Being a neurodiverse teacher is like being a dog-lover with allergies

If I could illustrate being a neurodivergent kaiako, it’s like being deeply in love with dogs but you are allergic to them. But of course, that doesn’t stop you from patting them. 

Think of possibly the most overstimulating environment you can - ie. a classroom - and then put an autistic person in it… doesn’t seem like the most fruitful combo, does it?

But teaching works for me, most of the time. It has all the things my ASD needs: structure, consistent routine and my own space to work alone. And luckily for me, teaching is my special interest so I can get into it at work.

And then it has all the things my ADHD needs: mental stimulation, variety, time to hyper-focus, and I get to talk (lots) to some of my favourite people. 

But then the allergies kick in. Noise at a school is very hard to control sometimes and usually flies in from all different directions. I can get distracted whilst I teach because I hear something outside and then I forget what I’m saying whilst I’m standing in front of roughly 30 confused faces. Or I’m in a meeting and I can’t even hear what the speaker is saying because of an electric hum coming from the vending machine. 

How do I explain to my head of department that I get upset if I cannot park in the same undesignated parking spot every day? How do I explain to my colleagues that I am too emotionally and mentally exhausted from a day of teaching that I don’t have enough executive function left to cook myself a meal? How do I explain to random people who say “Teachers get all these holidays”, that I actually need those holidays to recover from burnout after each term so I can keep being able to do what I love? 

But this is where, sadly, education and neurodiversity have something in common: people making decisions about something they don’t experience. Politicians who aren’t teachers, making decisions about what should happen in a classroom are the same as people who aren’t neurodivergent and/or disabled making decisions that affect the lives of neurodiverse and/or disabled people.

It was actually during a university lecture that I discovered I could be neurodivergent. This was the first time I had ever learnt anything about neurodiversity and when the psychologist started to list the symptoms of ADHD, I started thinking to myself “I do that… I do that too… that happens to me”. Fast forward to almost two years later, after countless hours of fixating on my new special interest and waiting eight months for an appointment… I finally had confirmation that I had ADHD and ASD. 

I now look back at all the times in my life growing up when that was blatantly obvious, especially in school. If only someone had known anything about ADHD or ASD, particularly how it appears in young women. 

This makes me think about all the neurodivergent kids out there, who also haven’t been picked up. I don’t want them to grow up feeling different, not knowing why and then blaming themselves. 

David*, a very introspective student of mine, would always talk to me about how he would struggle with social interactions no matter how hard he tried and he would ruminate about what he did wrong. I explained to him that I feel the same way. He felt comforted to know he wasn’t alone in his experience and he might not be as weird as he thought. That is what young neurodivergent people need. They need to know they are not alone, they are not broken and they are heard.

Lots of neurodivergent ākonga lack in academic achievement and attendance, whilst usually having some serious behavioural issues because no one knows that the underlying cause could be an unknown neurodivergence. All rangatahi should have a basic understanding of neurodiversity for either their own self-acceptance or a better understanding of how to support their peers. All of my students have been nothing but understanding when I shared my diagnosis with them. Some of my students thanked me for sharing and confided in me that they feel different sometimes, that they too are neurodivergent or struggle with their own kind of “allergies”.

But I have antihistamines. My principal, senior leadership team and HODs are very supportive of me. My colleagues take the time to understand how my brain works and do their best to help me. I’ve even been able to run a workshop on neurodiversity with a fellow neurodivergent colleague for the whole staff. 

Things are slowly changing. As our understanding of neurodiversity increases so does our understanding that there is a need to support neurodiverse people better in schools and at work. The Neurodiversity in Education coalition is partnering with schools to build more neuroinclusive learning spaces for rangatahi. Additionally, the Post Primary Teachers Association has recently approved a network for neurodiverse kaiako because not all neurodiverse teachers receive the support I do. How can we support neurodiverse ākonga if we aren’t supporting and listening to the insight of neurodiverse kaiako?

That’s how I am using my position in teaching to better educate my colleagues and students about neurodiversity. I don’t want another young person to grow up always sneezing and never knowing why.

*Name changed for privacy.