I grew up in the 1960s and 70s as what would now be called a neurodivergent child. Back then, there was no language for it – only labels, assumptions and the quiet accumulation of damage. The playground mantra “sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never harm me” was always a lie. Words were the problem. They still are.

The illusion of understanding

It is easy to assume things have moved on. Neurodiversity is now part of everyday conversation – in classrooms, workplaces and across social media. ADHD, dyslexia, dyspraxia and autism are discussed as if understanding has finally caught up with awareness. It sounds like progress. It often looks like it, too. But scratch just a little deeper and very little has actually changed. The language has improved – the attitudes have not.

Neurodivergence is described as simply a different way of thinking, yet people with ADHD are still dismissed as lazy when they cannot start or finish tasks. Executive functioning is acknowledged in theory, but missed deadlines are still treated as moral failures rather than outcomes of neurological difference. The terminology has been learned, but judgement remains the default.

It is widely accepted that neurodivergence has nothing to do with intelligence, yet the moment someone with dyslexia hesitates over text, their ability is quietly downgraded. Greater awareness of autism has not stopped differences in expression being read as a lack of feeling or empathy. The contradiction is not subtle –  it is structural. And it is not confined to ignorance. Even within psychotherapy, psychology and counselling professionals, the gap between rhetoric and reality is hard to ignore. Training still all too often fails to equip professionals to properly understand neurodivergent experience and functioning. The result is not just misunderstanding, but misinterpretation – dressed up as expertise.

Tolerance with conditions

Recognition is not the same as acceptance. Most people will agree that neurodivergent individuals communicate and socialise differently, but that social acceptance comes with conditions. Eye contact, tone, timing, body language – all quietly policed against neurotypical norms. Difference is now externally tolerated, but only if the person performs familiarity. The expectation remains to behave, act and appear in a neurotypical way.

A quiet drink with fellow neurodivergent professionals brought this into sharp focus. It was not a conversation about outdated discrimination, but about their early teen children – still, in 2026, walking the sadly familiar path. The same misunderstandings. The same quiet exclusions. The same shame I knew six decades ago.

Support itself is treated with the same suspicions. Reasonable adjustments such as extra time, clearer instructions, flexible structures – these are framed as advantages rather than what they are: basic adjustments in a world not designed with neurodivergent brains in mind. What should be fairness is recast as favour. Resentment follows.

Then there is the lazy shorthand: “everyone is a bit ADHD”, “everyone is a little autistic”. It sounds inclusive, but it does the opposite. It erases the reality that neurodivergence is not occasional distraction or social discomfort; it is a consistent, often exhausting, mismatch between person and environment.

Much of that exhaustion comes from masking – the constant effort to appear “typical”. It is invisible, which makes it easy to dismiss. If someone looks fine, the assumption is that they are fine. The strain behind the performance is ignored, and when it inevitably shows, it is treated as inconsistency rather than cost.

The persistence of stereotypes

Stereotypes survive because they are simple. They reduce complex, uneven realities into neat categories: lazy; awkward; inattentive. Real lives are messier. Strength and difficulty coexist. Focus can be intense one moment and elusive the next. Without understanding the underlying mechanisms, that variability is still read as unreliability.

Perhaps the clearest sign that little has changed is this: neurodivergent people are only believed when their struggles are visible – and only respected when they are not. Succeed, and the diagnosis is questioned. Struggle, and the effort is questioned. Either way, reality is filtered through someone else’s assumptions.

Awareness has increased – but understanding has lagged behind. The vocabulary of neurodiversity has been learned, but it is still interpreted through the same old lens. Until that changes, stereotypes will not disappear. They will simply become quieter, more polite – and no less powerful.