What we can all learn from neurodiversity.

Have you ever had someone in your life who seems to experience the world a little differently — who’s endlessly creative and full of ideas one moment, but easily distracted or overwhelmed the next? Or someone whose sensitivity to sound, light, touch or social situations feels more intense than your own?

For many people, these differences aren’t signs of a flaw or failure, they’re reflections of neurodiversity, the natural variation in how human brains work and process information. The word neurodivergent is sometimes used to describe people whose experiences differ from what’s considered “typical.” In clinical language, that might include a diagnosis of ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia. But focusing only on labels can miss the point. What matters most is understanding each person’s lived experience — how they make sense of the world, what helps them feel supported and connected, and how they can best thrive. And really, that’s something we can all learn from.

Too often, people who experience the world differently are misunderstood, stigmatized, or expected to conform to neurotypical ways of learning, communicating, or socializing. Much of that pressure comes from the systems around us, like schools, workplaces, even healthcare, which are often built around a narrow idea of what “typical” looks like. The truth is, those structures can be pretty rigid, and they often make life harder for neurodivergent folks, not because of their differences, but because the world isn’t designed with enough flexibility.

When we start to question those norms and make room for different ways of thinking, learning, and engaging, we begin to move away from the idea of “fitting in” and toward genuine inclusion. And it makes you wonder — what’s “typical,” anyway, and who decided that in the first place?

Of course, that doesn’t mean we disregard the value of research, medication, or structured supports. These can be life-changing tools that help people manage symptoms, improve focus, or reduce overwhelm. When paired with understanding and flexibility, they open up even more possibilities for learning, working, and living in ways that honour how each person’s brain works best. The more diverse our approaches become, the more space we create for everyone to thrive — and that’s something we all benefit from.

So how does this take shape in our daily lives? Take ADHD, for example. Someone with ADHD might find it challenging to manage time or stay focused, but they may also bring deep curiosity, creativity, and enthusiasm to the things that capture their attention. When we see these traits as part of a broader neurotype rather than a lack of discipline, we make space for more compassion, collaboration, and accommodation.

Living or working closely with someone who experiences the world differently can require patience and flexibility. Differences in communication, energy, or sensory processing can sometimes lead to misunderstandings on both sides, but these moments often soften as understanding grows.

For instance, one person may prefer clear, direct communication and find sarcasm or vague language confusing. Another might forget appointments or interrupt mid-conversation — not out of disregard, but because of how their brain engages with stimuli. You might also notice what’s often called stimming — things like fidgeting, tapping, rocking, or repeating sounds. For many, this is a way to self-soothe, regulate, or stay focused. What might seem unusual to someone else often serves an important purpose: helping the nervous system find balance. Learning about each other’s rhythms, needs, and limits can make all the difference.

So, what can help us communicate and connect better? Start with curiosity. Understanding someone’s neurotype begins with care and openness, not assumptions or quick takes from social media. You might learn through gentle, respectful conversations, asking how they experience focus, sensory input, social situations, or daily routines. Some people may have a formal diagnosis; others may simply recognize familiar patterns or traits in themselves. Either way, the most meaningful thing you can do is listen. Let them describe their experience in their own words. Your role isn’t to define or interpret — it’s to learn, support, and walk beside them.

As your understanding deepens, resources like books, podcasts, or workshops can offer language and insights that help you both navigate daily life more easily. But learning is an ongoing process, one built on listening and responding with empathy. Each person’s experience of neurodivergence is unique, so take the time to notice what helps them feel grounded, what sparks joy, and what kind of support feels most respectful and sustainable.

Flexibility also goes a long way. Routines, expectations, and communication styles might need to shift — and that’s okay. Adapting together can build trust and mutual understanding. Even small changes, like creating a quiet corner, using visual reminders, sharing a calendar, or wearing noise-cancelling headphones can make daily life feel calmer and more manageable.

Supporting someone who experiences the world differently isn’t about changing or “helping them fit.” It’s about understanding, adapting, and meeting one another with curiosity and respect. When we approach difference as something to learn from rather than correct, relationships and communities can grow in ways that honour diversity instead of resisting it. Because ultimately, our world truly does need all kinds of minds.

Written for the Coast Reporter, On Mental Health (Oct 24, 2025)