I’d like to talk about something 

that doesn’t get nearly enough consideration:

And that is

neurodivergent inclusion. 

(And going forward, 

I’m going refer to neurodivergent as “ND”

because I get tongue tied easily LOL)

At its core, 

ND inclusion means just this:

Different brains 

deserve the same dignity. 

Full stop.

Kids experience the world 

in all kinds of ways.

Some need movement.

Some need quiet.

Some need repetition.

Some need more time to think before they speak.

Some feel emotions louder.

Some experience sensory input bigger.

Like everything is turned up to eleven 

while also in the upside-down.

Those aren’t flaws. 

They’re differences. 

And “difference” is not a problem to solve.

But a lot of us were raised 

in systems that treated difference 

as something to be fixed 

instead of understood. 

For example:

“Be still!”

“Look at me.”

“Lower your voice.”

“Hurry up!”

Most likely said with increasing volume, 

for reasons that never helped.

But here, in this space, 

we’re learning something better:

Inclusion isn’t about 

forcing kids to fit the environment. 

It’s about shaping the environment 

to fit the kids. 

Which honestly feels obvious 

once you say it out loud.

Let me tell you about a day 

when this really clicked for me.

My youngest came home from 

after-school care once - 

they were about seven or eight - 

just completely wrecked.

Not hungry.

Not up for cartoons.

Not able to nap.

Just … done.

To be honest, 

even THEY didn’t know what they needed. 

And neither did I at first.

So I stopped trying to figure out the words, 

and instead asked myself:

“What would I want on a day like that?”

A lavender bath.

A candle.

A comfort show.

An eye mask.

Zero follow-up questions.

So that’s what I did.

I didn’t lecture. 

And I didn’t talk. 

I just ran the bath, 

added lavender essential oils, 

lit a candle far away from the tub, 

set up an iPad, 

handed them the eye mask, 

and I said:

“Get in and chill for a bit. 

I’ll make you chicken tenders 

when you’re ready to come out.”

Which, frankly, is a compelling offer 

for both a 7-year-old and a 42-year-old.

And I swear, 

our lives changed that day. 

My kid was SO HAPPY.

They came down from 

whatever had them 

clawing the ceiling like a cat. 

My shoulders dropped out of my ears 

and I felt the nervous system relief 

IMMEDIATELY.

Even my husband looked at me and said: 

“I can’t believe that worked.”

Same, babe.

But in looking back, 

what worked wasn’t magic. 

It was meeting a nervous system where it was, 

not where I wanted it to be. 

And certainly not where the schedule 

said it should be.

That’s ND inclusion.

It’s supporting regulation 

before expecting communication. 

Always in that order.

And this matters for all kids, 

but especially for kids 

who live at the intersection of 

neurodivergence and LGBTQ identity.

Because so many queer kids 

are already navigating a world 

that feels loud, 

confusing, 

and unsafe. 

And layering misunderstanding on top of that 

helps absolutely no one.

ND inclusion teaches them:

You’re not broken.

You’re not too much.

And you don’t have to change who you are 

to deserve care.

You already qualify.

And it teaches us as parents:

The world isn’t always gentle 

or understanding, 

so home has to be the place 

where our kids build their strength 

SAFELY.

Because when kids feel understood, 

they feel safer.

And when they feel safer, 

they grow stronger - 

exactly as they are.

Not who we wish they were.

That’s all for now. 

And don’t forget to take good care of yourself today.