02/04/2025
I hear the effect that this has on so many people.
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I can’t stand blanket statements. About anything. They reduce complex human experiences into neat little boxes that do nothing but misrepresent, oversimplify and ultimately harm. When it comes to neurodivergence, these imprecise generalisations are frustrating and they actively contribute to misunderstanding, stigma and exclusion.
Essentially, blanket statements erase nuance. Neurodivergence is not a monolith. Saying things like “All autistic people struggle with socialising” or “ADHD means you can’t focus on anything” ignores the vast spectrum of experiences within these identities. It also invalidates those whose realities don’t fit the stereotype because, let’s face it, stereotypes are exactly what these statements feed into.
Even well-meaning statements can be problematic because they still force people into rigid expectations. Someone who doesn’t fit the assumed mould might feel like they’re failing at their own neurodivergence, which is a cruel irony.
Blanket statements don’t just distort personal identity but they shape societal attitudes and policies. When institutions operate under simplistic assumptions about neurodivergence, the result is exclusionary practices in education, healthcare and the workplace. If someone assumes all autistic people hate eye contact, they might push unnecessary "therapies" to enforce unnatural behaviours. If ADHD is only seen as a childhood disorder affecting hyperactive boys, then everyone else and inattentive types often go undiagnosed or are dismissed entirely.
These statements also fuel gatekeeping within neurodivergent spaces. If someone is told, “You can’t be autistic because you’re too social” or “You don’t have ADHD because you did well in school,” they might second-guess their own experiences or delay seeking support. This is particularly harmful for late-diagnosed individuals who already battle internalised ableism from a lifetime of being told they’re “just not trying hard enough.”
Blanket statements persist because they make things easier for people who don’t want to engage with complexity. They provide a false sense of understanding: a quick, digestible label instead of actual learning. Fact is that society loves efficiency, even when it comes at the cost of accuracy.
But neurodivergence isn’t simple. It isn’t one-size-fits-all. It’s a spectrum, a web, a deeply personal experience that cannot be summed up in a neat little phrase. The more we rely on blanket statements, the more we contribute to a world that refuses to make space for the full range of human neurodiversity.
Instead of relying on sweeping generalisations, we need to embrace specificity and listen to lived experiences.
Rather than saying, “Autistic people don’t like small talk,” try, “Some autistic people find small talk exhausting or meaningless, while others enjoy it in certain contexts.”
Instead of “People with ADHD are always disorganised,” say, “Executive function challenges show up differently for different people since some struggle with organisation, while others develop rigid structures to compensate.”
This shift isn’t about making conversations more complicated. It’s about making them more accurate, more inclusive and ultimately more respectful.
Blanket statements are lazy, harmful, and, frankly, insulting. They flatten the rich, diverse experiences of neurodivergent people into caricatures, making it harder for individuals to be seen, heard and supported in the ways they actually need. If we truly care about inclusion, then we need to do better by listening, by questioning assumptions and by refusing to accept anything less than the full complexity of human neurodiversity.
Because no, not two neurodivergent people are the same. And that’s exactly the point.
