One of the unexpected insights of our fascinating and rewarding supervision sessions for coaches, who identify as having neurodivergent traits, is the disempowering impact that the dominant language has. The emphasis on deficit, as in ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder) comes from the clinical world and a perspective that abnormality equals malfunction. A whole industry has grown up that focuses on putting people into neat boxes and attaching labels – when the lived reality is that:

a) People frequently have unique combinations of divergent traits

b) The number and variety of recognised divergent traits is constantly expanding, such that neurodivergence is probably the norm – it’s just that people find coping strategies that diminish the impact of any deficits and enhance the impact of the associated strengths. ND traits are often categorised as personality traits, but there is no clear boundary between the two.

I decided a few weeks ago to use myself as a research subject. I started by cataloguing my strengths and weaknesses. Then I looked at these in the context of fitting in with societal norms – when do I feel I don’t fit in, what tasks seem very difficult for me, yet apparently not for other people? 

I had known for a long time that I had some aspects of dyspraxia. I can’t clap in time and have little sense of rhythm. I found copying mechanisms, like counting the steps to stay in time with the music when learning dancing on ice. I was deeply surprised that I also have aphantasia (an inability to see images in my mind’s eye) – compensated for by an enhanced functionality with words. But most revealing of all was finding that there is a clinical name for the trait I find most difficult in adapting to the world around me: Procedural Deficit. This refers to “difficulty with the sequential motor or cognitive steps needed to carry out structured tasks, despite otherwise normal or high intelligence”. I encounter it most when I have to fill in forms – it’s one of the most stress-inducing activities I experience. I either get someone else to do it for me, or complete it several times until I get it right. (I can fill a waste bin remarkably quickly!) It doesn’t stop me creating structures, models and frameworks of my own and following these through – and these I have no difficulty following at all.

What I don’t have is a form of neurodivergence sufficiently serious in impact to undermine my quality of life. My traits are simply part of who I am – which raises the question again of where the boundaries lie between neurodivergence and personality. The value to me of this self-investigation is that I can now strengthen my coping strategies and be grateful that my “deficits” are by and large compensated for by the corresponding strengths I’ve been gifted.

There is an argument to be made that the vast literature on personality – so easily contorted to box and label people – has diverted attention from the sheer complexity and diversity of neurological traits. Instead of labelling people as being “on the autistic spectrum” or having ADHD, perhaps we should be focussing on what makes each individual unique and what they can uniquely contribute. Instead of generalised, stereotypical remedial strategies, perhaps we should aim for individualised, affirmative strategies. And while we are about it, perhaps we should drop the idea that anyone is normal.

Alternatively, we could categorise “normality” as having Allistic Deficit Traits. (Allistic is one of the replacement terms for neurotypical.) Such individuals:

  • Lack the ability to concentrate, to see patterns and high numeracy associated with autism
  • Lack the creativity and energy associated with ADHD
  • Lack the emotional awareness of highly sensitive persons

I wonder how those people, who are so keen to put deficit labels on others, might react to being defined as ADT? Might this be a starting point for changing the debate on neurodivergence?

©️David Clutterbuck, 2026