The term neurodiversity was first coined in 1998 by a sociologist named Judy Singer. The model of neurodiversity is based on the concept that various types of âdisordersâ are normal variations in human development and, if provided with an environment that allows for these differences, neurodivergent people can flourish. The concept of neurodiversity rejects the pathologizing of various diagnoses.
Neurodiversity recognizes each person as an individual and knows each person has their own strengths and struggles. Being neurodivergent doesnât mean a person is broken or needs to be fixed. They need support to access the world around them. The solution to helping someone who needs a wheelchair get up steps isnât to teach them to walk; it is to build a ramp. The solution for someone who has a disability based on their neurological wiring isnât to tell them to try harder; it is to build (and help them build for themselves) accommodations that allow them to thrive.
Iâm not suggesting that our twice-exceptional kids should go through life expecting the world to accommodate their every need. Expecting the world to bend over backwards to make things easy isnât realistic. But ⌠What if we could help kids learn that their needs are valid? What if we taught them how to independently advocate for the external support they need and coached them to develop skills and strategies to manage the internal skills they need? Theyâd be set up for success as they enter adulthood.
It is interesting to consider how neurodivergent people would fare if society werenât so rigid in its expectations. What if gifted kids werenât required to remain with their same-age peers at school and could be instructed at their cognitive level? How would simply having an appropriate educational setting shift their development? Or, what if eye contact werenât a requirement for having a successful job interview? Think of the talent companies would access! As a society, we are making progress. For example, the belief that listening to audiobooks is somehow less valuable than reading has been greatly reduced in recent years. The advocacy work of neurodiverse people is slowly changing the way we see and accept those whose neurological wiring is different.
As host of The Neurodiversity Podcast, Iâve had the chance to interview some of the most respected experts in the fields of giftedness, twice-exceptionality, and neurodiversity. For episode 74, I spoke to Steve Silberman. Steve wrote the book that introduced me to the concept of neurodiversity. His 2015 book, Neurotribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity, offered an in-depth view of how people believed there was an epidemic of autism in the early 2000s, the stigma that autism has developed since it was first identified, and how damaging these beliefs were to autistic people who had immense ability to offer the world.
During our interview, Steve offered an example of how societyâs beliefs impact how certain concepts are pathologized and shared about his personal connection to it.
When I was in high school, I, myself, was listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders under homosexuality. ⌠Iâm glad to say homosexuality is out of the DSM, and itâs not because scientists discovered that, âOh, homosexuality isnât a disorder after all.â Itâs because gay psychiatrists and gay people flooded the offices of the APA and demanded that it be changed. ⌠[Thereâs now] this wave of social awareness thatâs mostly driven by autistic people speaking for themselves. Now we understand that not everything that is associated with autism is a deficit or an impairment.1
Within the span of his lifetime, our society has moved from pathologizing homosexuality as a mental disorder to recognizing that variations in sexual orientation are normal; now, the neurodiversity movement is moving toward destigmatizing and depathologizing various diagnoses, too.
The Language of Neurodiversity
Within the spaces of social media, there is often a lot of talk about the ârightâ terminology to use to describe neurodivergent individuals. Anytime we are labeling people, there are many opinions about the right language to use, and language evolves. Here are a few quick notes and observations about the language Iâll be using throughout this book and why Iâm using specific terminology and not others. I hope nothing changes in the time between when I write this and when the book is published!
Person-First versus Identity-First Language
Many of us are used to hearing person-first language: a student who has dyslexia or a child with autism. However, many in the neurodiversity community arenât comfortable with that language. They prefer identity-first language: a dyslexic student or an autistic child.
Person-first language indicates that somehow the label or diagnosis is separate from the person, as though we could remove that pesky autism or eliminate that attention deficit and weâd just have the neurotypical person remaining. Neurodivergence doesnât work this way. Neurological brain wiring is lifelong. It is also inherently tied to an individualâs personality. A twice-exceptional person might develop coping skills and learn to navigate the world with few people noticing them, but that doesnât mean they are no longer neurodivergent.
Throughout this text, Iâll use identity-first language when Iâm describing neurodivergent people almost all the time. The neurodiversity community is still figuring out how to work around some labels. For example, ADHD doesnât have a simple grammatical way to change it to a personal noun. Some people have started using the term ADHDer. (Note: Interesting that nobody ever questions calling someone a gifted student, isnât it? You can see how the way we word things influences our thought processes and emotions surrounding them.)
Of course, when Iâm working with a neurodivergent person, I default to the terminology they prefer. If person-first is what makes them feel comfortable, I will take the cues from them. In the same way, it is up to you and your child how you would like to talk about their specific labels. It can be an evolving conversation and is one that doesnât have a wrong answer.
Disordered or Misunderstood?
Another consideration when we are talking about the language associated with neurodiversity has to do with the term âdisorder.â Many of the diagnoses associated with neurodiversity come with that label slapped on the end of them: autism spectrum disorder, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, bipolar disorder. If the premise of the neurodiversity movement is to normalize these conditions, the word âdisorderâ certainly doesnât help. As a neurodiversity-affirming therapist, I avoid using this terminology with my clients. It is unnecessary and contradicts the therapeutic goal of emphasizing that neurodiversity is normal. I will try to avoid using them in this book, too.
Fighting Functioning Labels
The final note Iâll make about the language of neurodiversity has to do with functioning labels. The term Aspergerâs was used in prior editions of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders as a neurodevelopmental diagnosis similar to autism; the main difference was that it did not include a language delay that was a requirement for a diagnosis of autism. Frequently, twice-exceptional individuals fell into this category, even using the term âAspiesâ to refer to themselves. With the DSM-5âs publication in 2013, Aspergerâs was moved under the umbrella of an autism diagnosis. The terminology high-functioning and low-functioning autism began being used, although this was never technically part of the diagnostic system. The DSM-5 indicated levels based on the amount of external support an autistic person needs for daily living (Level 1 for requiring support, Level 2 for requiring substantial support, and Level 3 for requiring very substantial support).
There are multiple problems with using functioning labels for autistic people. One of the main critiques is that it is mostly based on how much an individualâs disability impacts other people â a person is high-functioning if their disability doesnât impact other peopleâs ability to understand their communication or create an imposition by needing accommodations. High-functioning often is code for âmostly invisible to the outside world.â However, a âhigh-functioningâ autistic person might be struggling greatly to mask their difficulties and experiencing life that really does require additional support, yet, because they are supposedly âhigh-functioning,â those accommodations may not be offered. Conversely, âlow-functioningâ might not be so low-functioning. For example, just because a person has difficulty with producing speech (perhaps because of muscle tone or sensory issues), doesnât mean they arenât able to advocate for themselves, navigate the world, and thrive in academic and professional environments.
One other piece of confusion that applies particularly to the twice-exceptional community is that high-functioning doesnât really mean above-average cognitive ability, although it is sometimes used that way by well-meaning people. So, when someone is described as âhigh-functioning,â does that mean they need minimal support in their daily life, or does it mean they are very smart? Each has very different implications.
Beyond an autism diagnosis, functioning labels have also been expanded on to describe other types of diagnoses and difficulties. Perhaps youâve seen articles or tweets online that describe high-functioning ADHD, depression, or anxiety. If you read these descriptions, basically what you are seeing is a person who is experiencing great internal difficulty while white-knuckling it to get through the days without allowing other people to know how much they are struggling. Many twice-exceptional people could be considered to be âhigh-functioningâ because when you add a splash of perfectionism that often comes along with giftedness, many of us do everything possible not to allow others to see our struggles. Not only is this masking unhealthy for the individual, but it also encourages the stigma that surrounds open and honest conversations about the vulnerability of neurodiversity.
Disability Isnât a Dirty Word
As I mentioned earlier, advocates in the field of neurodiversity often push back against the term âdisorder.â Much of this has to do with resistance to the medical community pathologizing the needs of neurodiverse populations. Also, if a person is neurodivergent, it implies there is something wrong, disordered, or broken about their personhood, or who they are as an individual.
What may surprise some people, though, is that the neurodivergent community recognizes the term âdisabilityâ and uses it often and freely. Neurodivergent people donât deny the presence of a disability because it describes the mismatch between their skills and the situation. It allows for accommodations to provide what is needed to successfully navigate the environment. Calling it something like being âdifferently-abledâ minimizes and infantilizes neurodivergent folksâ needs. Pretending a disability only provides strengths (âADHD is my superpowerâ) reinforces the idea that neurodivergent people should be able to use willpower alone to overcome their disability.
Recognizing a disability requires us to become comfortable with vulnerability. Self-advocacy begins with recognizing disability without shame. When we give our children permission to recognize their difficulties, we liberate them to ask for accommodations. We empower them to look beyond the status quo and find the solutions that work for them, instead of trying to use the solutions that work for other people. And we provide a framework for self-understanding and self-acceptance that is the key for neurodivergent people of all ages.
Self-Diagnosis through Your Childâs Diagnosis
Many of us grew up at a time when many types of neurodivergence werenât understood or recognized, especially in twice-exceptional people. ADHD was thought to be predominantly present in boys until recently. Autism diagnoses were reserved for indivi...