Since September, I have observed things about Maggie Walker: the people in it, its culture, and the ways in which things are discussed. I’ve also struggled, and continue to struggle, being here. The main thing I knew about coming to this school is that it was going to be difficult. Even still, I underestimated the difficulty and mental strain of it all. My underestimation caused unpreparedness, but my preparedness was stunted by another huge factor as well.

Over the past few months and even longer, I have learned a great deal about myself, society, and my brain and how it works. Going into this school year, I had been recently diagnosed with ADHD. I already knew having it would make things more difficult for me. What I have learned a large amount about since then is neurodivergence. ADHD is inherently neurodivergent, but I hadn’t grasped the implications of that concept at the time. I long for pride in my neurodivergence as there are many wonderful things about it. I quickly learned how difficult it is to have pride in your identity when the environment around you seems rather unwelcoming. I, as well as many of my peers, have experienced an overwhelming amount of ableism here at Maggie Walker. It is illustrated through both actions and language. Ableism as a whole is constantly perpetuated by students and teachers alike, which will be discussed in regards to how it takes place in our school.

There is an infinite number of actions that are ableist, so listing them all is impossible. What I can do is give two distinct categories of ableist actions that I believe are most apparent within our school. The first is expectations, ability, and struggling. I understand that Maggie Walker being a rigorous school is intentional. However, that rigor at the expense of students’ mental health that disproportionately adversely affects that of neurodivergent and disabled students is flat out inequitable. The blanketed expectations are far too high, and the system of altering them for individuals does not work. I know this from experience. A student should not have to bring up these concerns with a teacher. Instead, the expectations should be a system that is flexible in order to be equitable. An important thing teachers can do is give opportunities for students to check in. Implementing something such as a check-in – in which students answer a survey given by teachers regarding their stress levels, outlook on school, and any issues they have with the material at that point in time– for students to complete on a regular basis can make us feel less daunted by the idea of asserting concerns to teachers. These check-ins can make communication feel at least a little easier for us to express our troubles. A simple, yet very real example, of check-ins being necessary so that students can express discomfort with certain curriculum or teaching styles is when teachers assign overlong readings for students to complete. Further, what may be considered a small amount of reading to the vast majority of students and teachers can be too much for neurodivergent people. Neurodivergent students like myself can and often do have different needs and limits compared to neurotypical students which, in this particular case, calls for a continuous stream of communication in which teachers are “checking in” on students to ensure that every student can manage the assigned workload without becoming overworked and burnt out. Teachers assign work while operating under the assumption that reading is a task all students can do easily. In reality, students with dyslexia or ADHD may struggle substantially with reading-centered assignments. Students who are burnt out may struggle with this type of work too. A lot of specific types of assignments or tasks add an extra layer of difficulty for those of us that have learning disabilities or a condition that is disabling in these circumstances. While these tasks are seemingly easy to neurotypical, abled peers, they are often not for some of us. The need to start a conversation about these issues faced by neurodivergent and disabled students has only become more apparent to me, and it’s far too long overdue.

The second category of ableist actions is gaslighting. I have personally been subjected to gaslighting in a plethora of different ways. Freshmen are constantly badgered about how we aren’t struggling, or not to a “significant enough” degree. The seemingly endless lecturing about how the students in higher grade levels have it “worse” than we do needs to stop immediately. Comments like these send a message to us—that we are not allowed to struggle. They also further instill a fear of my future here. I feel freshmen are far too often given the less desirable potential outcome. It is imperative that we receive empathy and authentic adequate support. We deserve better than being silenced and gaslit. The other manifestation of ableism I want to bring attention to is in language. As I’m sure most of us are aware of, the r-slur is an outdated and incredibly offensive term. It was origi- nally used in a medical context to refer to mentally disabled people. Knowing this, I’d like to ask a question: why are people, especially teachers using it? It is horrifying when an assignment handed out in a FIRC class had the r-slur in a problem multiple times. Although the teacher did not say that word aloud, it did not have to be spoken verbally for it to hurt. Having the word there in front of me was already painful. Then on top of that, some of my classmates uttered the word as they read the problem aloud. That word, that slur being in the problem meant that they felt they were allowed to say it. The majority of my peers were unaware that I’m neurodivergent, so it makes sense that they felt comfortable saying that word– they assumed no one in the room was hurt by its usage. They were wrong. Hearing that word was yet another punch in the gut. It reminded me that no matter how far it seems society has come, it still has a long way to go.

The last type of ableism in language I will touch on is casual linguistic ableism. Sometimes ‘casual’ ableism can feel worse than an overt kind. These are ableist words and phrases that are heard every day. As this type of language is so common, few realize they’re ableist and the implications of using them. Examples include, but are not limited to: dumb, stupid, idiot(ic), lame, duh, doy, derp (and other similar sounds), moron(ic), crazy, cri****(d) and other word forms, cuckoo, deranged, imbecile, insane, lunatic, mad, maniac, mental (as an adjective describing a person), nuts (as an adjective), [anything]-tard, sp**, wacko, and delusional. Words and phrases that aren’t inherently ableist, but can become so in context include, but are not limited to: psycho(path), sociopath, blind (as a descriptor for a person who is not; same with deaf), freak, bipolar, depressing, and narcissist(ic). (Note: To learn more about linguistic ableism and alternative words to use instead, I’d recommend going to autistichoya.com/p/ ableist-words-and-terms-to-avoid.html.)

Additionally, it is important to mention that disabled people tend to prefer identity-first language, which refers to putting the identifier of an individual’s disability prior to themself. An example of this would be stating “autistic person.” However, because not all prefer this way, and some disabilities do not have an identity-first way of referring to them, it is best to ask the person you are referring to what language they would rather you use. It is also best to avoid using euphemisms for disability (i.e., special needs, differently abled, disABLED, handicapped, handicapable). The term disabled emcompasses an array of disabilities, both physical and not, so the way to refer to a person’s specific disability may vary. For example, the vast majority of autistic people prefer identity-first language, which is to be called autistic. Some even find so-called ‘person-first’ language (“person with autism,” “person who has autism,” etc.) ableist because it separates the person from their autism rather than accepting it as an intrinsic part of who they are.

By separating a person’s autism from them, one only further perpetuates stigma of neurodivergence as a whole in discussions of autism. This larger stigma is especially seen in climates where students are labeled as “gifted.” For those who don’t know, there is a notable overlap between those labeled as “gifted” and those who are neurodivergent. It is rather unclear why such a significant overlap exists, but finally recognizing and acknowledging the overlap within academia is imperative to help all students succeed and destigmatize discussions about neurodivergence. If we want MLWGS to be an accessible school, the presence of neurodivergence must be considered and properly accommodated. The first step is acknowledging the presence of neurodivergence in “gifted” students.

I know that, for me, I encountered an uncountable number of situations in which it was apparent that my teachers were not educated, or at least not accurately, on what ADHD is and isn’t. I struggled significantly this year, and I like to think I’m adjusting to the workload of this school well, but the truth of the matter is that in some ways I am, but I cannot succeed without being met in the middle.

Specifically at Maggie Walker, the issue of ableism ties into the age-old practice of Maggie Walker students as a whole tending to self-deprecate. We also have a tendency to self-sabotage, whether consciously or not. The majority are presumably unaware that self-deprecation plays into ableism to a notable degree. When we insult ourselves, we tend to use phrases such as, “I’m dumb,” “I’m stupid,” or things of that nature. The problem with this type of language is that it is ableist. Few people, including both students and teachers, are aware of the ableist history behind these words. The histories are similar to that of the r-slur. It used to be an entirely medical word, but it quickly became an ableist insult.

Language is constantly evolving, so expecting everyone or most people to always be up on knowing what language is acceptable versus not would be unreasonable. That being said, I believe it is fair to expect some level of awareness from the majority of people. Maggie Walker, as what is commonly referred to as a gifted institution, faces the same issues as widespread “gifted kid” culture across the country: a huge lack of knowledge and awareness of ableism. What neurodivergent students like my- self need is for teachers, and ideally peers, to be properly educated on neurodivergence. I would like for students to be called in on their use of ableist language by peers and teachers. If students and teachers work together to spread awareness and have conversations about accessibility, Maggie Walker could be a more welcoming environment.