If you have spent any time on social media lately, odds are you have come across a specific genre of video. It usually features someone laughing at their own intense need for a specific morning routine, their collection of identical t-shirts, or the absolute necessity of background noise just to focus on a "basic" task. With a healthy helping of good humor, these creators are sharing some of the specific behaviors that led them to wonder, usually later in life, if they might actually be neurodivergent.
These viral videos have sparked a massive cultural conversation. For thousands of adults, watching someone else explain their internal world feels like looking into a mirror for the very first time.
While social media is a fantastic tool for connection, a 60-second video can really only scratch the surface. It can be tough to understand what these terms actually mean in someone's day-to-day life, let alone from a clinical standpoint. Moving toward a neurodiversity-affirming framework means leaving behind the outdated idea that there is a 'normal' brain, and instead learning to accommodate your unique cognitive profile. To truly make sense of this shift in how we talk about mental health, we have to look at the foundational concept that started it all: the term neurodiversity.
To understand this concept, it helps to look at the grassroots history of how these terms came to be. The language we use today didn't come from a formal medical institution—it was created by advocates looking for a better way to describe their own lived experiences.
The specific word neurodiversity was first coined in the late 1990s by Judy Singer, an Australian sociologist. Singer, who is autistic herself, recognized that humanity needed a brand-new political framework to talk about our brains. She drew heavy inspiration from the unapologetic advocacy of early activists like Jim Sinclair. In 1993, Sinclair delivered a historic speech titled "Don't Mourn for Us," which radically challenged the prevailing medical view that autism was a tragic disease to be cured, asserting instead that it is an inherent part of a person's identity.
Access and read the full text from Sinclair's (1993) speech, "Don't Mourn for Us"
Instead of viewing differences in attention, learning, and socializing as flaws that need to be fixed, the neurodiversity movement views them as natural variations in the human genome. Just as biodiversity makes an ecosystem resilient and strong, human neurodiversity enriches our communities.
While Singer gave the movement its formal academic title, it is vital to recognize that conversations about neurodivergence were not happening in a vacuum. Like many areas of cultural "knowing," the credit for inventing the concept often goes to the person who published the thesis. However, the survival strategies, community care networks, and foundational ideas of neurodivergence were already being actively lived out and organized.
Long before the word gained mainstream traction, these concepts were deeply rooted in other civil rights movements. Black, Indigenous, and queer disabled activists were already fighting the systems that labeled their minds and bodies as "deficient" or "deviant." From the mutual-aid support provided to disabled individuals by the Black Panther Party in the 1970s, to queer and trans activists fighting psychiatric institutionalization, communities of color have always understood that enforcing a single definition of "normal" is a tool of systemic oppression.
By acknowledging these parallel roots, we honor the fact that neurodiversity isn't a modern internet trend or a localized academic theory—it is a continuation of a long, intersectional fight for human liberation.
As the movement grew, the community needed a way to bridge these parallel histories and make the space radically inclusive. That is where the specific term people use to identify themselves—neurodivergent—came into play.
It was coined around the year 2000 by Kassiane Asasumasu, an American activist of color who is herself multiply neurodivergent. Asasumasu recognized a gap in the conversation. While "neurodiversity" described the grand total of all human minds, the community needed a word to describe individuals whose minds didn't align with dominant social norms. Crucially, she intended for "neurodivergent" to be a radically inclusive umbrella. She created it to ensure that people weren't gatekept or excluded just because they didn't have one specific diagnosis.
Check out this NPR article, featuring quotes from Asasumasu about Neurodivergence
Because of this foundational advocacy, we now use two distinct categories to navigate these concepts clearly:
When it is described that way, it makes perfect sense why so many folks find that they can relate to the definition. It provides a framework to adopt "neurodivergence" as one of their personal labels. After all, aren't we all unique in our own ways?
Historically, our understanding of neurodiversity was quite narrow. The concept was almost exclusively related to specific, formal clinical diagnoses. These traditionally included:
However, those of us in the medical and mental health fields have noticed a massive shift over the last decade. Neurodivergence is much more common than we once thought, and it is certainly not limited to these classic categories. Today, the umbrella of neurodivergence is widely understood to include things like dyspraxia, Tourette's syndrome, and even certain types of chronic mental health conditions that fundamentally alter how brains work.
A common question people ask when they start researching this topic is: “If I’m neurodivergent, why didn’t anyone notice when I was a kid?”
The answer often lies in how our historical understanding of these conditions was constructed. For decades, clinical research was heavily biased, particularly when it came to gender disparities in autistic people.
Statistically, far more boys are diagnosed with autism than girls—historically, it is cited as being roughly four to five times more common in males. However, modern research shows this isn't because the condition inherently prefers one biological sex. Instead, it is because our diagnostic criteria were built entirely around how autism presents in young boys.
The behaviors known as "typical" for an autism diagnosis—like intense physical rocking, a hyper-fixation on mechanical objects, or obvious speech delays—are simply more visible among boys. Girls, by contrast, are often socialized from a very young age to be more verbal, compliant, and socially aware.
Because of this socialization, an autistic person who is female may learn to "mask" their difficulties. Masking involves consciously copying neurotypical social behaviors to fit in. A young girl might force eye contact, mimic the conversational rhythms of her peers, and suppress her need to move.
While masking helps a child fit in to the world (and, as such, fly under the radar of teachers and pediatricians), it comes at an immense internal cost. Most experts today agree that our foundational understanding of how these traits present across the entire lifespan needs to change. This historical gap is a primary reason so many women find themselves seeking a diagnosis later in life—often in adulthood, when they recognize these exact same patterns in their own children.
For many people who discover their neurodivergence in adulthood, the missing puzzle piece isn't just about how they socialize or pay attention—it is about how they experience the physical world.
While sensory processing disorder (SPD) is not currently classified as a distinct, standalone diagnosis in standard clinical manuals, it is a highly prevalent symptom complex. It is almost always present alongside ADHD & autistic traits.
Sensory processing issues involve difficulty taking in, organizing, and responding to data from our senses. This can manifest in two distinct ways:
When adults look back at their childhoods through a neurodiversity-affirming lens, they often realize their sensory needs were systematically written off. They might remember being labeled as "touchy," "overly sensitive," "dramatic," or "picky." Re-evaluating these memories can bring a profound sense of clarity to a lifetime of feeling inexplicably overwhelmed by everyday environments.
Finding yourself questioning whether your lifetime struggles are related to neurodivergence is a deeply vulnerable place to be. It rarely brings up just one single feeling; instead, it tends to unlock a wide, complex range of emotions and existential questions.
For many, the initial realization brings a massive wave of relief. Finally, there is a name for what has been happening. Having a clear framework can help us understand the differences we have always noticed about ourselves and our peers. It validates the fact that you weren't lazy, careless, or unmotivated—you were simply operating an intricate, non-standard brain in a world built for a very specific type of user.
At the exact same time, it is entirely normal to experience some unpleasant feelings. Many adults go through a genuine period of grief. They grieve for their younger selves, wondering how different their school, career, or home life might have been if they had received the right support decades earlier.
For some, the thought of adopting a new label can bring up deep-seated, internalized stigmas. It can even feel like a confirmation that something inside their brain is fundamentally "broken."
If you find yourself stuck in that heavy, isolating place, it is worth looking back at the community spaces that started this modern conversation. Heading over to online platforms and looking through tags like #neurodivergent in online spaces can be a great place to start. There, you will find an expansive, vibrant community of people who are navigating this exact same journey.
They can assure you that you are not alone, and you are not broken. Furthermore, you will quickly see that the humor they use to discuss their daily lives is a powerful tool for healing, de-stigmatization, and mutual encouragement.
What would it look like for you to notice the label of "neurodivergent" in a defused, gentle way? What if you could hold it with a bit of safe distance and a healthy sense of curiosity, rather than judgment?
When we drop the shame, we open up the door to discover entirely new ways to love, protect, and appreciate our unique ways of functioning.
Even if you ultimately decide that a specific label like ADHD or autism isn't the right fit for you, there is immense value in becoming more curious about how your mind works. Learning to appreciate your individual quirks in a healthy, freeing way can transform your daily life.
Improving your overall quality of life doesn't require trying to force a square peg into a round hole. It starts with radical self-knowledge.
Shifting your perspective on how your brain works is a profound transition, and you don’t have to navigate it entirely on your own.
At KDH Counseling, we believe that neurodivergence is a vital part of human diversity, not a deficit. We are proud to provide comprehensive, neurodiversity-affirming care designed to help you understand your strengths, support your daily functioning, and build a life that feels authentic to how you naturally operate. We reject the idea that people with disabilities or neurological differences need to be "cured." Instead, we focus on accommodation, self-compassion, and empowerment.
Our practice offers a full suite of supportive services tailored to your unique journey:
Our physical office is located in Lafayette, Louisiana, and we provide secure, accessible telehealth services to individuals across the entire state. Some of our clinicians are also approved to provide telehealth services in other states (i.e., Texas, Ohio, Minnesota).
Whether you are looking for formal diagnostic answers, looking for a therapist who truly understands how your brain works, or simply wanting to explore your cognitive style through educational resources, support is available. Reach out to our team at KDH Counseling today to schedule an initial consultation, and let's explore your unique path forward together.