14/04/2026
On today's episode of common-sense mistaken for controversy...
I’ve been thinking a lot about neurodiversity inclusion, and I’m starting to feel like we’ve drifted into something that doesn’t quite make sense anymore.
Somewhere along the way, 'inclusion' has started to mean no boundaries, no expectations, and no accountability - but that isn’t inclusion. It’s avoidance dressed up as compassion.
I genuinely believe everyone has a responsibility to engage in society in the most respectful, regulated way they can. Not perfectly, not by copying neurotypical behaviour; just in a way that makes it possible for us to live alongside each other without constant friction.
That’s not oppression. It's just the core base for being part of a meaningful community.
Sure, some behaviours are neurologically driven. Some things are genuinely hard to control. But, when a behaviour is consistently causing problems for the people around you, something needs to shift. Support, boundaries, skill‑building, environmental tweaks - whatever actually helps the individual with their specific needs. But, pretending someone has no agency doesn’t protect them. Instead, it quietly, repeatedly, turns them into believing they’re incapable of growth.
I also don’t think every space has to include every person. That’s not discrimination. It's entitlement under the guise of inclusion.
Child‑free spaces, gendered spaces, sensory‑safe spaces, all exist because humans have different needs. Sometimes needs clash. There’s enough room for all of us in this big wide world without needing to shoehorn ourselves into places we aren't welcome (again, I don't think everybody *needs* to be welcome everywhere).
What concerns me most is the narrative (often pushed by well-meaning Autism Mums ™️) that a child must be accepted exactly as they are, in every environment, at any cost. The idea that any discomfort is harm. That asking for behavioural adaptation from neurodivergent people is somehow abusive.
They think they're being protective, setting their child up for a happy life, but they're not. It leaves autistic kids woefully unprepared for adulthood - where the world isn’t arranged around their sensitivities or triggers - and where resilience is the thing that makes life bareable.
And here’s the part people don’t like to say out loud: a certain amount of difficulty, disappointment, and even trauma is part of becoming an empathetic, grounded, non‑judgemental adult. The experiences that teach you how to read a room, how to repair, and how to actually tolerate difference.
I’m not necessarily talking about catastrophic trauma. I mean the ordinary, unavoidable friction of being human - the moments that force you to develop perspective, humility, and emotional range. When we remove every challenge from a child’s path, this sets them up for failure.
We’re already seeing the consequences. A generation of young adults who’ve been told they shouldn’t have to adapt to anything, and who then hit the real world and find it overwhelming. Not because they’re weak, but because they were never given the chance to build strength.
We've created a generation of wet lettuces, of adults who crumble the moment life stops cushioning them. We’re drifting into a culture where any discomfort is treated as a crisis, and ironically, that’s making life harder for autistic adults who want to contribute, to be taken seriously, to thrive.
I understand the fear around therapies that teach early-diagnosed autistics neurotypical social skills. I understand the trauma many autistic adults carry from being forced to perform a version of themselves that wasn’t real. But I don’t think the answer is to swing to the opposite extreme and insist that no autistic person should ever learn to adapt.
We all adapt. We all mask in certain environments. That’s not betrayal to your self, it’s simply being part of a society with social contracts in place.
Honouring difference is essential. But honouring difference doesn’t mean abandoning accountability, boundaries, or growth. It doesn’t mean pretending autistic people have no control over their behaviour. It doesn’t mean demanding unconditional acceptance from every space, every person, every context.
Real inclusion is built on mutual responsibility. On agency. On the belief that autistic people are capable, not fragile. It's built on the understanding that resilience isn’t the enemy; it’s the thing that makes a meaningful, fulfilling adult life possible.
