Introduction
Last year I had a conversation with a person who described themselves as neurodiverse and a person with a disability because of their neurodiversity. During our conversation, I observed that not all forms of neurodiversity were a disability. They disagreed with some energy, and I asked if we could continue the conversation later. They agreed, but it didn’t happen.
I have been concerned about the argument that neurodiversity is a disability as more people seem to be making the same claim, but often without any clear argument to back up their claim.
I fully appreciate that for many, especially older people with a late diagnosis, discovering that they might be neurodiverse can help them make sense of their life experiences. And I am not saying that neurodiversity doesn’t provide a basis for understanding that some forms of atypical cognition and behaviour do fit the description of a disability.
What I am noticing is that identification as being neurodiverse, while offering explanation for experiences, doesn’t sufficiently distinguish between difference and disability. It also seems that those for whom the disability explanation is valuable are claiming to be neurodiverse as a form of identity.
Why make the claim? A former colleague (team member) and a friend is a case in point. After a meeting, a director approached me to ask me to please manage my team member’s behaviour in meetings. They were constantly asking ‘inappropriate’ questions. I was surprised. The questions seemed pretty much on the money and showed a lot of insight. But maybe they were impolitic? Showing up leaders like that wasn’t a good look.
So, I decided to ‘manage’ my team member’s behaviour. We had a chat. It turned out that this wasn’t an unusual reaction and they were often getting into bother with senior managers. They were puzzled because they never intended to be offensive in any way. I had an inspiration. I asked them whether they had ever had an IQ test. They had. I asked the score and was told. Problem solved. They were seriously way smarter than the Director.
Solution? They could choose to continue asking questions but with the awareness they were showing up the senior managers. If they wanted to do that, that was fine. Or they could take a more subtle and strategic approach. The questions still got asked, but only sometimes, however the problem went away.
I tell this story because it demonstrates a form of neurodiversity – a singular perspective on issues that others did not have. There was no disability but there was a need for modification of behaviour – or accommodation of it. The Director didn’t have the self-awareness to adapt their behaviour, so it fell to my team member to adapt theirs. The ideal would have been to embrace the diversity of perspectives and accommodate them. But that’s not what usually happens.
There’s another problem with insisting that one’s claim to have disability because of claimed neurodiversity (I say claimed because apparently there’s a lot of self-diagnoses – which nevertheless might still be accurate). It is the difficulty of demanding others accommodate your behaviour because you have a disability and are unable to self-regulate. This might be true, but it would take good clinical insight to argue that self-regulation is out of scope for you.
The risk here is that a narcissistic inclination that might dispose a person to claim disability as an alternative to self-awareness and engaging in self-regulation. And what might be a better claim than to be neurodiverse? How common is this? We all know people who have declined to self-regulate before neurodiversity became an identity option.
Now I am not claiming all or most assertions that a person has a disability because of neurodiversity are false or dubious. I am simply cautioning that such claims should have competent clinical grounds to substantiate them.
Neurodiversity is meant to assert that some forms of cognition and conduct are so significantly at variance with the ‘normal’ as to be recognised as worthy of remarking upon. In this regard I have also encountered claims that neurodivergence is the same as neurodiversity. It isn’t. Divergence and diversity have distinct and different meanings.
I asked my former colleague and friend whether they saw themselves as neurodiverse. They said, “Under my own definition, yes.” I didn’t ask what that definition was because the point was made for me. We can define the word on our own terms.
Difference, disorder or disability
There is a range of conditions which are described as forms of neurodiversity, and which are often seen as inherently a disability. But it is better to say that they should be seen as a disorder. And not all disorders are disabling. The two most common are ADHD and Autism. The 2nd D in ADHD is for Disorder and autism’s fuller name is autism spectrum disorder (ASD).
However, whether these are necessarily disorders is contested. Jessie Hewitson, writing in The Times Magazine in early June 2025 says that ADHD “is not a disorder but a brain type, a variety of which is perfectly normal, not a problem to be fixed”. Her article was titled Everything you think you know about ADHD is probably wrong. She is the author of ADHD: How to Raise a Happy ADHD Child.
Hence, we also have a problem of using familiar terms while no longer believing they mean what they literally say. Is what is called a disorder a dysfunction or a deviation from the norm and called a disorder simply because it is disruptive to the norm?
Both ADHD and ASD can express in severe forms that can be called a disability. And even in milder forms of expression can create a need for some form of accommodation. But we make accommodations for other people all the time. It’s that we have limits on what we decide is okay and what is worth our effort.
One of my nephews has been diagnosed with Asperger’s syndrome. For a long time, his social interactions were dysfunctional beyond people who had gotten to know him. He had needed others to adapt to his behaviors because he hadn’t been able to adapt on his own account. But in chatting with his parent recently I was told his ability to adapt has been growing steadily in recent years.
A need for accommodation can be considered a disability because the individual’s range of action is impeded by a condition not amenable to their intentional action. But we must be careful how we think about this.
The social model of disability is often invoked here. But I am wary of this. We can remove a lot of disabling barriers to inclusion by mandating modifications to our physical, policy and legal environments but we can’t mandate greater compassion, patience, empathy and insight by individuals. When it comes to cognitive and behavioural differences or disabilities this is the most important thing to consider.
When does a neurological difference become a disorder and then a disability? And how can we best respond?
Is neurodiversity being misrepresented?
Wikipedia has an interesting entry on neurodiversity. Here are a few excerpts:
- The neurodiversity paradigm is a framework for understanding human brain function that considers the diversity within sensory processing, motor abilities, social comfort, cognition, and focus as neurobiological differences.
- The neurodiversity paradigm argues that diversity in neurocognition is part of humanity and that some neurodivergences generally classified as disorders, such as autism, are differences with strengths and weaknesses as well as disabilities that are not necessarily pathological.
- Neurodivergent individuals face unique challenges in education and the workplace. The efficacy of accessibility and support programs in career development and higher education differs from individual to individual.
- At first glance, neurodiversity-lite appears to offer an important cultural shift. It reframes conditions like autism and ADHD in a more positive light, emphasizing strengths such as creativity, attention to detail, hyperfocus, or out-of-the-box thinking. In doing so, it counters the historically deficit-based narratives that have dominated psychology and medicine. This framing can help reduce stigma, encourage self-acceptance, and support hiring initiatives that recognize neurodivergent talent. For many, this more affirming view has opened doors—both personally and professionally.
- However, this surface-level positivity comes at a cost. Critics argue that neurodiversity-lite risks overemphasizing exceptional abilities while erasing the real-world challenges many neurodivergent individuals face—especially those with high support needs, intellectual disabilities, or non-speaking communication. It is most visible in corporate or media narratives that promote the idea of neurodivergence as a “superpower”, particularly when it serves productivity and innovation—often framing autistic individuals as ideal workers in tech and STEM fields. These narratives selectively uplift individuals who can “perform” in neurotypical environments with little to no accommodation, leaving behind those who do not fit this mold. In doing so, they reproduce existing inequities under the guise of inclusion.
I recommend the whole Wikipedia entry. There were several relevant takeaways for me in this context:
- Not all forms of neurodiversity express as disorders or disabilities. It is an inherent part of the human condition.
- Neurodivergent individuals may have unique challenges in workplaces and in education.
- The neurodiversity movement moves away from the deficit model to a more positive and affirming approach.
- It is possible to misdirect our thinking about neurodiversity into celebrating exceptional capabilities and in so doing turn attention away from real and more common needs – learning styles, communication styles, and forms of relating.
The neurodiversity movement arose from the work of autism advocates who focused on difference and not deficit. It has developed into a much wider movement – which is a good thing. But Wikipedia says something vital – “The neurodiversity paradigm argues that diversity in neurocognition is part of humanity.” We are all somewhere on a neurodiversity spectrum.
Hence to describe oneself as neurodiverse, and hence a person with a disability is an identity claim that seems to be potentially problematic.
I am in sympathy with people who get a diagnosis of a condition asserted to be a form of neurodiversity which then makes sense of life experiences. It can be a ‘light bulb moment’ that can make chaotic and traumatic life experiences at last comprehensible. And I mean no disrespect in offering a critical reaction to identity claims that might arise consequently.
Neurodiversity is a natural phenomenon, not a category. We need to be careful that our language is honest and clear rather than swathed euphemisms.
Being neurodiverse is being contrasted against others who are described as neurotypical. But having established that humans are neurodiverse as a species and some, maybe the majority, can be said to be neurotypical others, a minority should be described as neuroatypical.
I think that here ‘diverse’ is a euphemism for atypical or abnormal. I entirely understand that atypical or abnormal are terms frequently used in a pejorative sense. Normal is good. To be thought not normal is to be identified for exclusion and derogation.
Back in the early 1990s we were educated about people with ‘special needs’ and this morphed into ‘special people’ who even had ‘special abilities’. It was an effort to make disability more acceptable, but it backfired. For a while being called ‘special’ was a cruel insult. You can’t solve a problem of attitudes and beliefs by fiddling with language.
I grew up with a sense of ‘wrongness’ about me. I didn’t quite fit in. I was a gifted child but also often awkwardly out of sync. After listening to detailed descriptions of autism in Neurotribes by Steve Silberman I recognised elements of Asperger’s Syndrome in me – but in a mild form – and not enough to feel that a diagnosis is appropriate. It was enough to trigger me to pause and reflect and understand why I had the experiences I did. This inspired me to look at my ‘tribe’ and realise that its members are all distinctly neuroatypical.
I want to be empathic toward those who feel drawn to describing themselves as neurodiverse but also wonder why not say neuroatypical with confidence. Its more accurate.
The risk I see with using a term like neurodiverse as an identity tag is that it is easy to point out that you can’t rationally use that term to distinguish yourself from neurotypical folks because ‘diverse’ and ‘typical’ are not related opposing terms. Diversity embraces the typical and the atypical alike. And the typical is still a spectrum – although on a more granular level.
If we were thinking about height rather than cognition, we would understand that we humans have a range of heights with extremes we call dwarfs or giants. We have an informal ‘normal range’ that isn’t nailed down but it ranges between 152 cms and 183 cms in my experience. I am 185 cm, so I was abnormal or atypical for my generation. Would I call myself height-diverse? No. Because its meaningless.
I want to assert that calling oneself neurodiverse is also meaningless and argue that saying “I am neuroatypical” is much stronger and clearer. If you know you are ‘different’ it’s hard to make that case when others neither see it nor respect it.
We humans have a bias for normal and different is a pain if it means we have to pay more attention and adjust our behaviour. Neuroscience helps us understand that cognitive effort can equal threat and that sometimes it is only in-group affiliation that turns that sense of threat into loyalty.
If you are different in a disruptive way, it would be nice for others to accommodate that. But that’s unlikely unless those others are atypical in a way that triggers empathy – or that they are sufficiently inclusive to care enough to make the effort.
The danger of identification and making demands
We need meaning in our lives. Things happen to us, and we don’t know why. Then one day we are given an insight and suddenly so much of what we have experienced makes sense.
I have listened to people who have received an ADHD diagnosis late in life. It’s recognised as a form of neurodiversity. So, I understand that seeing oneself as neurodiverse is much better than seeing oneself as having ADHD. CBC’s Ideas program Neurodiversity and the myth of normal Part 2 is a useful show.
But then progressing to seeing oneself as having a disability because that is more respectable than having a disorder? Again, that makes sense because we have a positive attitude toward disabilities relative to our attitudes towards disorders. The word reeks of negative connotations.
I don’t know whether this is true for the person I had a conversation with. I reacted to their assertion that neurodiversity is a disability thinking “That isn’t true, but why would a person say it is? What would motivate them?” I liked the person (I still do) and I wanted to learn more. But they chose not to continue our conversation.
I tell this story because I am seeing an emergence of what seems to me a trend toward disability identity politics. I am not asserting that here is an intentional instance, only that in this story we might see how it might happen.
Several months ago, I witnessed a forum featuring 3 people who identified as neurodiverse and having a disability in consequence. I listened to the session with fascination and puzzlement because of two things. The first was that none of the speakers said anything about their disability. The second was that no speaker gave any hint that they were anything other than highly articulate, very intelligent and socially confident. The 3 speakers could have been any 3 younger people having a chat about their work lives.
I was left puzzled. What was going on? Had I missed something or was I just seeing the emergence of a disability identity movement as it broke into my awareness?
In Visual Thinking Temple Grandin worries about the readiness with which Asperger’s syndrome diagnoses are made, observing, “When does being a little geeky become autistic?”
The rise in interest in neurodiversity must be welcomed and then advanced beyond its reliance on euphemisms. There isn’t a tyranny of the typical or normal, though it looks like that. The typical or normal mindset prefers stability, predictability and the absence of cognitive effort. There is a tyranny of other atypical mindsets. Wanting political power or immense wealth are atypical desires that can warp the normal. So many things that are wrong with our world come down to atypical desires.
But there is a domination of the typical or normal, it’s just not a tyranny. The normal can be dangerous, oppressive or even terrifying to the atypical. Being atypical is, in its own way, normal. That is that it is normal to have people who are neuroatypical in our communities.
This is a really important thing to understand. Our human psychology isn’t set in stone, but it is slow to change – subject to evolutionary influences. Railing against this slowness or trying to manipulate it politically cannot work.
We are psychologically disposed to take our cues from leaders and to emulate them. If they are not disposed to be inclusive through their examples in action or are prepared to alter the way language is used, we are left with the options of persuasion, subversion or rebellion. We cannot afford to do whatever we choose to do ineptly.
Disability Inclusion is about embracing diversity. We want to get to the point where we can celebrate human diversity, period. The Scottish dancer and choreographer, Claire Cunningham, observed that disability is just part of the spectrum of being human. I wish we could take the same perspective on neuroatypicality and be clear-eyed about being different.
But we cannot deny the heritage of our psychology – being cognitively and behaviorally abnormal or atypical will always be a ‘threat’ to the normal if such difference isn’t seen as the seat of power and authority.
Being atypical doesn’t inherently mean something adverse. We celebrate atypical people, we ignore them, we fear them. We can also embrace them by expanding the scope of ‘one of us’. This means putting in the extra effort to be more receptive. Accommodating people we are unfamiliar with is part of our inclusive and compassionate aspiration as a culture. It’s a goal we must work toward together.
Militant identity politics seem to be the flavor of these times. Being atypical or being thought to be atypical can be the source of real injury. The pain of exclusion triggers the same parts of the brain as physical pain does. But how we respond matters. We can’t demand inclusion while excoriating and excluding the people we accuse of excluding us.
We need to preserve the idea of diversity as embracing everyone, not a tag to apply to a few. Celebrating diversity is about celebrating people for who they are, not about creating categories with which to distinguish them from us.
Conclusion
In strict terms we can’t describe ourselves as neurodiverse as a category apart from neurotypical. But we may feel the need for a synonym for atypical or abnormal, given their history of being used to identify and exclude non-conforming individuals or groups.
The challenge is to make neuroatypical okay because neurodiversity is part of the human condition. Taking a political perspective may be attractive, but it’s not helpful. We must be way more subtle and gentle. Because we are talking about changing the beliefs, attitudes and behaviors of individuals the only valid and respectful option we have is persuasion. There’s a huge treasury of scientific insight on the art of ethical persuasion that offers us better outcomes than the politics of injury and angst.
Identity politics is inherently tribal. It’s about them vs us. From a personal perspective I am happy to acknowledge my sense of being neuroatypical to myself because it makes sense of so much. But do I want to wear a badge saying this is who I am? No, save in contexts where doing so is meaningful and useful.
Maybe the political dimension is a precursor to the emergence of reasoned and confident assertion of personal identity based on deeper knowledge and greater self-awareness? We are far better off celebrating neuroatypical people as ‘just one of us, only different’. It isn’t easy. There are a lot of bad, harmful, habits we need to break. But what are the alternatives that you feel okay about?
What I have said here is not an attempt to make a definitive assertion. Disability Inclusion is a constantly evolving area of thought and I want to stimulate conversation, not kill it. I have attempted to articulate my concerns on this theme with balance and respect. This is too important a theme to get wrong or flee from out of fear that disagreeing will incur an avalanche of wrath.
We identify because it is important to us. But that doesn’t always mean the identity we assert now will endure as we discover more about ourselves and the world we live in. How we identify others matters too. We once used the gentle and inclusive word eccentric to described atypical members of our community.
Viva neuroatypicality! Or maybe “Viva Eccentricity!” Even “Vive la différence”