When I began learning about inclusion and neurodiversity, I found language for something I already felt: James’ autism diagnosis didn’t tell me enough about him. I also began to see how easily I had been swept up in the diagnosis. It became a list of difficulties we had to fix—and fast.
The question at the centre of my thinking now is access: access to knowledge, experiences, resources and support. Access can involve more than we first notice. Speaking, pointing, writing or responding quickly each places different demands on a person. I’m also asking who our educational curricula and systems allow to take part, and how we decide what someone is capable of learning.
My son James is autistic, nonspeaking and has significant learning and support needs. Those needs are real. So is his personhood. I want to share our experience with parents who may be facing similar questions. A diagnosis can help us obtain education, adjustments and care. It becomes limiting when we treat it as a prediction of someone’s potential. For me, a better question is: What support and opportunities would help this person participate?
Neurodiversity, as I understand it now, means valuing human variation while taking disability and support seriously. Sometimes substantial help is what makes participation possible. We can offer that help, protect dignity and still make room for choice, communication and learning. As parents, we also need support and confidence when the complexities of specialised care feel overwhelming.
I cannot claim to know everything James understands. I can keep asking whether we have given him a fair way to show us more. Through the process of understanding James, I have also become more aware of my own neurodiversity and how it shapes our life together. I write about that journey in my blog.
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Movement is one possible part of access, though it cannot explain every person’s experience. These reviews explore motor differences across several groups:
