In 2014, in my book Thinking Differently, I wrote about being a neurodivergent third-grader long before the term “neurodiverse” was widely known. At the time, my biggest struggle was that I couldn’t read at grade level and often acted impulsively — challenges that led well-meaning adults to assume I wasn’t trying hard enough. Those assumptions weren’t just frustrating; they shaped my entire experience in school.

As someone who has spent years advocating for neurodiverse students, I have seen firsthand how these assumptions and biases — often unintentional — can limit opportunities, undermine confidence and reinforce systemic barriers in education. Bias in education is often about the subconscious assumptions that shape expectations. Too often, students who think and learn differently are seen as less capable, as underachievers, or as simply not trying hard enough. I know this firsthand. In third grade, struggling with dyslexia and ADHD, I overheard my teacher, Ms. K, tell my mother, "He must try harder. Just encourage David to try."

What made her think I wasn’t trying? Everyday, I pushed myself with everything I had. Yet, despite my efforts, I was placed in a box — one that defined me by my struggles rather than my potential.

Later, when I was identified with dyslexia and ADHD, I finally had language for my learning differences. But language alone wasn’t enough. I still had to navigate a world that viewed students like me through the lens of outdated biases — biases that suggested we weren’t working hard, couldn’t learn (literally labeled “learning disabled”), weren’t deserving of resources to accommodate our different learning styles, or wouldn’t achieve success. Over time, I built an organization and scope of work focused on challenging those assumptions, advocating for students who identify as being neurodivergent, and working to create systems that recognize and support all learners.

And then, I became a parent.

Parenting, I quickly learned, is an education of its own. It offers no syllabus, no grading rubric, and no final exam — only a series of daily lessons in patience, adaptability and humility. What surprised me most was how much my experiences as an educator and advocate mirrored my experiences as a father. Just as I had worked to dismantle biases in the classroom, I now had to confront my own unconscious expectations about how my children would learn, grow, and experience the world.

It’s easy to assume that learning is linear, that effort always yields immediate results, or that success follows a predictable trajectory. But watching my children explore, struggle and persist reminded me of a truth I had known since childhood: Learning is deeply personal. It’s shaped not just by ability but by environment, community, support, and, most importantly, the belief that growth is always possible. Whether in the classroom, workplace or home, true inclusion requires rethinking outdated assumptions about intelligence, effort and potential. My children, students and colleagues remind me daily that our role isn’t to fit people into narrow definitions of success — it’s to create space for them to thrive as they are.

My time at Teachers College gave me the tools and motivation to answer that call to action — ensuring that any student, anywhere in the U.S., can access the resources and support needed to build an inclusive community on their campus through The Neurodiversity Alliance. This belief continues to drive my work today as we challenge systemic biases and push for educational models that honor all learners.

As both a parent and an educator, I’ve come to see that one of the greatest gifts we can offer our children — and our students — is the space to learn in their own way, at their own pace. We do this at The Neurodiversity Alliance not by forcing them to fit into rigid molds, but by recognizing their unique strengths, challenging outdated assumptions, and ensuring that they know, beyond a doubt, that they are capable.

If I could offer one specific piece of advice to fellow parents, it would be this: Help your child discover what makes them feel strong, not just what makes them fit in. Celebrate the things they gravitate toward — whether that’s building, storytelling, movement, empathy, or imagination — and build learning moments around those strengths. When we affirm a child’s natural talents, we empower them to approach challenges from a place of confidence, not deficit.

In the end, learning isn’t just about acquiring knowledge or even trying harder; it’s about discovering potential. And sometimes, it takes seeing the world through the eyes of a child to remember that.

David Flink (M.A. ’08) is a leader at the forefront of the neurodiversity movement. As a student at Brown University in 1998, he founded Eye to Eye, now The Neurodiversity Alliance — the largest national organization founded by and for individuals with learning differences. He is also the author of Thinking Differently: An Inspiring Guide for Parents of Children with Learning Disabilities, and was named a GQ Man of the Year in 2015 and a Top 10 CNN Hero in 2021.