What Neurodiversity Means to Me
Neurodiversity isnât just a concept I believe inâitâs the lens through which I now see the world. Itâs the rhythm of my sonâs footsteps as he paces to self-soothe. Itâs the way he lines up his toys with precision, creating order in a world that often feels chaotic. Itâs the language we speak without words, built on glances, gestures, and the kind of love that doesnât need translation.Before Bostonâs diagnosis, I thought I understood what it meant to be âdifferent.â But neurodiversity cracked me open. It taught me that brains are not brokenâtheyâre beautifully varied. That communication isnât always verbal, and connection doesnât always follow a script.
To me, neurodiversity means honoring the full spectrum of human experience. It means celebrating the child who flaps with joy, who scripts movie lines to feel safe, who finds comfort in repetition. It means fighting for a world that doesnât just tolerate differenceâbut embraces it.
Itâs not always easy. There are days when the world feels too loud, too fast, too unforgiving. When I watch Boston struggle to make friends, or when I have to explainâagainâwhy heâs not being âdifficult,â heâs just overwhelmed. But even in those moments, neurodiversity reminds me: He is not less. He is not broken. He is a soul worth knowing.
Neurodiversity means rewriting the narrative. It means shifting from âfixingâ to understanding. From ânormalizingâ to celebrating. From âcopingâ to connecting.
It means building a life in full colorâwhere every shade, every hue, every variation is welcome.
Boston is my teacher. Through him, Iâve learned that beauty lives in the unexpected. That progress isnât linear. That love doesnât always look like a Hallmark cardâit can look like a weighted blanket, a quiet room, a shared smile after a hard day.
Neurodiversity means hope. It means possibility. It means seeing the world not as it should be, but as it truly isâcomplex, vibrant, and gloriously diverse.
Our Life in Color: Parenting Beyond the Lines
