I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately.
Not just as a mum to two autistic boys — but as someone who has spent years watching the world slowly… slowly start to understand that different isn’t something to be fixed. It’s something to be valued.
For a long time, “community” felt like a word that didn’t quite include us. School events were overwhelming. Social situations were minefields. And there were moments — more than I care to count — where I felt like my boys just didn’t fit. Like the world had been built for a certain kind of person, and we were trying to squeeze ourselves into a mould that was never made for us.
But here’s what I’ve come to realise: communities don’t become stronger by everyone being the same. They become stronger by everyone bringing something different to the table.
Neurodivergent people see the world differently. And that’s not a weakness — it’s genuinely one of the most powerful things a community can have.
My son Matthew can have a conversation about the causes of World War One with more passion and detail than most adults I know. He notices things other people walk straight past. He thinks deeply, cares fiercely, and approaches problems from angles that wouldn’t even occur to a neurotypical mind. That’s not a deficit. That’s a gift.
Blake is the same — in his own completely different way. His ability to connect with people, his loyalty, his honesty — these are qualities that make any group, any friendship, any community, better.
When we make space for neurodivergent people — really make space, not just tolerate them — we create communities that are more creative, more empathetic, more resilient. We get better ideas, better solutions, and a better understanding of the world we all share.
The world needs all kinds of minds. And the sooner our communities truly embrace that — not just in words, but in action — the stronger and kinder we’ll all be for it.
