Living Life in a Neurodiverse World

I definitely didn’t look like a typical gifted kid, but my mom was a special education teacher and had insisted I was tested for the gifted program in second grade. In fifth grade, she refused to believe my teacher’s opinion that I was unmotivated to learn. We ended up in a neurologist’s office who diagnosed me with Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. I often wonder how I would have managed if I hadn’t had her there as an advocate.

When I opened my private practice, my husband and I brainstormed names for weeks. More than any other decision, we agonized over the name. The office would be neurodiversity-affirming, embracing a belief that every person who walked in our doors could grow into the person they wished to be. That despite any label or diagnosis, the inherent value of their personhood was valuable.

We settled on the name Unlimited Potential Counseling – UP. It represents both the ability each of us has to continually progress and how the support of a community can help us reach those heights.

I worked as a gifted education teacher and school counselor before Unlimited Potential came into existence. When I became a teacher, I knew gifted education was my destination, because of my own experiences as a twice-exceptional child. Personal experiences drove me to a field where I was passionate to help others have a better experience than I’d had.

As a teacher of gifted ed programming, teachers in the general education classroom drew both my sympathy and my frustration—depending on the day—when I saw them struggling to meet the needs of the gifted and 2e students in their classroom. The teachers were constantly pulled in twenty-five different directions. I saw students falling through the cracks. Bright kids were disorganized and written off as lazy. Brilliant writers and mathematicians were forced to confine their talent to the prescribed parameters of their grade-level curriculum. These limitations were unhelpful at best, and damaging at worst, for our brightest students.

As a twice-exceptional kid, I knew the negative outcomes of a poor environmental fit from my own experiences. My gifted education classroom became my respite. The other four days in the classroom were agonizing. I was a “frequent flyer” to the nurse, escaping class daily—sometimes because I probably just needed a break, other times because I was so anxious about getting in trouble that my stomach hurt. My desk was frequently pushed against the wall in isolation in the classroom. This embarrassed me but did little to prevent me from calling out answers without raising my hand or talking to other kids across the classroom.

I definitely didn’t look like a typical gifted kid, but my mom was a special education teacher and had insisted I was tested for the gifted program in second grade. In fifth grade, she refused to believe my teacher’s opinion that I was unmotivated to learn. We ended up in a neurologist’s office who diagnosed me with Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder. I often wonder how I would have managed if I hadn’t had her there as an advocate.

The dichotomy of being both gifted and disabled was an interesting pendulum to ride. The external forces that influenced me were confusing—my teachers didn’t understand me, discipline didn’t work on me (at home or school), and my peers excluded me. I didn’t know who I was or where I fit. The regular classroom was too easy and too hard at the same time. The mismatch between my needs and the environment led to frequent discipline and an intense sense of shame; the gifted classroom felt like a place where I was accepted but still always trying to measure up to the other students.

Internally, I was fascinated by the topics I cared about and was a big picture thinker. When I was asked to complete mundane busy work that I didn’t understand the purpose of, I could rarely muster the ability to initiate the task. I spent an entire weekend researching and writing a report on whales, but was constantly on the verge of failing classes because I couldn’t get my work turned in. I developed a sense of learned helplessness—“Oh, I didn’t turn that in because I forgot it because of my ADHD”—because I’d never been given the accommodations or support to be successful, and it was a useful excuse… and then would get As on the test (which drove my teachers crazy).

I didn’t see myself as gifted. I didn’t see myself as ADHD. I just knew I didn’t fit.

Entering education was a way for me to right the wrongs that had occurred during my time as a student. I was determined to make a difference for my students and help their parents and teachers understand the nuance of being gifted or twice-exceptional. I’ve come to a place where I understand my strengths and limitations. I no longer try to be something I’m not.

My gratitude for the community in the field of gifted education grows every day. I have the privilege of helping parents advocate for their kids, teachers learn new ways to support their students, and my clients understand and accept themselves. Creating the Mind Matters podcast was another way to broaden the reach of my mission—to help create a world where neurodiversity is not only accepted but celebrated. A world where we recognize that with strengths come weaknesses, and that’s okay, and that intelligence isn’t only a single facet of a person’s development, nor is a diagnosis of ADHD, ASD, dyslexia, anxiety, or depression. A world where we work to destigmatize labels, recognize they can be functional, and are nothing to be feared—a world where we know flexibility is key to supporting any of our neurodiverse learners, and that we need to stop trying to force the square peg into the round hole.

My mission has come full circle as I am now the parent to at least two (possibly three) twice-exceptional gifted/ADHD students. Parenting is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Our house is a constant din of curiosity and distraction and laughter and reminders to brush one’s teeth. But I wouldn’t change it. Every day, I have the chance to lift my children up and help them along the path to reach their potential, however far it may go.