BLOG #2 

Let's Talk About Neurodiversity, Part 2: What It Actually Looks Like

If you read part one, you already know my stance — there is more than one correct way for a brain to function, and recognizing that is the first step toward building environments where everyone can do their best work. But knowing that in theory and knowing what to look for or what to actually do when you're standing in a classroom or sitting in a meeting are two very different things.

So let's get practical.

Neurodiversity shows up in ways that are so common that most of us have been misreading and misunderstanding them our whole lives. Not because we're bad people, but because we aren't always the most observant, and we're given a very short script at an early age for what "engaged," "respectful," and "capable" look like. I want to walk through some of the most common ones, not to make a big deal out of them, but to do exactly the opposite.

Eye Contact

We touched on this last time, but it deserves a deeper look. Eye contact has been treated as the gold standard of attentiveness for so long that we rarely stop to question it. But for many neurodiverse people, maintaining eye contact actually interferes with processing. It takes up cognitive bandwidth that they need for creating dialogue. So the person who is looking slightly past you, at the floor, or off to the side may be giving you their full and complete attention, more so than the person making steady eye contact while their mind is somewhere else entirely.

What does this look like in practice? It means resisting the urge to say "look at me when I'm talking to you." It means not interpreting averted eyes as disrespect, disinterest, or dishonesty. It means trusting other signals. Are they responding appropriately? Are they following along? Those are the real indicators of engagement.

Movement and Stillness

Sitting still is not the same thing as paying attention. For a lot of neurodiverse people, particularly those with ADHD, movement is actually a regulation tool. Fidgeting, bouncing a leg, doodling, or pacing can be the thing that keeps their brain tuned in rather than tuned out. Asking them to stop is sometimes the equivalent of asking them to stop paying attention.

This one is hard because movement can genuinely be distracting to others, and that matters too. But the goal isn't to eliminate the movement. It's to find a version of it that works for everyone. A fidget tool that isn't visible or audible to others. A seat near the back of the room. A standing desk option. Permission to step out briefly and come back reset. None of these are extraordinary accommodations. 

Processing Time

This one flies under the radar more than almost any other. Many neurodiverse people need more time to process what they've just heard before they can respond. In a world that rewards quick answers and treats silence as awkwardness, this can look like confusion, disinterest, or even defiance. It isn't any of those things.

There can be many reasons a person has trouble processing, but if you ask someone a question and they don't respond immediately, just wait. They'll get there. Resist the urge to rephrase, repeat, or fill the silence. Give it a few extra seconds. You may be surprised at the quality of the answer that comes when someone is given the space to actually formulate it. This is one of the simplest and least-discussed accommodations there is, but is incredibly important as it can make many different tasks incredibly difficult. 

Tone, Directness, and the Senses

Sarcasm, idioms, and indirect communication are everywhere, and they are genuinely confusing for many neurodiverse people. "That's just great", meaning the opposite of great. "Can you get to that soon?" meaning right now. "Does that make sense?" being a way of moving on rather than a real question. Being willing to be clear when clarity matters, and being patient when something lands differently than you intended, goes a long way. It also means not assuming that someone who takes you literally is being difficult. They may simply be taking you at your word, which is a pretty reasonable thing to do.

And while we're talking about how things land, it's worth briefly touching on sensory experience, both internal and external. For many neurodiverse people, sensory input hits differently. A sound that is background noise to one person is genuinely overwhelming to another. The texture of a fabric, the hum of fluorescent lighting, the feeling of a tag on a shirt, these things can be intensely distracting or even painful in ways that are hard to articulate and easy to dismiss. Think of it as the internal equivalent of nails on a chalkboard, except it's happening constantly and nobody else in the room seems to notice. Sensory differences deserve their own deeper conversation, but for now, know that they are real, they are common, and they are worth being aware of as you observe the people around you.

A Quick Word on Labels

When most people hear "neurodiversity," their mind might jump to one thing, maybe ADHD, maybe autism. But the umbrella is wide. Dyslexia, bipolar disorder, anxiety, OCD, sensory processing differences, and many others all fall within this space. And here is something worth noting: many of these conditions overlap. A person with autism may also experience anxiety. Someone with ADHD may also have dyslexia. Bipolar disorder can affect focus and processing in ways that look similar to other conditions on the surface.

It is also worth understanding that these conditions don't all present the same way, and they don't all feel the same way to the person living with them. Some neurodiverse traits can actually become genuine strengths. The hyperfocus that comes with ADHD, the pattern recognition common in autism, the creative problem-solving that many people with dyslexia develop out of necessity — these can be remarkable advantages in the right environment. In fact, students who possess both a learning difficulties and an exceptional gift in another area might be referred to as twice or multi exceptional, and that is a concept I'll be diving into much more in a future post. It deserves its own full conversation, and it is one of the biggest reasons this organization exists.

At the same time, some of these experiences can be genuinely debilitating. Severe anxiety that makes leaving the house feel impossible. Bipolar episodes that disrupt entire months of someone's life. Sensory sensitivities that make an ordinary t-shirt feel unbearable. 

And then there are the things that fall somewhere in between: traits that aren't catastrophic but are quietly frustrating for that specific person every single day. Things that other people don't notice and would never think to ask about. All of this is part of the same spectrum, and all of it deserves to be taken seriously.

This is part of why the "one size fits all" approach breaks down so quickly. You won't always know which label applies to someone, and honestly, you often don't need to. What you need is to be paying attention.

The Power of Observation

Which brings me to the most important skill to take away from all of this: observation. Not in a clinical or surveillance sense, but in the genuine, human sense of actually watching and listening to the people around you. When you slow down and pay attention, you start to notice things. You notice who seems comfortable and who seems like they are working hard just to appear comfortable. Rather than trying to pinpoint a specific trait, simply look for discomfort. That is often enough of a signal to start.

Discomfort can sometimes point to masking. As I mentioned in my first post, masking is the act of suppressing natural behaviors in order to fit in. It is exhausting, and most people doing it have been doing it so long they don't even realize it anymore. When you pick up on it, the goal is not to call it out loudly or make it a moment. The goal is to quietly check yourself for understanding and ask what might be contributing to it.

More broadly, whether someone is masking or not, it is always worth asking yourself what in this environment might be holding them back or making them feel like they need to perform. Is it how you're speaking? The setup of the room? An unspoken expectation? Small adjustments on your end can signal safety, and when people feel safe, they stop performing and start actually engaging in ways that make sense to them. That is when the real work and the real connection happen.

Putting It Together

None of what I've described above requires a diagnosis to act on. You don't need documentation, a formal plan, or a label to just... be more observant. And I think that's actually the most important thing I can say in this post, maybe in any post. Observing, analyzing, and understanding the people around you is a skill that costs nothing and changes everything. I'll be coming back to that idea often, because I think it applies to just about everything.

But I also want to be clear about something, because I said it in my first post and I'll keep saying it: none of this is a one-way street. The accommodations and adjustments I've described here are not shortcuts. They are not excuses. They are agreements, arrived at through honest observation, open communication, and mutual respect. They exist to remove barriers that were never necessary in the first place, not to lower the bar or eliminate accountability. This creates not only awareness, but more importantly acceptance. 

Neurodiverse people carry an equal responsibility in this. Understanding yourself, your needs, your tendencies, your triggers, and your strengths is not optional. It is the foundation. Because accommodations only work when both parties are honest about what they need and what they can offer. That is where real growth lives, and that is what separates an accommodation from an excuse. One moves you forward. The other keeps you exactly where you are.

This agreement matters because it isn't patronizing. Patronizing is assuming someone can't do something. What we're talking about is assuming they can, holding them to that standard, and removing the unnecessary barriers that were never serving anyone in the first place. If it takes an accommodation to get there, is that such a big deal?

As I said last time: if you've met one neurodiverse person, you've met one neurodiverse person. What helps one person may not help another, and that's okay. The goal isn't a perfect formula. It's a habit of noticing, a willingness to ask, and the humility to accept that the way you've always done something might not be the only way to do it.

The way I see it, it's simple. Determine what we're capable of, where we're going, and decide how we get there. The rest we'll figure out on the way.

More soon.

Ryan Davis

Executive Director - Exceptional DREAMS