My Kid Asked If Autism Is a Bad Word: Here's Why the Neurodiversity Paradigm and Neurodivergent-Affirming Language Matter in Parenting

The neurodiversity paradigm and neurodivergent-affirming language are especially important in parenting, where society too often promotes negative narratives about people with differences. This post explores why and how to embrace a more affirming approach.

My autistic son once whispered, “Mom, is autism a bad word?”

He said it like a secret – hesitant, afraid.

It gave me goosebumps. And I understood why he asked. Society often talks about difference as if it’s something less… something “bad.”

That moment sparked a shift. It sent me down a path of learning – about neurodiversity, about language, and the quiet power our words carry.

It also nudged me to start unlearning some of the messages I hadn’t even realized I’d absorbed – not just about my child, but also about myself.

So, what exactly is neurodiversity? And why does the language we use matter so much?

Maybe the best place to begin is with the language we hear most often – the kind that shapes how we see others, and how we may come to see ourselves.

How Deficit-Based Language Harms

Language helps build (or break) self-worth.

Too often, the words we use to describe people with neurological differences come from a medical model that emphasizes deficit, dysfunction, or disorder (autism spectrum disorder, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder, etc.). Even when used with good intentions, deficit-based language can carry harmful implications:

Disorder implies something is wrong.

Deficit suggests something’s missing.

Low-functioning questions a person’s value.

These labels feed shame, isolation, and the false idea that only one way of thinking or being is “normal.” When we focus on “fixing” or “correcting” difference, we risk sending the message – especially to kids – that they’re flawed. That they are the problem. That they are “bad.”

Consider a child who flaps their hands when excited – a form of self-regulation known as “stimming.” Rather than understanding this action as a natural expression, adults may discourage it to enforce social conformity. Or think of a student who struggles with transitions and is labeled “disruptive” instead of being seen as needing more predictability or support. In both cases, the child learns to suppress who they are to fit expectations that often ignore their individual needs.

This look at deficit-based language isn’t about blaming individuals or rejecting medical insight. Clinical terms serve diagnostic and support functions, and medical interventions – including medication – can be life changing for some. What matters is that people have the autonomy to choose the tools and treatments that work best for them. At the same time, we need to recognize how language influences attitudes – and how attitudes guide actions. The words we use matter. They carry meaning. They can wound, or they can affirm.

So, how might we shift the lens? How do we speak in ways that honor difference and center dignity?

We start with neurodiversity and the neurodiversity paradigm.

Understanding Neurodiversity, the Neurodiversity Paradigm, and Neurodivergence

When my son asked if autism was “bad,” I wish I could’ve told him about neurodiversity and the neurodiversity paradigm – not just what they are, but how they can affect how we see and support people with differences.

In the late 1990s, Australian sociologist Judy Singer coined the term neurodiversity. It describes the natural variation in how human brains function – how we think, feel, sense, behave, and process information and experiences.

Neurodiversity includes everyone. It encompasses both neurotypical individuals (their brains align with dominant societal expectations for behavior and thinking) and neurodivergent individuals (their brains differ from those expectations).

While neurodiversity is a biological fact, the neurodiversity paradigm is the perspective that helps us understand and respond to it. This paradigm challenges deficit-based models by recognizing that there is no single “normal” brain. Normal is a social construct. Neurodivergent ways of thinking offer unique strengths, insights, and innovations. This paradigm is also rooted in inclusion and respect. All kinds of minds have value and are worthy of support.

Understanding this framework also helps us recognize the many forms that neurodivergence – the state of being neurodivergent – can take.

Some forms of neurodivergence are innate. They are present from birth and are a lifelong part of who someone is. These forms include autism, ADHD, dyslexia (reading differences), dyscalculia (math processing differences), dysgraphia (writing differences), and dyspraxia (motor coordination differences).

Other forms emerge later in life due to lived experience or changes in the brain. These acquired forms can affect emotional regulation, sensory processing, memory, cognition, focus, or motor control. Conditions such as traumatic brain injury (TBI), anxiety, depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), complex PTSD, bipolar disorder, epilepsy, stroke, Tourette syndrome, and age-related cognitive changes are some examples. (To look at the importance of affirming language for PTSD, check out this post).

Many people experience a combination of both innate and acquired forms. For instance, someone might be autistic (innate) and also have PTSD from trauma (acquired).

No matter the cause, how we talk about neurodivergence influences how it’s experienced – especially for children. When we speak with more care, understanding, and acceptance, we can help ensure that kids never feel the need to ask whether autism – or any other way of being – is “bad.” This is why neurodivergent-affirming language is essential to understand and practice.

Embracing the Neurodiversity Paradigm and Neurodivergent-Affirming Language in Parenting

The neurodiversity paradigm and neurodivergent-affirming language invite a shift in parenting. Moving away from deficit-based thinking, they help us affirm identity, nurture self-worth, and embrace difference.

Words like neurodivergent and neurodivergence aren’t clinical diagnoses. They’re identity-based, nonjudgmental ways to acknowledge differences in how people think, feel, sense, behave, and process information and experiences. These terms don’t imply “brokenness” or a need to be “fixed.” They reflect a simple truth: there are many valid ways for brains to work.

Just as importantly, this language can be chosen. Neurodivergence isn’t something others get to name for you. It’s something a person may choose to identify with, in ways that feel true and empowering. Our kids deserve the freedom to explore, claim, or reject the language that fits who they are.

Using affirming language validates neurodivergent experiences. It may seem like a small shift, but it matters. It impacts how we relate to our children and how they see themselves.

Here’s what the shift can look like in everyday parenting:

Instead of saying someone is “high-functioning” or “low-functioning,” we describe support needs.

My autistic son, for example, has higher support needs in a busy store due to sensory overload. We adjust the level of support to the environment. Headphones with music, sunglasses, and shopping early to avoid crowds all help. At home in a calm environment, support needs are fewer. Support is dynamic, not a fixed label.

Instead of calling something a “deficit,” we recognize it as a difference.

My youngest son struggles with writing, even though his verbal and reading skills are strong. Through a deficit-based lens, his struggle might be seen as a shortcoming. But he has dysgraphia – a learning difference. What he needs isn’t red marks or judgment. He needs strategies, patience, and tools that support his way of learning.

Instead of labeling behavior as "attention-seeking," we understand it as support-seeking.

When my autistic son repeats a phrase again and again, louder each time, he’s not being disruptive. He’s signaling distress. Often, anxiety is underneath his words. He doesn't need correction. He needs connection and support: a walk, a conversation, a moment to express himself.

In a meltdown, rather than trying to “fix” the child, we might ask: What in the environment needs to change?

Meltdowns (in my family’s experience) are often tied to sensory overload. When my son has one, we don’t try to control his behavior. We look for what’s overwhelming and adjust the environment. Expecting him to change in that moment isn’t realistic. But we can notice what he needs and identify what we can change in our surroundings.

Rather than assuming, we reflect on our expectations. Are they respectful – not only of a child’s challenges, but also of their strengths?

Imagine saying to a child: “Why can’t you just focus?” That assumes they can focus in that moment. A more respectful approach could be: “I see that focusing is hard right now. What might help your brain feel more settled?” And then listen. Let the child guide you.

Affirming language lays a foundation for belonging. It honors identity. It promotes self-worth. And it helps neurodivergent children (and adults) see themselves as whole, capable, and worthy of support.

The words we choose can either reinforce harmful narratives or begin to dismantle them. When we speak with intention and validate others’ experiences, we help build a world that doesn’t just accept difference – it embraces it. We show our children that their brains aren’t “bad” – they’re just different. And different can be powerful.

Which brings me back to the question that started it all:

“Mom, is autism a bad word?”

What Our Words Make Possible

When my son asked if autism was “bad,” I told him – then and many times since – that it’s not. Autism is a part of who he is. And he is smart, curious, kind, and wonderfully creative.

But in answering him, I paused. I looked inward.

Because that question didn’t just stir something in him – it stirred something in me, too.

I started noticing the language I’d absorbed over the years – the deficit-based narratives I’d internalized about myself without even realizing it. I needed to rewrite my story.

For the first time, I chose an identity that didn’t pathologize me: I’m neurodivergent, too.

Since I was eleven, I’ve sensed that something about how I think, feel, and function was somehow “off.” At sixteen, I left high school, not because I didn’t care about learning, but because the environment didn’t fit. My needs weren’t met, or even recognized. For years, I saw that as a personal failure, as if there were something “bad” about how I functioned. For 25 years, I had a recurring nightmare of having to return to high school and "deal with it," even after earning a Master of Science degree.

But with a shift in language, the story could change: from one of personal deficiency to one of unmet needs within inflexible systems, and also to one of learning self-advocacy – of beginning to speak up for what I need and who I am.

So, this isn’t just a parenting journey. It’s a healing one. One that invites us to grow alongside our children, to see ourselves with more compassion, and to speak with language that makes more room for who we truly are. (For more information on the neurodiversity paradigm, check out this post).

When we change our words, we change what’s possible.

Jen with Cool Wiring

Author’s Note:

I write this not just as a parent of neurodivergent children, but as a neurodivergent person myself. My experiences have shaped how I understand the systems we navigate, the language we use, and the importance of affirming identity at every stage of life. This piece reflects both personal insight and ongoing learning. I’m grateful to the many neurodivergent voices and advocates who have helped reframe the way I think about identity, language, and support.

Further Reading on Neurodiversity

If you’re interested in learning more about neurodiversity and neurodivergent-affirming perspectives, here are a few recommended books:

NeuroTribes: The Legacy of Autism and the Future of Neurodiversity by Steve Silberman

An thorough work that traces the history of autism and the rise of the neurodiversity movement, blending science, history, and advocacy.

Neurodiversity for Dummies by John Marble, Khushboo Charbria, and Ranga Jayaraman

An accessible and inclusive guide that breaks down complex concepts into practical insights, written by neurodivergent authors.

Wonderfully Wired Brains: An Introduction to the World of Neurodiversity by Louise Gooding

Aimed at younger audiences, this illustrated book celebrates different ways brains work with approachable language and visuals. An accessible book to read with kids to spark conversations about their brains.

NeuroDiversity: The Birth of an Idea by Judy Singer

A foundational text by the sociologist who coined the term "neurodiversity," offering theoretical and personal perspectives.

Autism for Adults: An Approachable Guide to Living Excellently on the Spectrum by Daniel M. Jones

Written by an autistic advocate, this practical book supports autistic adults in navigating life with empowerment and clarity.

We’re Not Broken: Changing the Autism Conversation by Eric Garcia

A blend of memoir and journalism that challenges harmful stereotypes and explores systemic issues facing autistic people.

The Power of Neurodiversity: Unleashing the Advantages of Your Differently Wired Brain by Thomas Armstrong, PhD

A strengths-based look at various neurodivergent conditions and how embracing them can unlock potential in education and life.