Many of us genuinely want to respond well when someone tells us they’re autistic, have ADHD, or identify as neurodivergent. We want to be supportive, but finding the right words can feel difficult.
Common responses include:
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t look autistic.”
“I never would have guessed.”
These comments are usually well-intentioned. People are often trying to express empathy or reassurance. But our words can have an unintended impact.
Why “I’m sorry” may not land as intended
Saying “I’m sorry” assumes that discovering you’re neurodivergent is bad news.
For some people, it is a complex or emotional experience. But for many others, receiving a diagnosis or understanding their neurodivergence brings relief. It can explain lifelong experiences, reduce self-blame and help them better understand themselves.
Rather than assuming how someone feels, it’s often more helpful to ask.
- How are you feeling about it?
- What has finding this out meant for you?
Curiosity allows people to share their own experience rather than having it defined for them.
“You don’t look autistic”
Comments like this are often meant as reassurance, but they can unintentionally invalidate someone’s experience.
Autism and ADHD don’t have a particular “look.” Many neurodivergent people have spent years adapting their communication, learning social expectations and masking aspects of themselves to fit into environments that weren’t designed with their needs in mind.
When someone says, “I wouldn’t have guessed,” they may be noticing the adaptation rather than recognising the effort behind it.
Looking beyond a deficit view
Responses such as “I’m sorry” or “You don’t look autistic” can sometimes reflect a deficit-based understanding of neurodivergence.
If we’ve mainly learned about autism or ADHD through their challenges, it’s easy to unconsciously assume these neurotypes are problems to be overcome, rather than different ways of experiencing and interacting with the world.
This way of thinking can be influenced by ableism. Ableism is a form of discrimination or social prejudice against people with disabilities. It operates on the belief that typical, able-bodied or neurotypical ways of thinking and functioning are the norm, often devaluing disabled people or assuming they need to be “fixed.” In doing so, it privileges non-disabled and neurotypical people while treating disabled people as somehow less capable or less desirable.
Ableism isn’t always obvious or intentional. It can show up in subtle assumptions, for example, assuming someone would naturally feel sorry about being autistic or being surprised that someone who appears successful, sociable or articulate could be neurodivergent. These responses may unintentionally suggest that being neurotypical is the preferred way to be.
A neuroaffirming perspective doesn’t ignore the genuine challenges that can accompany autism or ADHD. Rather, it recognises that these challenges often arise from the interaction between a person’s neurotype and environments that aren’t designed with different ways of thinking, communicating and processing information in mind. It also recognises that neurodivergence can bring strengths, and that no one should be defined solely by their differences or their difficulties.
A simple response goes a long way
When someone shares that they’re neurodivergent, they’re often trusting you with something personal.
You don’t need the perfect response.
Often, the most supportive thing you can say is:
- Thank you for telling me.
- I’m glad you felt able to share that with me.
- How are you feeling about it?
- Is there anything that helps you that you’d like me to know?
These responses don’t make assumptions. They create space for people to tell their own story, in their own way.
Creating psychological safety
For many neurodivergent people, deciding whether to tell others isn’t straightforward. Before sharing, they may wonder:
Will they believe me?
Will they see me differently?
Will they make assumptions about what I can or can’t do?
The way we respond influences whether people feel safe to be open about who they are.
Creating psychological safety doesn’t require expert knowledge. It starts with listening, staying curious, and allowing people to define their own experience rather than us defining it for them.
Sometimes the most affirming response is also the simplest:
“Thank you for telling me.”
