“Neurodiversity is not just a matter of social justice, it is a matter of human rights.” – Judy Singer

When I received multiple diagnoses in 2023, I felt relieved. For years, I had struggled to understand why tasks that seemed effortless for others—like writing a paper or crafting a simple email—felt overwhelmingly challenging for me. I thought having a formal diagnosis would finally give me the clarity I needed.

However, like all things in life, it proved to be short-lived.

“I’m not convinced that she has ADHD,” the psychiatrist told my sister over teleconsultation, speaking as if I weren’t right there, listening—inevitably doubting all my experiences that led me exactly to that moment.

That statement alone discouraged me from seeking the help I desperately needed. And while I’m fortunate enough to afford an assessment with the support of my family, the process that followed felt like another test—one where I had to prove my struggles were real and not just some elaborate lie.

For most of my life, I felt compelled to mask my difficulties, pretending I was a natural when, in reality, anxiety and an intense fear of failure fueled every academic and extra-curricular achievements. I developed coping mechanisms that made it seem as if I had everything under control.

Take writing, for example. While others can independently write essays with minimal support, I need live feedback, real-time guidance, and structured check-ins. When I advocated for this, my professor responded with, “What do you want me to do, write your paper for you?”

This question was a blow to me. I stood there, eyes bloodshot as I tried to muster up the right words to explain why writing about something I was passionate about is difficult. I wanted to scream in frustration—not just at my professor, but at a system that made my needs feel like an inconvenience. 

I wasn’t asking for too much—I was just asking the wrong person.

Although I managed to finish my paper, it wasn’t because the system worked for me. It was because a handful of professors chose to accommodate me when they could. But what about students who don’t get that same understanding? If students like me are expected to constantly adjust to rigid academic structures, why aren’t institutions held to the same standard?

My struggle isn’t just personal—it’s systemic, with many students left struggling in silence and expected to pace themselves accordingly despite varying degrees of academic and learning barriers. Some may argue that accommodating different learning needs is like opening Pandora’s box. But haven’t we already opened it by advocating for inclusivity? 

As an institution, Ateneo de Davao needs to re-evaluate its commitment to providing quality education—one that isn’t just inclusive in principle but equitable and accessible in practice.

To reiterate Judy Singer’s quote, “Neurodiversity is not just a matter of social justice; it is a matter of human rights.” 

Can we truly call ourselves persons for and with others if we continue to neglect the needs and potential of individuals who function differently? The choice is no longer about whether we can afford to make these changes, but about the cost of ignoring them.

Editor’s Note: This column was published in the April 2025 Tabloid Issue of Atenews.