“There were several men in my family, who were very closely related to me that had ADHD and dyslexia, but they were like, ‘You're smart.’” Alyx Britton ’21, who realized they had ADHD in Spring 2020, told me on our call together.

“I was never evaluated for autism because my doctors always saw me as this miracle case of this person with my medical condition, tuberous sclerosis, who did well in school and didn't experience a lot of the severe symptoms that a lot of people with this disease experienced.” Kendall Shields ’24 explained. It was here at Harvard that she began connecting with other autistic and neurodiverse students on campus and related to their experiences.

Teachers “would all see the surface of me needing to study and me being obsessed with habits of being a workaholic.” Anna Roodnitsky, Dartmouth ‘25, continues, “They almost bullied me,” adding, “they would be like, ‘Well in high school, I was lazy and whatnot, you should just be lazy.’ It's like I was hearing the wrong things.” Now, as a college student, she’s finding out that she likely has dyslexia and ADHD.

“You work at this English newspaper, you do the military — there is no way you’re ADHD. So just don't waste your time and money on this.” Seo “Ryu” Ryu, Ewha Womans University ’23, self-diagnosed with ADHD, was told by her psychiatrist.

See a pattern? They’re all quotes from people who were “too smart,” “too hardworking,” “too high achieving” to be evaluated for neurodiversity or even recognized as neurodivergent.

I’ve been very open about having ADHD and anxiety and committed to authentically being who I am, but even so, I still wonder if others truly recognize that I’m neurodivergent beyond me simply telling them.

Often, it feels like people don’t recognize or understand my ADHD until I mess up, upon which my ADHD has suddenly proven itself as the “bad thing” everyone thinks it out to be. I still wonder where the line is between being acknowledged as having ADHD while not being seen as lazy, messy, and incompetent — the success dilemma if you will.

Of course, there is immense privilege to be writing this behind Harvard’s walls or to even have the option of not being seen as neurodivergent and escape significant overt ableism, considering the stigma associated with neurodiversity. Even still, the success dilemma is problematic — at its core, it solidifies the neurodiversity umbrella as one of undesirability. In reality, it’s an “as is” state with its own ups and downs that are critically and fundamentally part of me. Moreover, it erases the legitimate and valid struggles that those who are seen to be “successful” face.

I think about this dilemma a lot because of the countless experiences I’ve had and the stories shared by other neurodivergent folk. Due to our perceived success, neurodiversity was a precluded identity. It’s one form of casual ableism, a form fundamentally says that you can’t be “insert positive trait” and neurodivergent, though that’s far from the case.

Casual ableism is a topic that I’ve touched on in my previous columns, given its tangible and sweeping effects on neurodivergent experiences. However, I’ve always addressed it from the first-person perspective, and this week, I want this piece to be about you.

I want it to be about how you can make the world a better place for us and for everyone.

Daniel Wainstock, PUC-Rio ’23 and exchange student at George Washington University, has been researching the impacts of casual ableism and microaggressions on the mental health of d/Deaf individuals. He provided an example of what casual ableism may look like: “A student that walked with her service dog because she is blind– she walked with her service dog in one of the classes, and the professor told that the dog wasn’t allowed in the class, and she has to go out.”

Towards neurodiversity, casual ableism takes a number of forms. For example, it may look like assuming we’re too smart or hardworking to be neurodivergent, as discussed in other pieces, or, in contrast, it may take the form of infantilizing and speaking over neurodivergent people. Basically, it’s subtle invalidations of who we are. It’s rewriting my own narrative.

But to you, you reading this, if you have the privilege of the time, space, and energy to learn about ableism, you have a responsibility to combat it, blatant or casual. Even if it’s not a personally directed microaggression, unwelcoming and invalidating language is everywhere, from self-deprecating “kms” and death jokes to ableist slurs.

As Wainstock advises, “You can learn the history, read the basics, you can read articles and books written by people of color and by people with disabilities.” He continues, “You can acknowledge that you were raised in an educational system in assistance to a society that has laws and policies that only benefit oppression and power, and you can do whatever is possible to try and change it.”

In doing so, you’ll be able to reflect on the ways you may be excluding the people around you, subtly and overtly undermining and invalidating their life experiences and identities. It’s the first step towards centering and creating space for others.

​Anuksha S. Wickramasinghe ’24 is a Neuroscience concentrator and Crimson Editorial editor in Mather House. Her column “Adhdventures” appears on alternate Wednesdays.