Schools love the language of “improvement.” It shows up everywhere: learning updates, report cards, progress reviews. In a neurotypical world, those markers make sense. They signal growth, maturity, adaptation, and progress. They reassure adults that the system is working.
But take that same framework and apply it to a neurodivergent child — especially one who is autistic, high-functioning, intelligent, and skilled at masking — and something very different happens.
The child does not experience “improvement.” They experience othering.
They experience a quiet, accumulating sense that something about them is wrong.
What the school records as progress, the child experiences as correction. What adults call support, the nervous system registers as pressure. And because the feedback is constant, polite, and well-intended, the child never learns to question it. They internalize it.
This is where the real harm begins.
The Neurotypical Standard Nobody Names
Modern schooling operates on an assumption so embedded it rarely needs to be spoken: the child being evaluated is neurotypical. Attention, emotional regulation, social engagement, classroom participation, and sensory tolerance — all are measured against a single, implicitly enforced developmental template.
One nervous system becomes the standard. Everything else is measured against it.
When a neurodivergent child falls short of that standard, the conclusion is never that the standard itself is limited. The conclusion is that the child needs help catching up.
And so the cycle begins.
When “Support” Teaches a Child to Disappear
Look closely at the language schools use. It sounds harmless. Encouraging, even.
Needs reminders to stay on task and complete assigned work.
Is encouraged to participate more during group discussions.
Would benefit from improved emotional regulation.
Has strong interests and can become overly focused on preferred topics.
None of these statements are cruel. None of them are false. And that is precisely what makes them dangerous.
Through a neurotypical lens, these comments describe skills to be developed. Through an autism-informed lens, they describe core traits: executive function differences, internal processing styles, sensory overload, deep-focus cognition.
When those traits are framed as deficits year after year, the child does not hear nuance. They hear a verdict.
Be less you.
Masking: The Cost of Belonging
Neurodivergent children are often highly perceptive. They notice patterns quickly. They learn what earns approval and what draws correction. And so they adapt.
They suppress stimming. They force eye contact. They rehearse social scripts. They endure environments that overwhelm their nervous system. They learn to perform calm while their body is on fire.
Adults call this resilience.
It is not.
It is camouflage and survival.
From the outside, masking appears to be a success. Reports improve. Behaviour stabilizes. The child appears to be “doing better.” The system that evaluates them relaxes.
But on the inside, something else is happening. Energy is being diverted away from growth and into containment and maintenance. The split between inner experience and outward presentation widens. Exhaustion accumulates.
And eventually, it breaks.
When it does, adults are surprised.
The child is not. The child has been disappearing for years.
When Identity Becomes the Answer
A child who is constantly corrected but never fully understood will eventually ask a dangerous question: Why am I like this?
For a neurodivergent child, that question is not abstract. It is embodied. Deep in their flesh. It lives in the nervous system.
In today’s schools, there is an answer readily available.
Identity.
More specifically, LGBTQ identity frameworks.
These frameworks offer something powerful: permission to be different without apology. Language for distress. Moral protection. A story that explains why fitting in has always felt impossible.
For a neurotypical child, identity can be explored, revised, and discarded. It is flexible.
For a neurodivergent child, it can become totalizing.
It does not explain part of their experience. It explains everything.
And once it does, abandoning it feels like erasing the only coherent story they have ever been given.
The Asymmetry No One Wants to Admit
Here is the iatrogenic harm schools refuse to confront.
They are trained, resourced, and institutionally confident when it comes to LGBTQ affirmation. Policies are clear. Protocols exist. Scripts are provided. And ambiguity is eliminated.
But there is no equivalent rigour for neurodivergence.
Autism screening is inconsistent. Education on masking, sensory overload, demand avoidance, and burnout is minimal. The distinction between developmental stress and identity distress is rarely examined. The awareness drives in schools, as it pertains to neurodiversity, are rarely matched to the awareness drives for identity. Diversity and inclusion focus on LGBTQ expression, and rarely include the ever-growing number of diversity in neurodivergence and cognitive capacities.
So children are supported — just not in the way they actually need.
The system addresses the domain it understands and has institutional cover for, while neglecting the one that would require humility, patience, and an admission of limits.
The school that should be focusing all of its efforts on supporting and accommodating the cognitive diversity profiles of the kids who are trying to learn and increase their cognitive ability, focuses its strategies on identity. And the very thing the school is supposed to do (assist students and learners in becoming better students of learning, thinking, development and reasoning), focuses its efforts on virtue signalling, rather than supporting.
The harm? The strategy neglects cognition and results in compounding mental and emotional harm. Eventually, and possibly, even physical harm, when these youngsters decide to medicate to further self-soothe the feelings that the school mislabelled. A consequential trauma-reenactment progressively increasing in intensity until the individual is completely failed.
Parents, Trust, and the Quiet Delegation of Authority
Most parents trust schools. They assume training equals understanding. They assume time spent equals insight.
But teachers are responsible for twenty-five or more children. Your child receives a fraction of their attention. The system cannot know your child the way a parent can.
And yet, parents defer.
They defer because the language is polished. The intentions appear kind. The institution speaks with confidence.
By the time the child burns out, masks collapse, or identity hardens into something rigid and irreversible, everyone is already confused. And no one takes accountability for the cumulative harm.
A Symptom, Not a Cause
The rise in transgender identification among children is not the root problem. It is a symptom.
It reflects a school system (amongst other factors) that cannot accommodate neurodivergence without trying to normalize it. A system that mistakes compliance for health and performance for wellbeing.
Until schools learn to recognize neurodivergence as something to be understood — not corrected — this pattern will continue.
Children will keep disappearing into labels because labels are the only place they are allowed to rest.
That is not inclusion.
It is institutional failure, and it is camouflaged and dressed up as care.
If schools applied the same rigour to understanding neurodivergence as they do to identity and LGBTQ+ awareness campaigns, fewer children would be driven toward ideology, self-harm, or medicalization as a way of making sense of unsupported nervous systems. Fewer parents would be left searching for answers in the dark.
Take heart,
Jason
If this piece shifted something in you, widened your lens, or helped you name what you’ve been sensing, you’re welcome to buy me a coffee so I can keep writing and speaking into this work.
What a brilliant piece of writing. Important that educators read this
Please stop referring to "LGBTQ". It is only "TQ" activists/allies and transgender ideology that are being used to confuse neurodivergent children and other children who are suffering from PTSD and various mental and personality disorders.