Black Neurodivergence Is Real: It’s Not Just A White People’s Issue

When an individual has any type of mental condition that sets them apart from the average human navigating daily life, it can feel like a constant spacewalk as they learn how to and where to step in an unstable atmosphere. Neurodiversity, a term coined in the late 90s by Australian sociologist Judy Singer, describes individuals whose brains are wired differently than the average person. While associated with autism spectrum disorder (ASD), the term also encompasses conditions such as ADHD, dyslexia, OCD, PTSD, and borderline personality disorder (BPD). These individuals see the world through a unique lens opposite neurotypicals, those without such differences. Studies show that 15-20% of the U.S. population is neurodivergent. As a Black woman who identifies as neurodivergent, I’m part of that 15-20 percent. I know all too well what it’s like to be viewed as different on top of different by society and an oddball by my own community. 

However, when race and neurodiversity intersect, experiences change profoundly. Growing up, I always knew I was different from those around me, but I was never sure why. Academics were never a struggle for me, but social interactions were a different story. I was able to make friends, but my circle was fairly small and consisted of those who were like me or those I mirrored to become socially acceptable. Full transparency, I still don’t feel like I fit in anywhere, but at 38 years old I’m more comfortable with who I am. I believe I was able to fly under the radar at home and at school because my symptoms weren’t as boisterous as others though that doesn’t mean that they were non-existent. I was never seen as a kid with a problem, I was just the weird Black girl with the atypical name. Although a person’s brain develops independent of their racial identity, race often influences how they are perceived and whether they receive adequate care and support. For Black neurodivergent individuals, cultural and societal variations intensify the challenges of living with mental health differences.

Those who grew up in a Black household know the age old mantra “What happens in this house stays in this house”. In the white community, families are more likely to seek early intervention when a child displays signs of mental illness or learning disabilities, often leading to better outcomes. In contrast, mental health remains stigmatized in the Black community where care may not even be considered an option. Coupled with systemic disparities in healthcare and education, Black neurodivergent individuals are less likely to be properly diagnosed and treated. Looking at social media shows that neurodiversity discourse is dominated by white voices and perpetuates the false narrative that neurodivergence is a “white people problem.” It’s disheartening to go looking for neurodivergent faces that look like me and only finding them few and far between. In Black households, mental health struggles are often dismissed or hidden out of shame or fear of judgement. Black children and adults are frequently labeled as “problematic” or “too much” rather than being seen as individuals who may have autism, ADHD, and/or other conditions. I can’t count the number of times a person, teacher, or employer has told me I ask too many questions or I’m being defiant when truth is I have a deep seeded need for clarification or routine. Chastisement and institutionalization are not needed. What is needed are safer spaces, understanding, and resources to thrive.

Marnitta Demming, DNP, APRN, PMHNP-BC is a board-certified psychiatric nurse practitioner with extensive experience helping Black parents identify ADHD and learning disabilities in their children. “Some parents don’t recognize that something is wrong with their child, so they don’t advocate for them. Others may feel ashamed that their child is different and delay getting help,” says Demming. She also notes that many parents are simply overwhelmed. “For families with multiple children, it may not become clear that a child is neurodivergent until they start school, struggle academically, or show behavioral issues.” Disparities extend into the classroom. Black children attending underfunded schools are less likely to receive the attention and resources needed for proper diagnosis and support. As Demming explains, “If a child is lucky enough to have a teacher or parent who recognizes their differences, financial or systemic barriers may still prevent them from getting the care they need.”

These challenges don’t end in childhood. Many Black adults grow up undiagnosed or misdiagnosed, especially those born in the 1960s through 1990s, when mental health stigma was even stronger, and knowledge about neurodiversity was limited. These individuals often don’t realize they are neurodivergent until adulthood, when they can advocate for themselves. As a Black child born in the 80s, as long as my grades and behaviors were good, anything else I faced was seen as simple growing pains instead of the root issue of AuDHD, a combination of ASD and ADHD. “The pandemic was a turning point,” says Demming. “With people stuck at home, mental health became harder to ignore. Many began seeking answers and diagnoses, finally understanding themselves in ways they hadn’t before.” Receiving a diagnosis can bring relief and clarity but it also forces individuals to reevaluate their lives through a neurodiverse lens. Once I learned that I was actually neurodivergent and not just a stereotypical oddball, it felt like my whole life began to make more sense. It allowed me to take a closer look at everything from my school days to my adult relationships. I didn’t feel as alone once I learned that my brain processed information on a different level, but I still experience loneliness because very few people believe you when you’re Black and neurodivergent. Unfortunately, even with understanding, many Black neurodivergent adults face skepticism and rejection from their communities and society at large. Neurodivergent individuals are not “disabled,” they are differently abled. Many experience the world more vividly and authentically than neurotypicals, who may live through the filter of societal norms. For the Black community, it’s critical to create safer spaces for open conversations about mental health. Masking, hiding one’s true self to fit in, can lead to depression and loss of identity. For a long time, I didn’t know who I truly was because I spent so much time trying not to stand out when truth is I was never created to blend in. “Unaddressed issues can build up over time, leading to a breaking point,” Demming warns. “Until mental health is treated as commonly and seriously as physical health, we’ll continue to see gaps in care, especially for Black individuals.” It’s time to break the stigma, foster understanding, and advocate for equity in mental health care. Everyone deserves the opportunity to thrive.