Author Biography

Nora Meeker is a freshman at Utah State University. She is the oldest of two siblings, the younger being her brother. Her father is in the Air Force, so her childhood was full of moving around. Nora loves music and plays the piano and the french horn. She wants to major in Computer Science since coding has always fascinated her.

This essay was composed in February 2024 and uses MLA documentation.

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The word neurodiversity refers to the diversity of all people, but it is often used in the context of autism spectrum disorder (ASD), as well as other neurological or developmental conditions such as ADHD or learning disabilities. The neurodiversity movement emerged during the 1990s, aiming to increase the acceptance and inclusion of all people while embracing neurological differences (Harvard University).

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It’s 2014, my 4th year of elementary school. It’s 10:45 am or so; time for math. The light is off, with some white sunlight beaming in from the windows; it’s not too bright, but luckily, the sunlight isn’t direct. I see the old contraption that’s called a ‘projector’ next to the teacher’s desk. It’s basically a desk-height box; the top is roughly the size of the seat on a chair. The thing’s light is on, shining down onto a piece of paper on top of it. Its light is slightly yellowed, showing its age. We all look at the screen at the front of the classroom, which enlarges the paper. The math problem on the screen is a complex one, or at least complex for the other kids. The numbers on the board show 2+5(8-5). We’re learning how to do PEMDAS (parenthesis, exponents, multiplication, division, addition, subtraction). The class is eerily silent; we were just given some time to work alone on the problem. Ms. Flippse breaks the silence once most pencils are down. She asks the class “What did you get?”. Kids raise their hands. “21!” “22!”. The class is split. The classroom erupts into a buzzing beehive; kids all around me, bickering amongst themselves, proving to their neighbor why “I’m right, and you’re wrong”. “Any other answers?” Ms. Flippse looks around. I raise my hand; the class goes silent. “Yes?” “I got 17,” I say, confident at first, but I quickly feel the weight of a silent room. Someone sneezes, and I hear the class devolve into murmurs. “Does anyone agree with Nora?” No hands go up. I get more nervous. If I told my answer to the whole class and got it wrong, they would all think I’m stupid, dumb, an idiot. My heart races and I nervously shake my foot. “Well, the correct answer is 17.” She looks at me and smiles proudly. I breathe a sigh of relief.

I hear the classroom door open, and an adult’s voice comes from its direction. “Nora, it’s time for GT”. I collect my stuff quickly and follow her into the hall. GT, or Gifted and Talented, is always boring. There are two reasons why you could be brought there, and together, they make a weird mix. It’s basically a classroom where students are brought to receive extra help, or for teachers to see how well you do on higher-grade assignments. The hallway is lit with lights that are too bright, a mix of white and yellow. A loud buzzing can be heard from them; I want to cover my ears. I hate the sound of those lights; almost as much as I hate the tag on the back of my shirt. Feeling that tag is a fate worse than death. I would only wish it on my worst enemies; and probably bullies, too. My mom normally cuts the tag off for me, but this is a new shirt, and she forgot. We pass the stairs and get to the room. The adult holds the door open for me. Entering, I see probably 6 other kids; I don’t care to count. I set my stuff down, and she sets a math paper in front of me. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, trying to get my shirt tag to stop poking me. I look down at the paper and quickly answer the questions. I’ve only been sitting here a couple of minutes before I stand up and hand her my paper. There’s a second adult in the back of the room, helping another girl with some reading. I don’t understand, how could someone need help with reading?

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“The ADHD butterfly is arguably the most recognizable ADHD symbol. This vibrant rainbow butterfly represents the constant activity and energy of ADHD minds.” (Neurodiverge.net, paragraph 3)

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It’s 2017, summer just finished, and my 7th grade year just started. I’m sitting on the tall chair-bed thing in a brightly lit doctor’s office; my mom is across from me on a normal chair. The lights here are so loud; they make me want to curl into a ball and forcefully remove my ears. Sitting at the desk with his laptop, turned so that we can’t see the screen, is my doctor. He’s typing away; the shallowness of the keys on the laptop makes me cringe. They’re too shallow; they don’t have their nice ‘clickity-clack.’ The sound isn’t the normal low click of a keyboard. It’s too high-pitched. It’s decided. Laptop keyboards aren’t real keyboards.

“How are her grades?”

“They’re slipping. She used to be amazing.” My mother responds.

“Is she in a gifted program?”

“She was. Her middle school doesn’t have one.” She looks over at me.

She looks slightly worried. It’s not like all of my grades are slipping. I have A’s in everything, except for math. I have a C. It sent both my mother and I into a panic. I’m so good at math, so why has my brain suddenly decided to not understand anymore?

He takes me to a different bright room, leaving my mother alone. He asks me questions.

“What’s your opinion of math? Science? Reading?”

I like math, but for some reason this current math is annoying. I love science more than anything, and I love reading almost as much. I’ve always been levels ahead of my peers when it comes to reading. He then asks a really strange question.

“Are you bouncing off the walls?”

“What? Um, no?” I don’t want to ram into walls; that would hurt! Why would he ask a question like that?

He writes something on a piece of paper and brings me back to the room with my mom. He says I have something called ADD, or Attention Deficit Disorder.

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Neurodivergent adj: Differing in mental or neurological functioning from what is considered typical or normal. (Oxford English Dictionary)

In 1987, doctors combined what was previously called ADD into ADHD, calling it ADHD Hyperactive Type, and ADHD Inattentive Type. My doctor, however, did not want to state that I had ADHD because I did not respond well to the question, “Do you bounce off the walls.” Years later, I was diagnosed with ADHD, Inattentive Type.

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It’s 2023, my first year of college. I wave my family goodbye, as they leave me in a new state, surrounded by people I don’t know. They had helped me move in, giving me a fleeting sense of familiarity. My roommates and I are gathered together in the living space of our dorm. The blinds are drawn, and the sun has set, leaving only the light above us, which is a strange mix of white and yellow, reminding me of a peach-colored crayon. The smell of cardboard and dusty air floods our senses. Three roommates are sitting on the couch, while the other three are sitting on the hard floor surrounding the small coffee table. My roommate Felicity – with whom I share a room – happens to be my best friend of 5 years. She stands up, takes a few steps towards the other, smaller couch, and removes a cushion. There are only two cushions on that one to begin with. We all watch as she makes her way back to the circle, sets the cushion on the floor, and proceeds to sit on it. The roommate sitting on the floor beside me chimes “That’s so smart”, as she proceeds to follow in Felicity’s steps. I am left sitting on the hard floor, as those around me are either on the main couch or stolen cushions from the other. The meaning of this meeting is to learn more about each other, set rules for the dorm, and bond. We share our likes, our dislikes, our pet peeves, and our mental disorders. I happily share that I have ADHD, and one roommate – the tallest of us all – inquires, “Have you gone to the DRC?”. I cock my head, confused, and hear an unintentional pop. She starts again, “The DRC. Disability Resource Center. You can go there for accommodations. I went there to get accommodations for my dyslexia.” I’m intrigued. What accommodations would they even offer for ADHD? In the past, my mom had always denied accommodations, arguing, “You clearly don’t need them, just deal with it. Your ADD isn’t that bad. Just look at your cousin; he has it so much worse.” I cringe at the thought; I don’t like being compared to others. “What would they give me? I don’t think I really need them.” She makes a small noise, similar to a scoff, and orders “Go there anyway. It’s always nice to have them, even if you don’t use them.”

It’s Tuesday, college started yesterday. I sit on the comfy chair in the main part of the DRC, waiting to be called into a room. I had caved, my roommate convinced me. I awkwardly fidget with my spinning fidget rings, the anxiety of talking to someone about my difficulties creeping into the back of my mind. I feel a pit in my stomach. I hear someone call my name, and I tense up as I stand. I see a tall man with friendly eyes. I quickly shake his hand, gather my backpack, and follow him into a room.

The room is inviting; there’s a desk, a desk chair, a bean bag chair, and a couch. Not expecting this, mouth agape, I proclaim “There’s a couch?!” He laughs, seemingly a deep belly laugh, and replies, “Yeah, people tend to like it.” I set my backpack on the ground, and flop onto the couch. I sink into it, the couch seemingly wanting to eat me. As I sit, the sun from the window blinds me. The man notices and pulls the blinds down just enough to where it won’t blind me. I thank him and take note of my surroundings. Fidget toys are scattered around the room, ranging from small pop toys to large stuffed animals.

He sits in the chair at the desk, facing his chair towards me, and leans forward a bit. “Tell me about yourself,” he states. I wait a few seconds for more instruction. None comes.

“Just like, about me, or my disorders and stuff?”

“About you.”

I shift uncomfortably. The room is deafeningly quiet, and the man is staring at me. He still has those friendly eyes, but they’re hungrily searching for information. “I um, I like playing video games, Dungeons and Dragons -” I shift again. The air seems to have frozen in place; despite this, it feels heavy, thick. “I uh, I have ADHD, some auditory processing issues, uh, crippling test anxiety, uh, yeah.”

The room is eerily silent for a moment. After not receiving more information, he sits up straight and states, “Crippling test anxiety. Let’s start there.” The air in the room lifts in an instant. I let out a small, relieved sigh. He states a few different accommodations and has me pick which ones sound good. The two I choose are taking exams in the Reduced Distraction Room within the Testing Center, and taking in-class exams at the DRC. We move on to ADHD accommodations. One is a special program that I can download on my laptop, which will help me take notes and record the audio from when I was typing. I would have to input the slideshow from the teacher into the program. The other is a special pen and notebook. The pen has a microphone and camera, and when I write in that notebook if I press on a word I wrote (once the class is over), an audio recording of the teacher will play from where I had written that word. I choose the second option. I can’t type very fast, and I don’t know if all of my teachers will have slideshows, which the first would rely on. He hands me the notebook and pen, and explains how to use them. When we finish, he sends me on my way.

As I get back to my dorm after a full day of using these new accommodations, I tear up. I could’ve had help like this for years, but my mother had always denied them. I’m glad I have them for now and in the future. I smile as I think of the future, and how my accommodations will help me learn, function, and grow.

Works Cited

Nicole Baumer, MD, and MD Julia Frueh. “What Is Neurodiversity?” Harvard Health, 23 Nov. 2021, www.health.harvard.edu/blog/what-is-neurodiversity-202111232645.

“Neurodivergent, Adj.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, July 2023, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/4947542960.

“Using ADHD Symbols and Images to Raise Awareness and Support Neurodiversity.” Neurodiverge.Net – Different Is Beautiful., 18 July 2023, neurodiverge.net/using-adhd-symbols-and-images-to-raise-awareness-and-support-neurodiversity/.