cute little girls don't have autism - they are just spoiled little brats

and other things i learned as a undiagnosed neurodivergent teacher in classrooms filled with undiagnosed and misunderstood neurodivergent children

There are a lot of people who don’t believe in autism, and I get it.

I was one of them too.

There I was, on my highly masked high horse, thinking that children are just different today because they get whatever they want.

This was the narrative I was fed from society, from my mentors and trusted colleagues, and even as I grew up.

I loved the UK show Supernanny back in 2004. It was the best show around. It helped me and the rest of the country to see that children with tantrums and rage were spoiled little brats who needed naughty steps.

(Note: cue to watch Supernanny back again and see all the neurodivergent children who were sadly shamed and punished for their behaviours.)

When I became a primary teacher nearly a decade ago, I completely missed all signs of neurodivergence. There I was sitting across the table from parents of neurodivergent children, being told to tell them that their child was fine and not to worry.

I had been a brand new teacher for a few years, and I had been learning from my peers—other more experienced teachers and management—who most often viewed differences as a hindrance to getting on with things in the classroom.

The ADHD children were unruly and ruined all lesson plans. The autistic children were bullied and so meant more intervention and precious time that teachers just didn’t have to spare.

My colleagues and mentors told me that all these new conditions and illnesses were on the rise - it wasn’t like this before.

It was likely the fault of the parents. It was always the parents with their divorces and their lack of/too much interest in their children. And also now it was the screens - TV, gaming and so on.

When I did my postgraduate in education ( at what was the best university in the world for education at that time) we covered neurodiversity in a 3-hour class one day. It was a smidgen of awareness on little boys who loved trains, children who loved patterns, and a section on how to get extra help for kids with dyslexia.

By the time I reached the classroom, I quickly saw there were two types of children. The good and the bad.

By ‘good’, I mean obedient children, pleasant and pleasing to the adults. The others, the bad ones - the children who could not do school - were a problem. They were the children most talked about in the staff rooms and who teachers were losing sleep over.

Many teachers wanted to do their best for them. Many educators I know are some of the most compassion and open-hearted people. And I know would have done everything they could to help.

Some other educators however could not bear to look at these children any more. It was too much. The stress was sky high.

When I began to ask questions about these behaviours in the children it seemed some were having issues at home. Yet others were not, but for some reason were ‘badly behaved’ in school.

too smart/ big for his boots, weird, annoying, daydreamer, and so on…

I was told to be wary and keep an eye out for strange and unusual behaviour from the parents.

And so I began my journey of judging parents every move, wondering what was going on at home. Myself not yet parent, I was making my assumptions on what was good parenting and bad parenting.

Never, ever did I think school was the issue.

Never, ever did anyone else mention this to me either that the institution of school could be the problem.

The boss, the SENCO, the school board, my mentors and lecturers, no one mentioned the bright lights, the strict scheduling, the no bathroom breaks, the daily spelling tests or that constant telling children what to do to be an issue.

The problem always lay with the children and the parents.

A couple of years in, I taught at an international school that had quite a relaxed approach to being in school. There was very little testing and short days and a feel good vibe to the small school. Yet at its core there were still routines to follow, ways to behave, lines to stand in, and tasks to do each day that were often way too prescribed for the most imaginative children in the class.

One day, the mother of a particular favourite student in my class came to me as school ended. She was crying. She was pacing back and forth. She broke down to me. And I had no idea what was going on.

She told me that her daughter was awful at home.

She was wild.

She was not the same little girl anymore since she had left Kindergarten (going from play-based to a formal Grade 1 classroom).

She would come home every day from school and trash her room. She would shout and scream at her parents for hours on end. The evening before she had thrown many of her toys out the window of their apartment.

Her parents, who were very kind and gentle folks, were at the edge of a breakdown, she told me. The mother couldn’t take it anymore. She had no idea what was going on.

I know now that this woman was quite simply overloaded by the vastness of parenting a neurodivergent child. Yet back then neither of us had the words or the capacity to even go there.

You must be able to help her, she said. There must be something you could do?

Back then I just didn’t believe that girls like her daughter could be neurodivergent. If I think about that student now, I can see how she would fit the criteria for a highly masked autistic girl.

She was very intelligent - likely a gifted child - but she was also very young for her age. She was very small and acted more ‘babyish’ than her peers. She loved the company of adults and had vast conversations about the universe and other existential topics that left the other 6-year-olds baffled at circle time.

I had always thought she was a sweet and shy child. I had no idea how much she was struggling when school finished. How much it took for her to show up to school every day.

I didn’t know then anything of the spectrum of needs. I knew autism as in boys who gazed into space, with no eye contact and spoke in a monotone voice.

Cute little girls with pigtails and elaborate storytelling qualities didn’t have autism. Right?

When I asked my colleagues about this case and similar instances, I was told to look out for parents. Watch the parents.

She is very sweet that girl, something must be up at home, a colleague told me.

Yet I felt like I knew the parents well enough and their daughter. They were genuinely concerned and had no way of understanding what was going on with their child. Much like the thousands of other families who see their child’s health deteriorate when they start school. School - what was going on?

If she was a neurodivergent child, who was highly masking all day - quiet, shy, and feeling different from her peers - there was no wonder she was exploding at home with her parents.

This was about 9 years ago, and I have wondered about her now.

I wonder if she ever got a diagnosis. I wonder if anyone believed her parents.

I remember how I never did enough for them.

How I never had enough time to listen to her parents in my day, or to point them in the right direction, or to support them best. And how my friends and colleagues did too as educators - how we wanted to help so much, but with a lack if resources, education, and time, we just couldn’t.

How many seemed to brush this case and others off as just a little girl with an attitude.

Spoiled - only child - gets what she wants - too smart for her own good.

I wonder where she is now?

The ‘spoiled’ little girl.

Where are all those little girls with the fast brains and the dislike of being in groups and noisy classrooms?

How I hope her parents found the right help and maybe she did too - whether professionally or even on TikTok.

Many years later I would birth my own child, who would be beautifully neurodivergent and who would show me many answers to the world. Answers about myself - an unknown autistic woman with ADHD - and how my past experiences as an educator would now inform how I advocate for my own daughter.

Many don’t see her as neurodivergent either.

She loves Barbie and princesses, Lego and has pigtails sometimes.

People have told me she doesn’t ‘look’ autistic.

I know now it’s often too hard for many people to let it into their conscious awareness. Maybe it’s too much for them, maybe it rings too many alarm bells for their behaviours. Maybe they feel it’s another made up belief nowadays. I was one of them.

It is important however to keep shouting about it.

It is the only way to raise awareness about the unseen and unknown neurodiversity, hidden in our society, especially our highly masked, pleasing young girls.

After school meltdowns are not normal. Along with the many other behaviours we see as result of sending out neurodivergent children into environments like school that can be dangerous to them.

Let’s keep up this conversation of change. It’s our duty to them.

x