From Belonging to Overwhelm: The Daily Reality of Shifting Spaces
Guest contributor, Remie Colledge, is optimistic that parts of society are showing glimmers of becoming more Neurodivergent-affirming… And yet, intolerance and discrimination still plagues marginalised communities.
In this blog, Remie explores what it is like to exist in a world where Neurodivergent people are both accepted and welcomed AND invalidated and excluded.
I’m a realist optimist, with an Autistic mind that gravitates towards black and white thinking. Do you see the tension?
I want to feel, think and know with consistency. I crave, and thrive, on certainty. But realistic optimism lives in the grey. It’s the messy middle, the uncomfortable space.
The realist optimism is the seeing, feeling, and knowing the challenges we are still facing as Neurodivergent people. Yet, equally experiencing spaces and times in my life that reach past inclusion. Moments of true belonging. Glimpses of the immense progress we’re making in parts of our society towards becoming more Neurodivergent-affirming.
And it’s these moments that fuel my optimism. These are the tangible sparks of hope that things can and will continue shifting in positive ways.
Let me zoom in and describe how this all plays out in my everyday life.
Imagine I’m working in an environment where I’m openly Autistic. Where I can stim freely, use fidget aids, take the time I need to process information, and feel confident to say when I need that time. Where I can deliver a presentation without wearing shoes. Where I can ask questions about bewildering unwritten rules. Where my differences, strengths and support needs are held side-by-side, and validated.
Now imagine I move to a different environment later that day. I’ll use a trip to the supermarket as an example, one I’m sure we can all imagine. It’s loud. It’s bright. I might have to make unexpected small talk. It can be fast-paced. Even the self-checkouts don’t give me the time I need to process without beeping to check I’m still there. I feel out of control and I move as quickly as I can to escape. Emotional, sensory, mental whiplash. I leave, exhausted.
What if I told you that I spend my life constantly shifting between these kinds of opposing environments? From spaces where I feel empowered, a sense of belonging and safe, to spaces where I feel excluded, overwhelmed and invalidated.
This is still my reality in 2025. And it leaves me feeling that my feet are never quite touching the ground. It’s disorientating. It’s exhausting.
Since my Autism diagnosis eight years ago, I’ve worked relentlessly to nurture self-acceptance, explore my identity, develop self-compassion and learn to self-advocate.
“I’m slowly letting go of how I thought I ‘should’ be, and celebrating and embracing who I am. ”
That first environment, the one that validates and meets my needs? That enables that journey.
The second kind? They make that journey feel like I’m constantly taking two steps forward, and one step back. And sometimes more than one step.
Adding to the disorientation is the clash of narratives we’re constantly surrounded by. On the one hand, the perpetuation of dismissive stereotypes and narratives like, ‘it’s just a trend.’ On the other hand, the great progress I mentioned earlier, and a growing movement of fierce advocates and allies doing not just changemaking, but life-changing work.
I’m not immune to those harmful narratives or lingering stereotypes. I am human. I hear them both indirectly and directly. “You can’t be autistic because…” (insert one of many bizarre, outdated or misinformed reasons.)
Yet among, and in spite of, all of this noise, I continue my journey of self-acceptance, whilst also trying to contribute to the wider societal shifts. I work hard to break free from internalised ableism, years of messages I’ve internalised from the world around me. I’m slowly letting go of how I thought I ‘should’ be, and celebrating and embracing who I am.
It’s those moments of change, tangible hope, and perhaps my autistic mind’s sheer determination, that keeps me going.
“Each step we take towards, and beyond, inclusion, is a step towards connection, belonging and community. ”
So why am I sharing this with you?
If this constant shifting between conflicting environments resonates with you, I see you. I hear you. And it’s tough.
And if you’re reading this from a place of influence and as someone who can contribute to the changes we need to see? I invite you to do three things:
Keep listening to the wider Neurodivergent community. I’m sharing one voice, but I am not alone.
Pause to consider the impact of moving between such conflicting environments, every day. How might that influence a person’s wellbeing, sense of self, or ability to feel safe?
And finally, reflect on how, and when, you can work with Neurodivergent people to help create more consistent, validating spaces.
What difference could these three things make? And how might that feel for your colleagues, neighbours, friends, loved ones, clients, patients, customers or the strangers you may pass daily?
Each step we take towards, and beyond, inclusion, is a step towards connection, belonging and community.
