The School System Wasn’t Designed for Me – It Was Designed Against Me, or I Didn’t Fail School. School Failed Me: I Wasn’t a ‘Problem Child’. I Was a Neurodivergent Child With Unmet Needs.

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Neurodivergent people: Was school hard for you? Did you struggle in school (with grades, socially, or in other areas)? … or did you LOVE school?

Growing up, school was one of the worst experiences of my life, for many reasons.

Unfortunately, though some Neurodivergent young people love and enjoy their school years, for many of us who are Neurodivergent, school can be very difficult because it is often the first system we’re pushed into that is not designed in a way that supports our needs (pressuring us to conform to neuro-normative ideals and norms that may be out of reach for us, especially if we don’t have our basic needs met).

That’s why struggling in school, for many of us, can be one of the first signs that we might be Neurodivergent.

Neuro-normativity describes how a society privileges certain brains and nervous systems over others, often by demanding the forced assimilation of people who fall outside of society’s agreed-upon social norms, by pushing us into systems that aim to absorb, eliminate, dehumanize, and often disenfranchise Neurodivergent people (rather than supporting us and honoring us as fully human).

School can also be difficult and traumatic for us because it often encourages (or forces) Neurodivergent assimilation (something I talk about at length in my book Neurodivergent Rebel’s The Weight of Normal).

Additionally, because the school systems are typically designed to cater to neuro-average pupils, many Neurodivergent young people struggle to get even their basic needs met at school.

We are also often punished and blamed if we struggle at school (even though our struggles often come from systemic failures that place extra strain on us). This disparity doesn’t stop at school.

As we grow older, many of the patterns we experience growing up are likely to repeat across multiple environments and contexts (like the workplace, social situations, public spaces, and beyond).

What is important to understand about Neurodivergence is that our brains aren’t inherently flawed or broken – they diverge from the social construct of neuro-normativity. However, we live in a society that isn’t neuro-inclusive (inclusive of all people’s brains and neurotypes), and most people don’t understand neurodiversity.

It is also important to understand that because every society is different, and cultural norms can evolve and change over time, these norms (and what falls within neuro-normativity) may vary greatly depending on culture, time, and place.

The Neurodiversity framework views neurodivergence and our related struggles differently.

Through the lens of neurodiversity, there is no “one right way” human brains are supposed to be, and no “default human brain” that we have diverged from.

Instead, our differences are viewed as natural variations in the human spectrum of experiences, and diversity is viewed as essential to the survival of the human species (much as other forms of diversity are needed in nature for survival, or how having genetic diversity is good for each individual species).

Neurodiversity asks us to stop blaming Neurodivergent people for struggling, and encourages us to look for (and remove) the systemic barriers that play into the struggles of Neurodivergent people.

I do wholeheartedly believe that eventually it could be possible for us to create a truly neuro-inclusive world, one that does not stigmatize and marginalize Neurodivergent people. Unfortunately, as of now, we’re still far from that goal, and I don’t expect to see us reach it in my lifetime.

Currently, the world we live in is often at odds with my needs as a Neurodivergent person, and still has a tendency to treat my needs as unreasonable inconveniences to the people and systems around me when I try to speak up about them (as it does for many of us who fall under the Neurodivergent umbrella, finding ourselves outside of neuro-normativity).

That’s why being Neurodivergent doesn’t mean our brains diverge from ‘normal,’ but that our brains diverge from what the social constructs of our society have chosen to prioritize within its systems (similar to how our society marginalizes other groups of people through social norms and other forms of artificially enforced social hierarchies that are socially constructed).

For example, prioritizing white, heterosexual, cisgender men who are able-bodied, with proximity to neuro-normativity, doesn’t mean this type of person is “the best type of person,” but that society often caters to and protects this type of person more than the rest of us.

These social norms and social hierarchies make life easier for those whose needs are prioritized and more difficult for those of us who our society marginalizes and disenfranchises.

Many Neurodivergent people are disenfranchised by our school systems.

From a young age, starting in school (and sometimes sooner), many Neurodivergent people are disenfranchised by the school system (because we are encouraged to ignore our needs and to try not to inconvenience the people around us with them). That kind of forced assimilation destroys emotional safety and tends to create shame and self-abandonment.

Eventually, especially if we don’t know we’re Neurodivergent, or don’t understand our needs and the systemic barriers that are holding us back (or if we don’t view ourselves through the lens of neurodiversity), we are likely to internalize the condemnation that is constantly placed upon us by the people around us, thinking we are to blame for all of our struggles.

When this systemic disempowerment happens, we may start to believe we are ‘failed people‘ instead of people society has systemically failed to support… or at least that’s what happened to me.

Instead of building me up, school broke me down.

I was seen and treated by my teachers and peers as ‘a problem‘ – a disruption to the classroom.

Being compared to my neuro-normative peers as the baseline meant my difficulties were ignored (or treated behaviorally, instead of with compassion).

My strengths were used as evidence, weighed against my difficulties as false ‘proof‘ that I wasn’t having a hard time, but instead (according to my teachers and other authority figures) was ‘bored‘, ‘lazy‘, ‘being difficult‘, and ‘refusing to apply myself‘.

In reality, many of my struggles resulted from my teacher and the classroom not meeting my basic needs.

I needed emotional safety.

Psychological & emotional safety enables members of a group to collaborate freely, share bold and creative ideas, push envelopes, and express themselves openly with one another. 

When people feel emotionally safe, they trust one another and feel safe enough to show up authentically in the spaces they enter. There are numerous levels of safety (or lack thereof) that Neurodivergent people might feel within a space.

Ideally, people should feel safe enough to speak up about their needs and ask for help without fear that doing so may negatively impact how others treat them. 

Unfortunately, in school, I did not have this type of safety with my teacher or my peers, and I did not feel safe sharing my ideas or speaking up about my needs.

My need for sensory safety also went unmet.

I needed quieter spaces, gentle lighting, and permission to use sensory protection.

The busy classroom environment did not provide this, which made it impossible for me to focus (and it also made me physically sick).

I was expected to ignore the pain my body was begging me to escape.

For most of my life, because I didn’t have my sensory needs met, I experienced chronic headaches, digestive distress, nausea, vertigo, dizziness, and other neurological problems that were completely preventable (if I had only been allowed to use sensory protection or modify the lighting in my work area).

My need to move to help regulate my nervous system was ignored.

I also needed to be allowed to move around and take sensory breaks as needed to help me regulate my dysregulated nervous system. Instead, breaks were treated as rewards I had to earn (and were often taken from me as punishment for moving ‘too much‘ and other ‘transgressions‘, which only made things worse).

Being allowed to stand up and move around quietly at my desk could have helped a lot, and sensory-friendly seating (such as a spinning or wobble chair) could have been wonderful too.

Because I was expected to be still and quiet all the time and wasn’t allowed to move around as needed, it was harder for me to be attentive and sit still, and my teachers scolded, mocked, and punished me for it.

My need for additional information was treated as an inconvenience.

I need lots of details and context to fully understand things.

It also helps me when I know why I am doing things, instead of “because that’s how things are done,” but my teachers often didn’t appreciate all the questions I asked, or felt that I was asking questions that, in their minds, I should have already known the answers to.

Often, my teachers treated my questions about lessons and assignments as slowing down their lessons, “taking time away” from the class, and disrupting the fast-paced classroom schedule (that didn’t have time for my level of thoughtful, deep processing)… so, eventually (not knowing what questions were acceptable and what questions would upset my teachers) I stopped asking for help, and started keeping all my questions to myself and figuring things out on my own.

I needed my teachers to understand I didn’t need to look at them to hear them.

My teachers would often say, “Eyes on me,” whenever they caught me looking away, doodling, eating, reading, or doing anything they felt was a distraction. However, I didn’t need to look at them to hear what they were saying, and looking down or doodling during lessons actually helped me focus (or stay awake).

I didn’t know it then, but I was using these so-called distractions to regulate my attention. Once I was forced to stop or stare at my teacher, my mind would go blank, and I would often get very sleepy quickly.

Before I knew it, an angry teacher would wake me up, not understanding that I wasn’t sleeping in class on purpose or trying to be disrespectful, and that they had actually removed the tools I had been using to keep myself engaged and awake (because my attention didn’t look like what they expected from other students).

I could have been much more engaged and awake if my teachers hadn’t had such narrow ideas of what ‘attention’ should look like.

My need to be authentic without punishment was treated as acting out.

I was bullied and picked on in school by my teachers and my peers.

When the other students picked on me, I told a teacher (because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do), but my teacher’s response was that I needed to “stop being weird” and that if I would just “act normal,” the other kids would leave me alone and stop picking on me.

The other students weren’t the only ones picking on me.

Often, my teacher would single me out and use me as an example of “how not to act” and a cautionary tale.

I didn’t really understand what I was even doing that drew all the negative attention. Still, I internalized that it was my fault the other kids and my teachers were picking on me (and that I ought to do my best to be invisible if I wanted people to leave me alone).

What I needed was for my teacher to stand up for me and tell the other students that picking on me was not okay. Instead, it was as if the teacher endorsed (and even encouraged) the abuse.

The pressure to conform, make myself small, and hide my Neurodivergent traits diverted energy I could have used for actual learning, and also started me down a path of shame and self-hatred from an early age.

I never told the adults at home that I was being bullied at school.

I needed more bathroom breaks.

Because I was struggling with chronic hypervigilance (due to the constant bullying, pressure to hide my Neurodivergent traits, and my unmet sensory needs), my digestive system was in overdrive, and I often had an upset stomach.

Unfortunately, in school, there were often very specific times we were supposed to go to the bathroom, or limited bathroom passes we were allowed each semester, and I would almost always run out of passes or need to go at times my teachers found ‘unacceptable‘.

As a teenager, when I got my monthly flow, things were even worse.

Sometimes I needed to use the facilities every 20-30 minutes, which was completely unacceptable in the eyes of some of my teachers, who thought I couldn’t possibly need to go that often and was asking to go to the bathroom because I didn’t want to be in class.

The reality was that I had medical conditions that meant I needed more bathroom breaks. Unfortunately, my medical needs were treated as behavioral problems I needed to overcome, instead of conditions beyond my control that needed support.

Being blamed and shamed for things beyond my control over and over again really did a number on me, making me feel like my needs didn’t matter and were mostly problems that I should keep to myself.

Behind this paywall, I share:

• The specific, painful moments where my needs were dismissed (and how they still affect me today)
• Why “eyes on me” made it nearly impossible for me to learn
• The hidden ways schools punish Neurodivergent children for survival behaviors
• How the same patterns show up in the workplace and many other systems in society
• What I do and how I see things differently now

If you believe that Neurodivergent children and adults deserve better than what we got, become a paid subscriber on Patreon (where I offer a ‘pay-what-you-can’ subscription starting at ONLY $1 a month / $12 a year) or Substack (my main platform, where I also do live educational videos each week) to unlock the full essay and support this work.

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Lyric Rivera is an educator and author of multiple books, including the best selling business ethics book, Workplace Neurodiversity Rising, Neurodivergent Rebel’s The Weight of Normal, a collaborator on the U.S. Version of the Autism, Identity and Me children’s workbooks and helper guide by Rebecca Duffus, and co-author with Rebecca Duffus on the upcoming Autism, Identity, and me Workbook for adults releasing on November 13, 2026 (pre-orders open NOW)!

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This post was written with the assistance of Focused Space (a sponsor of the Neurodivergent Rebel blog).

What is Focused Space?

Focused Space is an ADHD-focused, Neurodiversity affirming, goal‑setting, and online co‑working / body‑doubling platform designed to help people prioritize, stay motivated, and bust through procrastination (and it is something I believe in and personally use every day).

More info:

Learn more about how I use it here!

I get requests (that I mostly ignore) to do brand partnerships all the time, because I don’t want to partner with products unless I actually find them useful and high-quality. I also want to work with brands whose owners and processes align with my personal standards and ethics.

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