Breaking Barriers: Nikita Monteiro’s Call for Neuroinclusive Schools

Angry, sad, hopeless, miserable. For the longest time, these were the only emotions I could feel.

Today, there’s more openness around mental health, but we still often hide our true selves behind a facade. When people ask how we are, the automatic response is “good” or “fine”—even when that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Now, imagine spending your whole life maintaining this facade, feeling as though something essential is missing. Why can’t I connect with my peers as easily as others do? Why, when I try to join in, does it seem like I’m speaking a different language? Why are the lights so overwhelming, or the noise so distracting that I can’t focus? And why does society seem to treat people so differently based on factors like socioeconomic status or appearance?

As I navigated the world, it felt like everyone else had access to a shared, in-built understanding—a program that operated on the same level for all but me. It was as if everyone was part of an inside joke, and I was the one left out. What I’m describing is the autistic experience.

My Journey Through a Neurotypical World: How the Education System Shaped My View of Myself

What does the autistic experience feel like? Let me try to give you a glimpse.

From a young age, my way of thinking set me apart, impacting the way I saw the world and my place within it. Thrust into environments that valued conformity over curiosity, I struggled to find where I fit—even in my own home. I didn’t yet know I was different, but the lack of connection was apparent.

School only amplified these feelings. My teachers didn’t understand my unconventional approaches to assignments, and I constantly felt like my work missed the mark. More often than not, I would receive feedback that I had focused on “the wrong things” or gone on tangents. The marking criteria rarely seemed to value my unique perspective.

Now and then, a teacher would recognize that my work exceeded expectations, offering glimmers of hope. But for the most part, school was a place where I felt like I was method acting five days a week. The weight of unmet expectations from teachers and the lack of understanding from peers made me feel increasingly disconnected and disillusioned.

“School was a place where I felt like I was method-acting five days a week. The weight of unmet expectations and lack of understanding made me feel increasingly disconnected.”

Envisioning a Future of Support and Understanding for Neurodiverse Students

Reflecting on my own experiences—and those of other neurodivergent individuals I’ve come to know—I am determined to advocate for change. I don’t want future neurodivergent students to endure the same struggles I faced.

The future we need for our neurodivergent rangatahi is one that celebrates their unique perspectives and ideas. We need an education system that actively takes our differences into account, providing meaningful accommodations to help us thrive. This is essential not only for our wellbeing but for the strength and inclusivity of our society as a whole.

We urgently need nationwide policies within the education system that are honest, fair, and supportive. With these changes, we could build an environment where neurotypical and neurodivergent students work together, exchanging ideas and finding common ground to achieve positive outcomes for everyone.

It’s time for a system that embraces true unity, where neurodivergent students no longer feel like outsiders, but valued members of a learning community.