I was speaking with my bestie, their 3yo is pulling out of dance class because they are finding it hard (the 3yo not … you get it). It’s not having your parent there, as much as being told what to do by people you don’t know, in ways you struggle to understand, and with little adjustment or accommodation.

See our protagonist is undoubtedly neurodivergent, and being neurodivergent is frequently tricky, because whilst you are growing up you are learning in mixed groups, with a curriculum delivered in a way to have the best results – or to achieve the best learning amongst the most students. When you have specific needs and make up 2% of the population, it’s on you to do the extra work. When you succeed in creating an adaptation of the system, that creativity is not valued, celebrated or even noticed. Often that’s because the trainer does not understand that you needed it, or may look at it as procrastination. What is celebrated is the end result of your efforts, and in your case the effort was split between creating a new system you could work with, before you moved onto the standard learning. Consequently when you realise that the standard measuring system doesn’t measure you you stop caring in the measuring. So being a neurodivergent kid is tricky. Tricky to the point of overwhelming; emotionally, intellectually and physically. Or at least that has been my experience.

To the first point I hated being without my parent. Usually my mum but back then my dad and I were close. It was bringing something/one you knew you could predict and was an an option if you needed to get you out of that situation. That sounds cold, I truly loved my parents regardless of the difficulties, and perhaps because of them. But in those early decades, I found going it alone very hard. You learn little-by-little your own capabilities, but having that base of familiarity is exceptionally important as an autistic kid. I’d never complain, which was apparently a feature. I could get very quiet and focussed or very still. Inside I was vibrating at hyper-speed like the flash travelling through a wall. Some of my earliest memories are of negotiating my own executive dysfunction, making up rituals where “by the end of folding this leaf I would go and see if I could join in playing soccer”.

It’s especially hard in those early years when you are starting to encounter the neurotypical world. None of it make sense. I felt that I was in a daily escape room – having to navigate situations where at any time someone would change from happy to see me to outraged that I’d transgressed some rule. And it only became apparent that I’d transgressed a rule later on. Initially it seemed random, and the emotion and whatever I did was unrelated. I started learning about social rules from then on, and interpreting what people were saying into understanding what they wanted. Now <cough cough> years on I’ve come a few laps in the understanding that often the response is random, and is a complex web of other peoples stuff that may intersect with what I am doing and what they are saying in small or large ways. But to a 3yo doing ballet that is way outside what you’ve signed up for.

So what is the way to teach neurodivergent kids dance? We’ve rallied and campaigned against Applied Behaviour Analysis, forcing the normalisation of children, and imposing a dog training reward model. We also know that “one size fits all” fit the majority not a minority. I’m certainly not an expert, but I do know people who are.

It strikes me that I know internationally renowned leaders in dance and dance education, trained in neurodivergent accommodation and neurodivergent themselves. And what they teach seems radically human centered from a place of growth and safety. They teach from a place of support and the tools to support yourself. And that component of the training is egalitarian and largely unmeasured. Because what are you measuring and why?

Seems like a good place to start.