the gift of belonging

I don’t personally identify as neurodiverse, so I don’t really know what that word means, but in the past 12 months, it sure has come up a lot. Have I been living under a rock? Or is this actually starting to show up more?

Last year, we noticed our then-3-year-old was a bit different from other kids. He has a bizarrely accurate memory. He asks surprisingly deep questions. He goes through phases of passionate obsession: first it was trains, then buses, and now a little pink puffball named Kirby. Last year he had all the city bus routes in our town memorized. Now he has a filing cabinet in our living room where he’s organized every boss from the Kirby series in the proper order.

Okay, cute. And kind of brilliant. But it’s not all good news. He’s had lots of challenges with daycares and preschools. At first he couldn’t handle other kids, got socially overwhelmed easily, and misbehaved a lot. My wife and I were devastated when he was asked to leave his preschool due to aggressive behaviour.

No one wants to hear that their kid is the problem child at school. Plus, we really needed the break! Instead we got sent right back to full-time parenting. Love the kid, but man, those days can get long. At least I get to escape into work for a few hours and come back for quality time; this has been even harder for his mom.

We decided to have him assessed, and while it’s still too early for a diagnosis, he is indeed showing early signs of neurodiversity on a number of clinical scales. Assessments, diagnoses, professionals, psychologists, therapists… scary. It didn’t help that those preschool teachers made it seem like there was something irreparably wrong.

Our thoughts started to spin out of control. Did we do something wrong when he was a baby? Is this just going to get harder and harder? Is this all because of pandemic isolation?

As the fear subsided, things got a bit clearer. We remembered that many of our favourite people seem a bit… different. My wife and I are unique in our own ways, and our families, too. In fact, a lot of really wonderful and brilliant public figures also identify as neurodiverse.

Then I remembered something: when we initially toured that preschool, they boasted that “people often comment on what a calm, quiet classroom we have here.” That was part of their sales pitch. At the time, it sounded awesome. We loved the idea of his teachers being so good at their job that they could keep 20+ toddlers calm and quiet.

Now we know the darker subtext beneath those words. Since they take so much pride in their calm, quiet classroom, our kid’s boisterous energy and social overwhelm were seen as problems. But he’s not a problem. He’s a human being. The real problem was that he was being excluded because he didn’t fit their vision for the perfect classroom.

That was months ago, and I’m happy to say that last week our son graduated from a different preschool. One that does more than just say the word ‘inclusive’. The teachers put effort into understanding and accepting him from day one. He’s made a ton of progress. He’s learning to peacefully co-exist with his peers. He even made a friend! Best of all, he gets a ton of praise and support for his uniqueness. His differences are seen as strengths.

As the preschool situation was unfolding, I shared a bit about it with my team at work. I was surprised to learn that most of my colleagues could relate. Some could relate to us as parents. Others related more to our son, identifying as neurodiverse themselves and sharing about school challenges from their youth.

A few months later, I assigned a task to one of my team members and it didn’t go well. The quality of the work was lacking, and I felt a bit frustrated as it didn’t seem like a complex task to me. I took some time to process my emotions on my own before reaching out to discuss.

She shared how one specific aspect of her neurodiversity posed a unique challenge for this specific task. We mutually decided to reassign it. I tried to make sure she knew this wasn’t a failure, but a strategic move: we can’t all do everything, so it’s important that we each play to our strengths.

Afterward, she felt comfortable enough to follow up with a few alternative ideas on how we might get around the challenge. Our discussions sparked an innovative new approach to the task that would accommodate her need, and potentially end up more efficient for everyone.

We tried the new approach and it improved her performance on the task, but we still weren’t able to reach the level of efficiency we needed. That’s okay, we’re continuing the conversation and have some new directions to explore already. I write this with her permission, as we’re both excited to share the power of an open dialogue around neurodiversity in a professional setting.

In the middle of that very project, I took a week off to travel to a festival. I bought a ticket to this event with very little idea of what to expect, and when I got there, the synchronicity continued. I met a whole bunch of new friends who - you guessed it - identified themselves as neurodiverse! After a few days, one of the organizers even told me that attendees frequently identify as a bit different from the norm.

As I interacted with people there, I immediately felt included. Most were very accepting and welcoming. When things felt less inclusive, people got together to call it out and process it together. As I sank into the vibe of this community, I felt free to express myself more authentically than I have in a while. Being around people who were tolerant and understanding of differences really helped me let go.

This was more than just fun for me. It was transformative. I integrated aspects of my younger self that were buried by responsibility. I shook off a lot of the rigidity that came from parenting and starting a business during a global pandemic. I reconnected to an energetic spontaneity as I meditated, sang, clowned around, and danced until the sun came up. I felt free to choose whether to socialize or do my own thing. Sometimes I even enjoyed awkwardly lurking like a curious lemur on the outskirts of other people’s conversations.

I think the greatest healing happened when I felt my burden as a parent lighten. Here I was, hanging out with a whole bunch of diverse friends in a tribe of deep inclusion and acceptance. Something clicked. There may be unique challenges in store for that little boy we’re raising, but this community gave me more faith that he’ll eventually find his people and find his way. I really needed to feel that.

Neurodiversity is not a disorder, nor is it a weakness. Those who identify as neurodiverse have a remarkable gift to offer. And I’m not talking about intelligence. I’m talking about inclusion. It can be so healing to feel included, and those who are a bit different are in the best position to harness that potential for all of us. When someone is a little different from you, it helps to remember that you’re also a little different from them.

As the world gets lonelier and lonelier, the lesson I’m taking away is clear: be generous with the gift of belonging! It costs me nothing to give that feeling freely to people from all walks of life, even if they’re awkward or make social blunders. It feels great to let people be who they are (or who they want to be). To include is to welcome, and to welcome is to love.