Disabled or Different? Who gets to decide what neurodivergence is?

Is neurodivergence a disability – or is it only treated like one?

This debate continues to surface, yet many people still feel none the wiser. This blog is not about rigid definitions. It’s about people. Neurodivergent people continue to experience ableist and disablist attitudes, often simultaneously, and neither helps us to thrive. What follows is my attempt to unpick how neurodivergence is viewed, why that matters, and why choice and respect must sit at the centre of the conversation.

How society learns to see difference

The way society frames neurodivergence is often damaging. Diagnosis is sometimes viewed as attention-seeking, when in reality no one “collects” neurodivergent conditions for recognition. More harmful still is the focus on deficits. Many people are diagnosed without hope — told what they won’t achieve, rather than what might be possible with the right support.

This framing matters. When the emphasis is placed solely on limitations, people internalise the idea that they lack strengths. In my experience, outcomes are far more influenced by opportunity, environment, and encouragement than by diagnosis itself. Historically, limited understanding — particularly of conditions like Dyspraxia — meant families and educators often didn’t know how to help. Today, we know better, and we must do better.

Labels are not neutral. They carry expectations. Too often, when someone doesn’t visibly display a characteristic associated with a label, their identity is questioned or dismissed. I sometimes feel disabled by the world around me — by attitudes, systems, and ignorance — but I fully embrace being different. What I don’t embrace is a society that refuses to look beyond its own “tinted windows.”

The neurodiversity perspective

Imagine a world where everyone had the same brain. It would be efficient, perhaps — but unimaginably dull, and deeply impractical. Different situations require different ways of thinking.

Neurodiversity recognises that brains vary naturally, just like bodies do. Some brains excel at pattern recognition, others at memory, focus, problem-solving, or emotional depth. Some thrive in short bursts; others can focus for hours. None of these brains are broken — they are simply different models.

My own neurodivergent profile is diverse even within neurodivergence. I have strong literacy and memory, paired with very low creativity — a combination that doesn’t fit common stereotypes. That doesn’t make my brain worse or better. Just different. And difference deserves acceptance, not correction.

A lived experience: Elisabeth Wiklander

Elisabeth Wiklander, a cellist with the London Philharmonic Orchestra, was diagnosed with autism at 26. As a child, she struggled with group play and unwritten social rules — experiences that closely mirror my own. Like me, she found socialising draining, yet could focus deeply and endlessly on music.

Importantly, Elisabeth does not identify as disabled. For her, autism explains difference, not deficiency. She also highlights that many autistic people go undiagnosed because their traits are less obvious — yet they live full lives with successful careers and relationships.

This is true — but it is also incomplete. Outcomes depend not just on neurology, but on experience, mental health, and how others respond to difference. I have encountered people who lowered the ceiling for me, leaving me feeling diminished and exposed. Context determines whether a trait feels empowering or disabling.

When difference becomes disability

For many neurodivergent people, disability emerges not from who we are, but from environments that refuse to adapt. Education systems, workplaces, and recruitment practices are often built for a narrow definition of “normal.”

In employment especially, neurodivergent people are still misrepresented. Buzzwords like “fast-paced” and “autonomous” are framed as universally positive, when they can be exclusionary. Many of us want meaningful work, structure, collaboration, and to use the strengths we’ve worked hard to develop — not to be interchangeable “bottoms on seats.”

Identity, choice, and respect

Here’s the truth: no single label fits every neurodivergent person.

Some people need the word “disability” to access support and protection. Others find empowerment in difference. Many, like me, occupy a space in between — disabled by attitudes and systems, not by our existence.

What matters most is agency. Neurodivergent people must be listened to — not spoken over, corrected, or dismissed. Our stories are not designed to shock or destabilise; they are meant to educate and improve understanding. Self-advocacy is exhausting, and it should not fall solely on our shoulders.

Reframing the question

Perhaps the real question is not “Is this a disability or a neurological difference?” but “What support allows this person to thrive?”

If we commit to listening, adapting, and designing systems with — not just for — neurodivergent people, we move closer to a world where difference is valued rather than merely tolerated.

Maybe neurodivergence doesn’t need fixing.

Maybe our understanding does!