Can We Normalize Talking About Our Neurotype?

I, like many of my colleagues, often receive messages along the lines of, "You're so courageous." I usually respond politely, understanding there's no ill intent behind these words.

But let’s be honest...

No, I am not brave. I am tired...

I’m tired of people questioning whether neurotypes even exist.

I’m tired of being mocked for my differences. I’m tired of having to explain—again and again—that I work differently.

I’m tired of pleading for the support I should be granted without question.

I’m tired of seeing my fellow neurodivergent colleagues treated unjustly by systems that claim to be inclusive but fail us repeatedly.

When I first started advocating, my goal was selfish, if I’m being honest. I wanted people to understand me—as a friend, a partner, a colleague, a manager, and as a person. But the more I spoke up, the more I saw that others like me were equally tired. They needed someone to give them a voice.

We often talk about flight, fight, or freeze. Well, I’ve never been one to back down from a fight. So I made it my mission to stand up for those who needed a voice—even if that meant risking the occasional stutter or stumbling over words.

Here’s the reality: ADHD is one of the most common neurodevelopmental conditions in Canada, affecting approximately 5% of adults worldwide. Many with ADHD also experience co-occurring traits, such as dyslexia or autism. Yet almost daily, I’m asked questions like, “Does ADHD really exist?” or, “Why are there so many more cases now?”

These questions are exhausting because they invalidate lived experiences. And while awareness is improving, the barriers we face remain formidable. For example, 45% of neurodiverse Canadians feel they must mask their true selves at work, and 40% identify social competency requirements in interviews as a significant hurdle. Add to this the lack of workplace accommodations—like flexible policies—and it’s no wonder retention rates for neurodiverse employees lag behind.

Yes, schools are slowly adjusting, but how long will it take for the workforce to catch up? While some companies are beginning to recognize the value neurodiversity brings—like innovation and creative problem-solving—structural support remains minimal. Only a small fraction of organizations have dedicated programs to recruit or support neurodiverse talent.

And honestly, can we blame them entirely? In today’s world, diversity and inclusion efforts are under fire, leaving many companies hesitant to take bold steps. Fear of backlash often leads to a risk-averse approach, stalling meaningful progress.

So, yes, I’m tired—tired of this relentless battle that feels insurmountable at times. But I am also deeply grateful. Grateful to have found like-minded individuals who refuse to give up. Fighters who know that change, however slow, is still worth pursuing.

As Christina Aguilera's "Fighter" puts it: Makes me that much stronger, makes me work a little bit harder, Makes me that much wiser, so thanks for making me a fighter."

So, yes, we may seem courageous—and in some ways, we are. But courage doesn’t erase exhaustion. Courage doesn’t remove the need for understanding, for equity, or for a system that genuinely supports us.

We’re brave because we have to be. But let’s not mistake bravery for invincibility. We are also tired—tired of fighting battles we shouldn’t have to fight, tired of being misunderstood, and tired of carrying a burden that grows heavier with every step.

If you see us standing tall, advocating for ourselves and others, know this: we do it because the fight matters. And we do it hoping for a day when courage isn’t necessary—because understanding and inclusion have finally become the norm.

Together, we’ll keep fighting. Because our differences aren’t just valid—they’re vital.