Who Gets to Be Neurodivergent in America?

Rethinking Identity, Care, and Accountability

In recent years, conversations about neurodivergence have entered mainstream culture. Social media is filled with personal stories, infographics, and self-assessment tools for ADHD, autism, and sensory processing differences. In today’s climate of identity politics, identifying as neurodivergent has become a kind of shorthand-not just for difference, but also for trauma, disconnection, and a desire to belong.

Yet, there’s an important question that often goes unspoken:

What happens when people claim neurodivergence in ways that echo or even displace conversations about race, power, and systemic oppression?

This isn’t a critique of neurodivergent individuals. Rather, it’s a challenge to how identity is used, and what gets lost when it becomes a shield from responsibility or a way to flatten our differences.

The Rise of Neurodivergent Self-Identification

In a culture that commodifies mental health and values curated vulnerability, neurodivergent self-identification often follows a familiar pattern-much like previous trends where people claimed OCD or labeled others as narcissists:

• Someone struggles with focus or emotional regulation.

• They encounter relatable content.

• They see themselves reflected and feel seen-relieved, even.

• A label forms.

• Their new identity takes hold.

Here lies the tension: when identity is adopted without clinical engagement or community accountability, it can serve as a buffer against critique rather than a bridge to deeper connection.

The Weaponization of Vulnerability

Consider this scenario: In a multiracial discussion, someone is called in for making a racially insensitive comment. Instead of engaging, they reply, “I’m neurodivergent; confrontation is triggering. This feels like an attack.”

This response shifts the focus. Now, the person harmed must navigate someone else’s pain, and the conversation stalls. The harm goes unaddressed, and the system reverts to a fragile, limited capacity for handling conflict.

Here, vulnerability is used not to build connection, but to avoid it. Accountability becomes harm, and self-awareness becomes self-protection.

Who Benefits?

When anyone claims neurodivergence in ways that overshadow systemic oppression, they may not realize they are:

• Recentering whiteness in conversations meant to decenter it.

• Equating individual cognitive differences with institutionalized racism.

• Reinforcing systems that prioritize white distress over BIPOC safety.

This isn’t to deny anyone’s pain. The question is: whose pain is prioritized?

Over-Diagnosis and Self-Medication

As a behavioral therapist who has worked with youth with autism and other neurodevelopmental conditions in both the Middle East and the U.S., I see the current moment as a double-edged sword. On one hand, increased awareness has reduced stigma and made it easier for people to seek help. On the other, it has led to over-diagnosis-especially among middle-class populations-and the use of neurodivergent identities as tools for self-exoneration rather than self-understanding. Many people are quickly labeled, sometimes after a ten-minute checklist or a viral TikTok. What’s missing is real support.

This is where social stories come in. These frameworks help people navigate a confusing world: “When someone is hurt, I listen. Listening lessens hurt and builds connection.” They teach agency, reciprocal connection, and belonging.

But in the U.S., where social norms are weak and performance is prioritized, there are no binding social stories. Claiming neurodivergence often becomes a way to avoid accountability rather than build community.

One approach fosters growth; the other insulates the self. Those who need real care are left behind in the noise.

Multiple Voices, Multiple Realities

Consider these perspectives:

• The Artist: “My ADHD is why I miss deadlines. Please don’t hold it against me.”→ “My brain works in nonlinear ways. I’m working on time management and open to strategies that support the team.”

• The Organizer: “I’ve been masking since I was five. No one called it neurodivergence until I burned out.”→ “I need more than a label. I need systems that don’t punish me for being different.”

• The Student: “I think I’m autistic but can’t get diagnosed. My friends say I’m just being dramatic; I clash with my roommates.”→ “Even without a diagnosis, I deserve support and understanding. But I also know self-awareness doesn’t exempt me from learning how I affect others.”

• The Facilitator: “We want this space to be affirming without becoming a free-for-all.”→ “Let’s co-create norms that hold everyone with care. No one needs to cancel another.”

What Might Healing Look Like?

Healing doesn’t come from claiming more labels. It comes from learning to be with one another and holding complexity.

• It means asking: How do I show up even when it’s hard?

• It sounds like: My needs matter, and so do yours. Let’s find a way forward.

• It feels like: Being held accountable while also feeling safe and not discarded.

This is the work of solidarity-a word I miss dearly while living in the U.S.-of moving from self-identification to mutual recognition.

“I carry pain, and I still want to help build something better-with you.”

This sentence changes everything. It doesn’t solve all tensions, but invites us to shift:

• From performance to presence.

• From defensiveness to curiosity.

• From identity as insulation to identity as invitation.

This is a different kind of strength-one that doesn’t dominate or isolate, but extends genuine willingness to understand and risk discomfort. In this spirit, healing becomes collective, organic, and alive.

Guidelines for Ethical Solidarity and Inclusive Practice

To move toward shared healing and accountability, consider these principles:

• Practice radical listening: Seek to understand, even when it’s uncomfortable.

• Distinguish between explanation and excuse: Explain how neurodivergence affects you, but don’t use it to avoid responsibility.

• Ground identity in relationships: Ask who sees and supports you, and who might be affected by your claims.

• Use strategies, not just labels: Employ social stories, mutual aid, routines, and collective leadership to support everyone.

• Be curious about your impact: Reflect on how your presence affects the space and what repair might be needed.

• Co-create, don’t assume: Build norms together; don’t expect them to exist automatically.

• Lead with care, not control: Say, “This impacted me. Can we talk?” instead of, “I’m triggered, so I’m exempt.”

• Know when to step aside: Not every space is yours to lead. Sometimes, solidarity means silence and support.

A Recent Visit, A Personal Reckoning

This piece has been on my mind for years, but was rekindled recently when a friend visited for five days. We caught up on the drama of a group we once tried to belong to in LA, stayed up late, shared meals and hikes in Tucson, and made new memories. Throughout the visit, he insisted he was neurodivergent.

He said Adderall helps him focus and “evens him out.” He hasn’t seen a doctor or been evaluated, but he was certain: “I just know I’m wired differently-it all makes sense now after years of confusion.”

This surprised me. I don’t doubt his struggles with connection; he always had an air of defiance that masked a sense of inadequacy, projecting a wise-sage persona I probably needed to believe in. What became clear was that I felt more alienated by the topics he wanted to workshop, which seemed to come at the expense of genuine connection and the realities that are present and distressing in my own life.

His repeated declarations felt like self-hypnosis-closing, not opening. Naming it over and over seemed to lock him into his chosen realization, freeing him from deeper investigation or considering how his self-diagnosis affected his relationships, our conversations, and the silences that grew into awkward interruptions.

I write to make sense of my thoughts and feelings-the ache of watching someone you care about bypass the support they need and ignore alternative perspectives. As a Middle Eastern man living in the U.S., I crave connection and support from friends as much as I offer it. It hurts to see identity become a shield in spaces that were meant to be safe and liberatory, perpetuating exclusion by self-exclusion.

Recapping with Concise Questions

• Why do some people adopt a neurodivergent label without clinical evaluation?

• How can self-identification shift from genuine insight to self-protection?

• In what ways does whiteness influence how neurodivergence is claimed and perceived?

• When does sharing vulnerability support connection versus deflect accountability?

• How do we balance honoring individual pain with addressing systemic harm?

• What role has social media played in normalizing self-diagnosis?

• Who is excluded when mental-health visibility centers privileged voices?

• How might neurodivergent identity be weaponized to sidestep critique?

• What practices help distinguish explanation from excuse?

• How can groups co-create norms that respect difference and demand responsibility?

• What does genuine repair look like after harm occurs?

• How do we shift from performative labels to mutual recognition?

• Which strategies (e.g., social stories, routines) foster collective support?

• When is stepping back more solidarity than stepping up?

• How do we cultivate presence over performance in our interactions?