"But Your Child Doesn’t Look Neurodivergent" - A Letter From a Mum

To anyone who has ever looked at a child or a struggling mum and said, “But your child doesn’t look neurodivergent,”

I would like to take a moment to explain. Not just to you, but to the world around us, who often believes that neurodivergence is something you can see, something that’s obvious. If only it was that easy, us parents would have figured it out years ago and saved ourselves a lot of time, stress and worry in the process. But it’s not, is it? It’s never been that simple.

When I look at my child, I don’t see someone who doesn’t “look” neurodivergent. I see a beautiful little girl, struggling to keep it all together every single day. I see the child who fights a silent battle with every interaction, every task, every social situation. I see the overwhelming anxiety that fills their eyes, even when they’re smiling at tasks you might complete without even thinking about it every single day. You might not see it, but I do. I’m the one who watches the struggle when you’re not around, and takes the brunt of their emotions when their needs haven't been met. 

It breaks my heart when people call my child “silly” or “naughty” when, in truth, they’re masking. Masking — a term that many people still don’t understand — is a desperate attempt to fit in. My child doesn’t want to be different. They want to be just like their peers, even though their brain works in a way that feels so unfamiliar to others. They are desperate to "fit in" to be understood and heard, to just blend into the crowd and be the same as everyone else. But that doesn’t make them “bad.” It makes them brave. It makes them resilient. It makes them worthy of love and support.

It’s exhausting, you know. Trying to raise a child who’s constantly pretending to be something they’re not. Every time they walk into a classroom, so desperate to please, so keen to do what they think is "right", they’re trying to put on a face that isn’t theirs, because they know it’s easier to blend in than to be rejected for being “different.” And yet, every day they walk into that school feeling like they don’t belong because the system isn't designed for minds like theirs. Their peers may not see it, but they feel it. And trust me, I feel it, too.

So, when you say “But your child doesn’t look neurodivergent,” it’s more than just a passing comment. It’s an assumption. It’s a judgment. It’s a dismissal of the very real challenges my child faces. And it makes me feel like my child’s struggles are invalidated all over again. That everything I am fighting for as her parents is invalidated in one comment. What exactly does a neurodivergent child look like, anyway?

If you really stop and think, you’ll realise the answer is far more complicated than the narrow box many want to put neurodivergence into. There isn’t a standard look or a “tell-tale” sign, no tick box system or one size fits all. There’s no one way to define how a child with ADHD, autism, dyslexia, or other neurodivergent conditions “looks.” They’re all individuals, with personalities, quirks, talents, and yes, struggles that are unique to them. But because these struggles are often hidden, covered up in the name of social acceptance or just plain survival, the world doesn’t see them. You don’t see the hours spent after school, trying to complete homework with tears in their eyes because they just don’t understand the instructions. The sleepless nights because their routine has been interrupted by a school trip, an exam, or an unplanned day off school. You don’t see the heartbreak when they’re excluded from playdates, or when they’ve spent another day pretending to be someone they’re not. The frustration when their usual routine cannot happen and everyone else is enjoying the "freedom" but all our kids want is their safe space, their safe routine. 

It isn’t just the world around us that fails to understand. It’s the systems we are supposed to rely on. Every single step of this journey has been a fight. I’ve fought with schools who don’t know how to support my child, or worse, blame them for things beyond their control. I’ve fought with doctors who dismiss my concerns, telling me “they’ll grow out of it” or that it’s just a phase. I’ve fought for a diagnosis, only to be made to feel like I’m overreacting. And I’m not the only one. So many parents are out there, fighting the same battles. And why? Because we just want our children to get the same opportunities as their neurotypical peers. We just want them to feel understood, supported, and valued.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve left appointments feeling completely drained, as though my child is being fobbed off yet again. When we do finally get the support, it’s often because I’ve spent countless hours — often in tears — making phone calls, writing letters, and fighting for what my child deserves. And even then, the support is often minimal or delayed. It’s a never-ending fight for the bare minimum. And the toll it takes — emotionally, mentally, physically — on both me and my child is overwhelming. And lets not even talk about the appointment waiting times, 3 -4 years for an ASD or ADHD diagnosis is bordering on criminal, that's years these children endure fights without a diagnosis, and no access to help without that diagnosis either! 

I want you to understand something: it is exhausting. It is soul-crushing to watch your child struggle and know that, on some level, the world just doesn’t get it. It’s draining to constantly advocate for their needs, to always feel like you’re fighting for the basic right to be treated with respect, to be heard, to be seen. But that’s the reality for so many of us. We fight for our children because they are worth it.

So, the next time you look at my child and think, “But they don’t look neurodivergent,” I ask you to think again. You don’t know the battles they’re fighting. You don’t see the silent struggles they face every day. You don’t see the mask they wear to fit in.

Instead of dismissing their behaviour or labelling them as “silly” or “naughty,” take a moment to consider what they might be going through. Take a moment to acknowledge that there are many ways a child can be neurodivergent, and it’s not always something that’s easy to see.

And, to the parents who are also fighting this fight, know that you are not alone. I see you. I hear you. And I stand with you.

xXx