Let's eat Grandma: Why precise language matters in the neurodivergent community.

Mama Bear
Jun 16
5 min read

A single misplaced comma can turn an invitation to dinner into a cannibalistic crime. In the neurodivergent community, getting language right isn’t pedantry. It’s the difference between being seen and being erased.

A single comma can be the difference between inviting your beloved grandmother to dinner and turning her into the main course. "Let's eat, Grandma" versus "Let's eat Grandma." One invokes a warm family gathering. The other... well, it twists an intended pleasantry into a gory horror film scene.

This classic punctuation example isn't just a grammar lesson, it's a perfect metaphor for why precise, thoughtful language matters, especially in the neurodivergent (ND) community. For many of us — Autistic, ADHDers, AuDHD, and beyond — words aren't just words. They shape how we're seen, how we see ourselves, and how the world interacts with us.

If you're a fan of the Love on the Spectrum reality TV show like me, then you'll be familiar with the standard narrator introduction they provide for each featured person. The voice-over states their name and then lists three things this person likes, and three things they don't like. I often wonder what my list of three likes/dislikes would be to best sum me up as a person. It changes depends on my mood, but there is one constant on my dislike list.

‘‘This is Shannon, and she doesn't like it when people misuse the word 'literally'.’’

As a word nerd, I have always found this incredibly frustrating. Then, as it turns out, because I am autistic - discovered only a few years ago at age 40 - and therefore a literal thinker, this extreme reaction of mine made so much more sense. Because when someone says something like, "My head is literally exploding" (usually with hyperbolic emphasis), I immediately picture their brain matter spattering on the surrounding walls following a startling boom.

And obviously, that is not what is happening.

Because if, literally, that was indeed the situation, then the speaker would be, most definitively, expired.

And so, over and over again, I have to bite my tongue so as not to be that rude, offensive person, the punctuation/language police officer, who has to correct someone.

I include this fun fact about me as I think it beautifully illustrates the purpose of this article, i.e., the importance of precise language.

Getting the basics right: Neurodivergent vs. Neurodiverse

Before diving deeper, let's clarify two terms that are often mixed up: neurodivergent and neurodiverse.

Neurodivergent describes an individual whose brain functions differently from the dominant neurotypical norm. If you are autistic, ADHD, dyslexic, or otherwise wired differently, you are neurodivergent.
Neurodiverse (or neurodiversity) refers to a group or population that includes a range of neurological variations—both neurodivergent and neurotypical people. A team, classroom, or community can be neurodiverse. An individual cannot be "neurodiverse" in the same way one person cannot be "diverse" on their own.

This isn't pedantic nitpicking. Using "neurodiverse" to describe a single person subtly undermines the neurodiversity paradigm, which views neurological differences as natural human variation rather than individual deficits. Precision here shows respect and understanding.

The power (and peril) of words

Neurodivergent brains often process language literally, intensely, or with heightened sensitivity to nuance. A throwaway comment like "You're so dramatic", "You're a lot" or "Just try harder" can land like a sledgehammer. Miscommunication isn't a minor inconvenience; it can lead to burnout, masking exhaustion, or profound feelings of alienation.

Think about these common phrases that are often casually tossed around:

"High-functioning" or "low-functioning" autism. These terms imply a hierarchy of worth based on how well we perform neurotypical tasks. Many in the community reject them because they ignore variable support needs and erase our full humanity.
"Special needs." It sounds kind but can feel patronizing.
Person-first language ("person with autism") versus identity-first ("autistic person").

In the neurodivergent community, preferences vary, but there's a strong push toward identity-first language among many self-advocates. Autism, ADHD, and other forms of neurodivergence aren't fashion accessories that can be tossed on and taken off on any given Sunday — they're integral to how we experience the world on a day-to-day basis.

This isn't about being "politically correct" for the sake of it. It's about respect and accuracy. Language that pathologises the ND community ("suffers from," "afflicted with") reinforces the idea that we're broken. Neurodiversity-affirming language flips the script: differences are natural variations in human neurology, with strengths as well as challenges.

Why it hits different for us

Many neurodivergent people have spent years internalising harmful narratives. Late-diagnosed adults often describe a lifetime of feeling "wrong" or a "failure" because the language around them framed their traits as deficits.

Precise language helps bridge the double empathy problem — the idea that misunderstandings arise because neurotypical and neurodivergent people experience the world differently. When allies use affirming terms (and get "neurodivergent" vs. "neurodiverse" right), it signals "I see you as you are, not as a problem to fix."

Humour helps here too, because ND folk often have razor-sharp wit. The "Punctuation Saves Lives" joke (Let's eat, Grandma / Let's eat Grandma) is a playful way to say: Pay attention to the details. A missing comma, a careless label, or swapping "neurodivergent" for "neurodiverse" can completely change the meaning, and therefore, the impact.

Practical ways to do better

Good news, there is no need for a linguistics degree! Just start here and the community will be grateful:

Ask preferences — "How do you like to be described?"
Shift from deficit to difference — Instead of "struggles with social skills," try "prefers direct communication."
Ditch the hierarchy — Avoid functioning labels. Talk about specific supports needed.
Embrace identity-first where welcomed — Many proudly say "autistic" the same way others say "artist."
Be literal and clear — ND communication often values directness.

Small changes in everyday language ripple outward. Media, workplaces, schools, and families that adopt neurodiversity-affirming language reduce stigma, improve mental health outcomes, and create spaces where we don't have to mask just to be understood.

Language as liberation

At Caves & Bears, we believe stories that come directly from our community — raw, funny, honest — matter. Language is the vehicle for those stories. When we control the words used about us ("Nothing About Us, Without Us"), we reclaim power.

So next time you're tempted to say someone is "a little quirky," "on the spectrum," or mistakenly call an individual "neurodiverse," pause. Is there a better way? One that honours the full, complex, brilliant human in front of you?

Let's eat, friends (metaphorically, of course). And let's make sure our language nourishes the neurodivergent community rather than consuming it.

What language shifts have made a difference in your life? Share in the comments or submit your own piece to Caves & Bears. We're always hungry for authentic ND voices.