Neurotypicality…it’s a lie y’all
You know normal is a myth, right? Society has told us what is “normal”. Schools have designed pathways, graduation requirements, and curriculum based on this “normal”. We define success by this same made-up system.
In my keynote at the CEESA conference in Bulgaria, I challenged the community around the systems we build, and the purpose of those systems. But really, what ARE we actually doing? Ignoring the gifts, talents, and skills of so many students, while pressuring them to ensure they fit into our definitions of success. For what?
One of the key takeaways from the keynote, that many people have written to me about, thanked me for, and questioned, was my statement that “Neurotypicality is a lie”. I actually said, “Neurotypicality, it’s a lie y’all”. Neurotypical is not a diagnostic or neurobiological category. It has no neural signature. It originated in autistic self-advocacy communities in the 1990s as a way to name the unmarked default, not in a lab. When researchers use it, they mean "people without the diagnosis I'm studying" — a definition by absence, not by any positive brain feature. We are variant. Variant thinkers, learners, explorers, and processors. Thank goodness we are. It has allowed us to survive throughout time.
I had a great conversation with a colleague in the airport as I was departing Bulgaria. He talked about how he appreciated my challenge of neurotypicality, but if there isn’t neurotypicality, then why did I keep using the term neurodivergence?
I have been thinking, reading, and researching. There are a lot of differing thoughts out there. Neurodiversity is one thing, as this highlights the variance that exists in our human brains. But neurodivergence assumes there is divergence from something. What is it? Typicality?
So a brief bit of research uncovered answers. Kassiane Asasumasu, an advocate, gave us the term “neurodivergent” back in 2000. It wasn’t about identifying a medical flaw; it was about naming how some of us simply diverge from those rigid social norms. This language is a tool for inclusion and political power, helping us push back against the idea that our brains are something to be fixed. In fact, in its original meaning, neurodivergent wasn’t about diagnosis. Did you read that? Somehow we have associated being neurodivergent with a diagnosis, but Kassiane Asasumasu’s original intent was simply to name a divergence from social norms. The term originated in advocacy communities, not medicine.
Cleveland Clinic states, “Neurodivergent isn’t a medical term. Instead, it’s a way to describe people using words other than “normal” and “abnormal.” That’s important because there’s no single definition of “normal” for how the human brain works.”
Difference is real as experience and as functional reality regardless of whether it's legible on an MRI. Clearly, the experience of a dyslexic person (for example) in this world that is not designed for them is filled with very different realities than someone without dyslexia. Neurodivergent alludes to divergence from social norms. So in fact, the term highlights exactly the point I was trying to make. We make up what is “normal”, we build systems, boxes, and frameworks that we want kids to fit into so WE can say they are successful. WE DO THIS.
Thankful to my colleague who posed the question, so I could think and rethink my language, and build a deeper understanding of the words we use. Around the world, I often work with people who are fearful they are using the “wrong” language. These days, it feels there is less and less grace for people who are learning new language and terms that are more socially acceptable. I believe language matters; it’s important, and ALSO, we cannot get so caught up in language that we forget the work needed to be done to actually to create inclusive communities. Language is certainly a part of that work, but fixations around language can hinder progress because it instills fear of making mistakes. Fear halts people in their tracks.
I have people ask me, “What about the word disabled? Can I still use that?” Many neurodivergent people have advocated for this language. Some disabled and neurodivergent people prefer disability first language, while others prefer people-first language. We need to ask what the preferred language is. If we shifted to speaking only about variance, I worry that doesn’t actually embody the full experience of people with various profiles of learning and thinking, and the physical daily existence.
So, what do you think? Is this conversation helpful? Uncomfortable?
I certainly don’t have all the answers, but dialogue and learning can help broaden our understanding. Curious to hear from you.
And as always, thank you for being here, and for the work each of you does around the globe to build inclusive communities at work, school, and beyond.
