I STARTED university a few weeks ago, and at the ripe age of 27, it’s been quite the culture shock – but a great one. Anyone who knows me knows that my goal has always been to study law, but the misdiagnosis of my autism and ADHD precluded me from chasing it any earlier than now.

Despite being academically minded, I struggled to apply myself and attain the results that universities demanded for a law degree because my brain was on fire and I didn’t have access to the reasonable adjustments that I needed to succeed. In the throes of misdiagnosis, I was devastated that university remained so out of reach for me when it was the only thing I wanted to do. It felt unnecessarily cruel how hard it was for me to follow the dream I’d been harbouring for most of my life.

In hindsight, I’m glad I took the path that I have. I have spent years trialling and erroring different paths, and it’s allowed me to really narrow down exactly what my end goal is, and therefore go into my first year of university sure of my choice and laser-focused on the task at hand.

But it has been a frustrating road. Starting university, and loving it as much as I am, makes me sad for my younger self, who could easily have excelled in this space much earlier had she been given half a chance.

It has sparked a reflection for me on our education system and the shortcomings still very much present within it in terms of neurodiversity. Our exam system fails neurodivergent pupils and I would go as far as to say knowingly disadvantages them – it’s not like this is a well-kept secret, it’s a reality that tends to be ignored.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out why exams that are heavily reliant on working memory, time pressure, fast processing and rigid questioning might be disadvantageous to neurodivergent people who, famously, struggle with all of the above.

It’s one of the greatest inequalities we face as a population, and it happens at such a crucial time in our lives that the damage often completely alters the direction of our lives for the worse.

It reminds me of the saying “if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will spend its whole life believing that it is stupid”. We are dropping neurodivergent students into a neurotypical pool without armbands – and then we’re shocked when they can’t swim.

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The limitations we impose on those students by forcing them to squeeze themselves into neurotypical exam systems have the potential to set them up for their entire lives thinking that they are simply not clever enough, or not as academically gifted as others.

When in fact, with the right reasonable adjustments and support, they could thrive in an academic setting just like anyone else.

My modern studies exam still haunts me to this day – and I find it’s the perfect example of how broken this system is for us. My modern studies teacher, Mr O’Donnell, was one of those teachers you hear about in films or read about in literature – an utterly dedicated man whose passion for teaching was felt by every pupil who was fortunate enough to be in his class.

He taught different generations of my family members, starting with my dad, then my brother, then me and then 10 years later my younger sister. A cornerstone of the Balwearie High School community, still very much adored by the school community to this day.

He went to the ends of the earth to support me and pass down his years of knowledge and experience. He recognised my passion for politics and it was his nurturing in the early days of my newfound interest that ultimately set me on the path that I’m on today.

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We spent many a class debating politics, bonding over our shared interest in the United Nations, and at the height of the independence referendum he developed my knowledge of our political system to such an extent that I joined a political party.

A few months later, he encouraged me to stand in the Scottish Youth Parliament Elections, in which he campaigned relentlessly for me – he even came to the results evening to watch me win. He was the greatest teacher I ever encountered. His impact remains a guide to me long after I walked the school halls for the last time, and I know the lessons I learned from him will stay with me for the rest of my life.

That nurturing paid off, and I excelled in my modern studies class. I was top of the class all year, I had A’s coming out of my ears for my written work. Practically, I was the perfect modern studies student, and I had a genuine burning passion for the subject. I should have done well. Instead, I sat down to my exam at the end of the year – and I failed.

Universities didn’t have the privilege of sitting in on my conversations with Mr O’Donnell.

They didn’t know about the work I had done all year, or how good I was at it. I was competing for a space on their course with thousands of other kids who didn’t fail their exam – and on paper, I was simply no good at modern studies.

I was written off because the exam style didn’t work for my neurotype. Because my working memory couldn’t regurgitate five entire essays on a time crunch, in a hall packed with sensory stimulation. That day delayed my life plan, turned it upside down and pulled it in every possible direction for almost a decade.

For a long time after, I felt unworthy of study and that maybe I just wasn’t good enough at modern studies. Maybe academia was just not my strong point. It’s taken me until now, until finally starting my law degree, to realise that actually I am pretty academically minded – I just didn’t have the tools that I needed.

I can’t help but think of all the 18-year-old neurodivergent students who have just watched their friends go off to university, and live the dream that they once had for themselves, simply because their brains work differently to others. Who will spend the next however many years believing they are unworthy of their own dream.

I’ve had this conversation with multiple people over the years, and those who fiercely defend the current system always tell me the same thing. That things have moved on since I was at school, and there is more support available.

Which I don’t disagree with – I’m sure that’s correct and I have noticed an improvement with the approach to my younger sister who is also autistic and ADHD.

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But more support in school for neurodivergent students wouldn’t have saved me either – I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. Most autistic girls are still undiagnosed at the age of 18.

So, what use is additional support for neurodivergent students, if they don’t even know that they are neurodivergent?

It comes back to the argument – should we be prioritising reasonable adjustments for neurodivergent people, or just making society more neurodivergent-friendly in a blanketed way?

I would argue the latter, especially when we’re talking about exams. Even my neurotypical friends struggled massively with the exam system, some of them actually made themselves unwell during the process.

We are forcing kids into glorified, high-intensity memory tests that force them into such high levels of stress that it’s the luck of the draw whether or not they’re built to withstand it.

A more neurodivergent-friendly approach would be a more children-friendly approach.

Nonetheless, despite the colourful path and being older than I would have liked, I have finally made it to the lecture hall that Mr O’Donnell and I had envisioned for me. I am so excited to get stuck into my studies and prove to myself that my dreams are achievable, and have always been.

It was a neurotypical society that convinced me that they were not, and I hope we can start to make meaningful strides for the neurodivergent students who are coming up behind me.