20/07/2025
I’ve been walking alongside the neuro-affirming movement since early 2019, before it really became the buzzword, marketing label, or checkbox in professional development it is today. Back then, it was quieter, slower, messy, raw, and community-led. Rooted in lived experience, not branding.
This weekend, after a few honest, grounding conversations, both personally and professionally, I found myself circling back to this question again. Not in theory, but in the felt sense of it. “What does it really mean to do this work with integrity? With care? With depth?”
These days, “neuro-affirming” is everywhere. And while part of me is relieved that awareness is growing, another part of me aches. Because when something becomes popular, it becomes easier to mimic. Easier to market. And I’ve noticed the louder some platforms get, the less space there is for humility, reflection, and collective wisdom.
And sometimes, that noise even comes from within the neurodivergent community itself. That’s what makes it so complex. Because the harm doesn’t always wear obvious colours. It hides behind curated language, credentials, and polished professional personas. But I feel it in my body when something isn’t right, when someone speaks as the authority, when training is built on a single voice, rather than the collective, when nuance is lost in favour of clarity or control.
We can’t claim to be neuro-affirming if we’re not centring multiplicity. If we’re not willing to say, “This is what I’ve come to understand, AND, I’m still learning.” That’s the heartbeat of this work.
Yes, language matters deeply. It shapes how people are seen. It can wound or hold. It can dehumanise or honour. The words we choose matter, because they carry power, especially in professional spaces where neurodivergent people have so often been spoken about, not with.
But neuro-affirming practice is more than language.
It’s also about how we respond, how
we speak when no one is listening, how we reflect on how our own privilege and patterns impact others. It’s how we learn, unlearn, and make space, not just for our own voice, but for the voices that have too often been silenced. It’s how we hold complexity, contradiction, and fluctuation with compassion, and more than anything, how we centre lived experience, not professional ego.
It’s not a performance (though there’s no shortage of that lately). It’s a practice. A way of being that asks more of us than just the right words.
And it has to begin with the willingness to not know. With the courage to sit inside the discomfort of growth.
I question myself often and ask “Am I truly holding this with care? Am I staying anchored in my values, or slipping into protection, performance, or ego?”
Because the truth is, I don’t know if we ever truly arrive. And maybe that’s what keeps us honest, humble, and human.
The people I trust most in this space aren’t the ones who sound like they’ve figured it all out. I trust the ones still listening. Still learning. Still holding this work gently without needing to be loud.
Though I’ll be honest, sometimes I do feel the need to be loud, especially when I witness so much performance in this space. Not for attention, but because silence can feel like complicity.
Because this isn’t a framework to apply it’s the way in which we show up. Neuro-affirming support doesn’t come from performance. It comes from presence. From deep listening. From honouring the person in front of us without assumption or agenda.
It’s about holding space with reverence. Making room for complexity. Honouring communication, autonomy, and difference in all their forms. Not just when it’s easy, but especially when it’s not.
Because in this work, we do have to get it right. Not perfectly. But relationally. With care. With reflection. With a willingness to stay accountable when we miss the mark. To listen. To repair. To keep learning, even when we have lived experience ourselves.
It’s not something we say to sound aligned. It’s something we live, moment by moment, person by person. Something that is known …not by how it sounds … but by how it’s held.
Holding this space with you, always.
With love,
Kara 💞