Neurodiversity is a “cute” idea, but it could hurt your child with autism

It’s kinda like handing your kid a bottle of glitter. (It seems like a fun idea for a minute, but this beautifully broken paradigm will slow you down!)

You tell your kids that everybody's noggin processes, learns, notices, worries, dreams, and dances in their own unique and beautiful way. 

That God made them juuuuuust right. 

But we both know there’s more to the story, don’t we?

And it doesn’t do them any favors to ignore it. 

::

Picture this: Golden sunshine glows on the faces of two cherub-cheeked children…

…holding a fluffy golden retriever pup…

…while sitting in a grassy field in springtime. 

Sounds pretty idyllic, right? 

But what you don’t know is that the boy is allergic to puppies…and grass, so you’ll miss the next seven hours of his nose dripping slime. 

You don’t know that these two are siblings. So you don’t hear their unending bickering over who gets to hold that very fluffy puppy. 

You don’t see the girl’s grin turn into a frozen screech of pain when the needle teeth of that same puppy nip her fingers. 

A picture is silent. 

It’s simple. 

It only shows you part of the story. 

And the neurodiversity paradigm, which celebrates all the wide-ranging ways our minds think with equal value and gusto, is just as limited as our “cute” picture above.

Celebrating neurodiversity and accepting our kids just as they are IS a beautiful idea, isn’t it? 

There’s this deep knowledge in my heart that says my kids can be ok in this world. That they were created just right. That what they need is perhaps a little extra space to regulate their nervous systems and find a mode of operation that works for them. That they’re amazing kids with strengths that leave me in awe. 

But there is brokenness here, too.

And the problem comes when the same philosophy that celebrates our children’s strengths is extended to argue that various forms of neurodivergence are NOT disordered. 

The messages come in big and small ways. 

From the brutal vernacular that frames “autism moms” as meddling, overprotective villains with victim complexes (yeah that one made my blood boil too) to the more subtle ones.

Like the widespread practice of slipping the more PC term “neurodivergent” into a sentence in the place of a child’s “label” 🙊 as if it could make all of their challenges instantly disappear (gee, I’m glad we solved that one!)

It’s mostly coming from a good place. The desire to make space for all the beautiful minds in this crazy world we live in.

But does it really have to be either/or?

Because here’s the rest of the scene, the part they don’t see in the rainbow bedecked picture celebrating neurodiversity.

By the time we’ve achieved a diagnosis of autism for our child, we’ve already endured months (if not years) of wait lists. 

>> 1,572 questions about our child, parenting, family dynamic, and even our marriage (leaving us questioning whether this is all somehow in fact our fault after all).

>> Dozens of hours spent in dreary waiting rooms and doctor’s offices, with our children subjected to the same.

>> And depending on whether you have insurance (or if yours is atrocious like ours) or you’re just trying to bypass the waitlists, you may have spent up to $5,000 to procure this little piece of paper and its magical diagnosis codes. 

This isn’t the kind of thing you pick up for fun like pickleball or rainbow-tizing your bookshelves.

And this isn’t a process you go through just because you’re worried yours will be the weird kid who has no one to sit with at lunch.

It’s hard work motivated by impossible life circumstances. 

You may be facing a range of serious challenging behaviors in your child like: 

• Tantrums

• Aggression

• Property destruction

• Self-harm

• Elopement

• Stealing

• Toileting accidents

• Oppositional behavior

• And just plain lots and lots of screaming every day

Autism and its cousins are not a cute punchline or quirky character on everyone’s favorite sitcom. 

Our kids have a diagnosis because they are experiencing REAL problems that need treatment. 

Though I’m willing to sacrifice just about anything for my kids, I can’t allow these “beautiful” autism-related traits to continue without intervention in the name of a dogmatic celebration of their differently-wired brains.

Call me “socially rigid,” but I’m not going to let my child fling their fork at my face and overturn their chair every time they sniff a whiff of something they don’t care for simmering — even if that is their “preferred” form of communication. 

Instead, I’m going to make sure they learn the skills to share their thoughts on my cuisine in an appropriate way while providing healthy alternatives that they consider more palatable. 

I love a good idealistic philosophy better than anybody (I mean, I gave birth to both my children at home because I so adamantly believed our bodies are so well designed to bring our children into the world), but in the end, I’m not willing to give up the mental and physical health of all of the diverse individuals in our family in order to do so.

Don’t we all deserve to feel safe in our homes and not suffer from the ongoing depression, anxiety, and PTSD that can result from living with some of these behaviors?

Getting a diagnosis (a.k.a. “label”) opens a family up to a revelatory cloudburst of information, community, therapy, and yes even medication that can make all the difference.

Treatments like ABA, which are often met with the arch of a disapproving eyebrow within some neuro-affirming communities, have been pivotal in improving the quality of life and mental well-being of my children and our whole family.

Now, kitchen utensils are used much less often as implements of disordered (yep, I said it) communication and much more for eating the likes of baby carrots and scrambled eggs. 

We still struggle, but all I have to do is look back to the true chaos of even a year ago to imagine how different our lives would be without it. 

::

Maybe you’ve experienced the inward cringe that comes with questioning your parenting choices in reflection of the neurodiversity paradigm, too: 

>> If you really love and accept your child, why do you want to try and change them? 

>> Shouldn’t you focus on developing their strengths, rather than putting so much focus on their deficits? 

>> Shouldn’t you respect their preferences rather than forcing them to fit the mold? 

In truth, these doubt doodles probably wouldn’t lead either of us to deprive our kids of needed treatment (and the diagnoses that allow it), yet it could easily cause us to hesitate and delay it. 

And that would only be hurting our kids and our families.

So let’s celebrate. And accommodate. And love the heck out of our neurodivergent children. 

But Mama, I hope you won’t ever be shamed out of seeking a diagnosis or treatment for your child because of a beautiful but incomplete picture of your family’s very real struggles.

In the end, nothing’s ever black and white but as rainbow-colored as the spectrum itself — and the books on your shelf. 

You know your child and their needs like no one else does. And if you ask me, there’s no one better equipped to find the best way to honor their differences.