Disability or difference? Rethinking autism and ADHD
Let’s start with a simple but surprisingly complex question: are autism and ADHD disabilities? The short answer? Sometimes.
Autism and ADHD are neurotypes, which means they describe different ways that brains can function. These differences come with strengths—but they also come with challenges. And those challenges? They can be disabling. Especially in a world that expects everyone to function the same way.
But here’s the thing: the disabling parts of neurodivergence often aren’t visible. And they don’t always show up consistently. That’s what makes them dynamic disabilities—disabilities that fluctuate based on environment, energy, stress, mental health, and sensory input.
When “Invisible” Becomes Overwhelming
You might look at an autistic or ADHDer and think, “They seem fine to me.” Maybe they hold down a job, make eye contact, or laugh at your jokes. But what you’re seeing might be the result of intense masking—camouflaging their struggles just to fit in.
What you don’t see is what happens after they leave the crowded room. The sensory overload. The executive dysfunction that makes basic tasks feel impossible. The social anxiety, burnout, or panic attacks that hit after holding it all together.
This is the reality of a dynamic disability. One moment, you can manage. The next, you’re shutting down completely.
Functioning labels like “high” and “low” can be misleading. They assume disability is fixed, when in truth, it shifts constantly.
You might be able to juggle work, study, and relationships for weeks—until a change in your routine or an unexpected stressor sends it all crashing down. Suddenly, things that felt manageable are now completely overwhelming.
You haven’t become less capable. You’re just running out of what I call “SES bandwidth”—your capacity for sensory, executive, and social input. Once that bandwidth is maxed out, your nervous system goes into overload. And you’re left running on fumes.
Internalized Ableism: The Real Disability?
Here’s a truth that doesn’t get said enough: Sometimes the hardest part of being neurodivergent isn’t the disability—it’s the shame.
So many of us have absorbed the belief that we’re “lazy,” “rude,” “too sensitive,” or “not trying hard enough.” These aren’t just self-critical thoughts—they’re echoes of a society that doesn’t understand us.
This is internalized ableism, and it’s a heavy burden. It can erode self-esteem, sap motivation, and leave us stuck in cycles of guilt and burnout.
Acceptance Isn’t Giving Up—It’s a Strategy
Living with a dynamic disability means learning to anticipate your needs and manage your energy—before you crash.
That might mean:
- Carrying a sensory toolkit (earplugs, sunglasses, fidgets).
- Setting up executive function supports like reminders and timers.
- Saying “no” more often—and not apologizing for it.
- Being selective about when and with whom you unmask.
It also means learning to say, “It’s not that I’m failing—it’s that I need support.” And that’s a powerful shift.
Final Thoughts
You didn’t choose to have a neurodivergent brain. And you didn’t choose to live in a world that wasn’t built for it. But you can choose to meet yourself with compassion. To recognize that your struggles are real. And to remind yourself that surviving in a neurotypical world takes immense courage.
Let’s stop pretending that masking means everything is okay. Let’s start recognizing autism and ADHD for what they are—neurotypes that can, and often do, create real disability in an ableist world.
But you’re not broken. And you’re not alone.
Do you relate to the idea of having a dynamic disability? How does it show up in your day-to-day life?
Essy Knopf is a therapist who likes to explore what it means to be neurodivergent and queer. Subscribe to get all new posts sent directly to your inbox.
