My position on neurodivergence

Me

I’m high masking, low support needs autistic, and I have ADHD, which can show up as both inattentive and hyperactive. I was late identified/diagnosed with both in my early 50s. Sometimes my clients ask me about my positions on different aspects of neurodivergence. I’m not an expert. I’m not even an expert in my own neurodivergence! I’m still learning about it and probably always will be. But here’s what I broadly, currently believe, based on the best evidence I can find and my own lived experience.

Neurodivergence

I agree with the idea that autism, ADHD and other forms of neurodivergence are neurotypes: differences in how the brain processes information, senses, communication, and social interaction, because of differences in how our brains have developed. These neurotypes, and the experiences of being autistic or having ADHD, as all part of the broad lived experience of being human. And every autistic person, person with ADHD, or both, has a unique experience of what that means in terms of their emotional, sensory, communication and cognitive needs.

'Diagnosis'

Although I use it in order to be more widely understood, I don't like the term 'diagnosis' because it implies a purely negative discovery. I prefer to use 'identification'. It's more neutral and is inclusive of acknowledging strengths as well as challenges. And it seems more appropriate if we see neurodivergence as within the range of human cognitive development, neurotypes, and experience.

Language

There’s a lot of passionate discussion around the language used to talk about neurodivergence, in particular autism. I prefer to say that I am autistic, rather than that I have autism. I’m not comfortable with the terms ‘disorder’ or ‘condition’, so I try not to use them. This is because they position the neurodivergent experience as somehow ‘outside’. As I say above, it’s another way to be human. I also prefer not to describe myself as 'AuDHD'. This is because my daily experience is that my autism and my ADHD come from different places and are in dynamic tension. They are not a unified condition. To paraphrase the internet, on the one hand there's a Swedish architect in my brain, but on the other, there's a bunch of drunk raccoons in an overcoat. Whichever one appears to be in charge, driving my behaviour, is down to my energy level, emotional regulation and what’s happening. Learning to be aware of, understand and respond to this process has been life changing.

And I want to be clear on what I mean when I say ‘neurotypical’. I don’t mean this as meaning a person with a ‘normal’ or even ‘desirable’ brain. It just means that if I was to go into a busy place, choose someone at random and somehow be able to rapidly understand how their brain is structured, connected and works, I’d statistically be very likely to pick someone with a ‘neurotypical’ brain, because that sort of brain is just more predominant.

But I don’t think there is a single best way to use language here, even though I understand how taking control of the language around neurodivergence is one way to counter overt or hidden ableism. I believe that if you’re getting used to talking about yourself in this way, use what feels right for you, but listen to and respect other points of view.

'The spectrum'

One instance where I think we need to do more to reclaim and influence the language of neurodivergence is the concept of being ‘on the spectrum’. This is because it’s one way that encourages some neurotypical people to diminish the neurodivergent experience. When we talk about being ‘on the spectrum’, we’re not equating one end of the spectrum (let’s say red) with ‘less severe’ and the other (blue) with ‘more severe’. It's not linear. The more helpful use of this model is to say that each colour on the spectrum represents one aspect of neurodivergence. For example, sensory sensitivities, communication, or social challenges (in fact, there are more than 20 ways in which neurodivergence ‘shows up’). The brightness of each colour is a way to represent how much this aspect affects a neurodivergent person’s day to day life and interactions with others. This interpretation sees autism (and ADHD) as a profile made of multiple traits, each of which can vary in intensity. People have ‘spiky’ profiles: strong abilities in some areas, significant challenges in others. Very low intensity in an area just means that your experience of that is perhaps in line with the predominant or neurotypical population, and this is why there can be the misguided view that ‘we’re all on the spectrum’. We’re not. We all need to wee, but if it hurts, or you need to go 20 times a day, that’s not a typical experience. Similarly, anyone can feel tired after a social experience, but you can’t compare that with the experiences of someone for whom even small interactions leave them exhausted.

My past/parallel career in education has helped me work with several disability charities over the years and I have long been familiar with the social model of disability. This says that people are not disabled by their bodies or minds, but by the barriers society creates. In other words, a person’s impairment (e.g., blindness, autism, mobility limits) isn’t necessarily the problem. The environment, attitudes, and systems that fail to accommodate them may be doing more to create their disability. In short, disability is created by society, not by the individual. For example, an autistic person isn’t disabled by their neurology, but by sensory-overloading environments, exclusionary models of communication, or rigid social expectations.

The social model encourages us to find ways to remove physical and social barriers and design more inclusive spaces, inspired by valuing diverse ways of being. It inspires my work to help neurodivergent adults build self-knowledge and a life that works better for them. But while the social model is important and helpful, I do think it is important to recognise its limitations. The truth is that some neurodivergent people have very significant support needs and while it’s right to do all we can to support and include them in communities and society, it’s helpful to remember that this can come at significant cost. The social model is powerful, but let's remember that applying it does require effort.

Let’s go back to something I said earlier: neurodiversity in society is part of the whole lived experience of being human. And it has always been like this. There’s a compelling theory emerging that neurodiversity is an evolutionary strategy. Communities have always needed people with different sensory and information processing skills, to be safe, forage, hunt, solve problems, innovate and be creative. In this context, autism and ADHD start to make sense. It supports the idea that there are no exclusively autistic or ADHD behaviours or experiences, just as there are no exclusively neurotypical behaviours or experiences. But the predominance and severity of some experiences combine to create what we describe as autism or ADHD.

The rise in identification/diagnosis

So I don’t think the recent rapid rise in diagnoses represents a change in prevalence. It’s thanks to huge improvements in insight, understanding and diagnosis. Let’s talk about Pluto. In the 19th Century astronomers were able to infer that a small planet must exist due to minor disturbances in the orbit of Uranus and the recently discovered Neptune. But it took until the 20th Century for astronomy and telescopy to catch up and make a definite observation in 1930. But like neurodivergence, Pluto had always been there. It took improvements in insight, understanding and diagnosis to find it. That’s what we’re experiencing today with neurodivergence.

And finally, I think that in the vast majority of cases where it happens, self-diagnosis can be perfectly valid, for a number of reasons. First of all, a vanishingly small number of people want to falsely claim to have a disability or condition for psychological reasons. I’m happy to trust that when people start to suspect neurodivergence, their motivation and reasoning are honest and well-intentioned. A formal diagnosis can be expensive or mean a years-long wait. Many people seek self-understanding: explanations, rather than a piece of paper. They are not seeking external validation, but a better way to interpret what has happened to them and what their lived experiences are like, and a toolkit that perhaps makes life easier.

The current media/political discourse around some sort of 'epidemic' comes from a scarcity or zero-sum mentality, and from entrenched views about maintaining a status quo that works for the benefit of relatively few people. Acknowledging a person's neurodivergence does not take anything from anyone else. In fact, I believe making things better for neurodivergent people makes things better for everyone, because it challenges lots of unhelpful, even harmful assumptions about how we're supposed to work and live. Shining a light on the true incidence of neurodivergence in society illuminates lots about how a few are making things hard for everyone.

Remember I'm not an expert

I’m not a psychologist. I’m not trained to diagnose. But I do think that the right coaching can support and enhance a self-identification journey, just as it can help someone to make the most of the formal diagnosis process.

But as I say, I’m not an expert. These are just my personal beliefs that shape how I live my own neurodivergent life, and how I coach people living with neurodivergence in ways that I hope challenge ableism and affirm neurodivergence.