender) and how close we are to societal norms.
Okay, but really
How can I identify neurodivergent people or know if I’m one of them?
What neurodivergent people have in common is our atypicality. We do not think, learn, perceive the world, and socialize in the ways most people do. That’s it.
It’s a shared lived experience of exclusion, of having our differences treated like deficits. Of being told we are too much, not enough, a problem.
If you’re wondering if you’re ND – I think that gets to the heart of it. It’s the feeling of living in a world that is not made for the way your brain works and being judged for the mismatch.
Mismatch + judgment in real life
Here are some examples of ND characteristics and what happens when we encounter spaces that don’t consider our needs.
Reading or processing information slowly. Professor assigns readings last minute then penalizes a ND student for lack of participation in class discussions.
Sensitivities to restrictive clothing or particular fabrics. Workplace has a business professional dress code. ND employee has to decide whether it’s better to wear “professional” clothes and do suboptimal work or be judged for wearing perceived “unprofessional” clothes but do their best work.
Limitations in working memory. ND student / employee asks for written instructions to supplement verbal instructions, but they’re told that’s an unfair burden to put on the professor / manager. Later, they are criticized for their inability to complete tasks.
Struggles to perform hygiene tasks. ND person experiences social pressure and subtle acts of exclusion when they don’t turn on their camera during a virtual training.
Avoids small talk or converses in atypical ways. ND candidate doesn’t get admitted to a competitive program because they’re rated as not sociable or not a “good fit” during the interview process.
Less mismatch, more inclusion
You might wonder why I didn’t match specific types of neurodivergence to their applicable scenarios above: ADHD, anxiety, autism, depression, dyslexia, high intellectual potential, long-covid brain fog, PTSD. And why did I list eight types of ND for five scenarios?
We can create neuro-inclusive spaces even if we don’t know who is neurodivergent or which kind. Even better, many inclusive strategies benefit multiple kinds of ND.
Actions + mindset
Our inclusive efforts will be more effective when we combine practical actions and mindset shifts.
Looking back at my school experience, it absolutely would have been great to get individual support from the school psychologist rather than being placed in that social-emotional counseling group. That’s action.
But I think it would have been more impactful to simply be accepted for myself. That’s a mindset shift.
If I had been accepted unconditionally, I never would have chosen to hide parts of myself. Over time, I might have learned to advocate for my needs. That, in turn, would have given the people around me practical examples of how to be neuro-inclusive.
What a virtuous cycle that could have been.
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