Discovering that you’re neurodivergent at the peak of your professional career can be an unsettling experience. As the initial shock fades, it often becomes a journey of self-discovery—opening new perspectives on the world and deepening connections with others. For me, it has even led to unexpected opportunities, including expanding my skill set as I ventured into coaching.

I still remember the day someone said to me, “I’ve never worked with someone who has a psychiatric disorder before.” At the time, I was in a management role, and I had only just started coming to terms with my ADHD diagnosis. I tried to laugh it off, but the comment hit me hard. It stripped me of my humanity, reducing me to a brutal stereotype I wasn’t ready to face.

That moment reminds me of a powerful quote by Dr Ned Hallowell: “The kidney doesn’t care if you call it sick, but the mind does. If you tell a person they have a mental disorder, you create a mental disorder—not only in them, but in those who love them as well.”

In the end, much of what we consider to be a mental or psychiatric disorder is socially constructed. There’s growing recognition that human brains are far more diverse than we once thought—and that’s not a bad thing. If everyone thought the same way, progress would stall. Diversity of thought is what drives innovation, problem-solving, and growth.

In fact, studies now show that 15-20% of the population have cognitive differences significant enough to earn diagnostic labels like ADHD, Autism or other learning differences. But it’s increasingly recognized that these differences don’t only present challenges; they offer unique perspectives and strengths that can reshape how we approach everything—from work to innovation and even relationships.

Now, as a Family ADHD coach, I was deeply moved by the moment 17-year-old Gus Walz openly expressed his emotions as his father accepted his party’s vice-presidential nomination at the DNC convention a few weeks ago. Gus, who has ADHD, an anxiety disorder, and a non-verbal learning disorder, showed remarkable vulnerability in that very public space. Perhaps the social media backlash that followed was to be predicted, but what wasn’t expected was the overwhelming outpouring of empathy and support in response.

It felt like a pivotal moment—a moment where social attitudes and acceptance seemed to shift. People weren’t just seeing Gus for his neurodivergence; they were seeing him as a whole person, one whose emotions and struggles resonated deeply with so many. This shift in public reaction highlights how much our society is evolving in its understanding of neurodiversity and the importance of embracing these differences.

I also noted significant progress in how the media covered the incredible achievements of neurodivergent athletes during the Paris Olympics and Paralympics. In contrast to the Tokyo Games, there was barely any mention of Simone Biles’ ADHD in relation to her performance. Instead, the focus was on her extraordinary mental strength, physical ability and the immense courage it took to claw her way back to the pinnacle of her sport. Earning three gold medals and a silver was an astonishing achievement, but even more admirable was how she handled those moments when things didn’t go perfectly—like finishing second on the floor or failing to secure a medal on the beam.

What stood out most was her grace and generosity in those moments. Rather than focusing on the medals, she embodied true sportsmanship, especially during the medal ceremony, where she and her teammate Jordan Chiles bowed in respect to Rebeca Andrade. That playful display of humility, camaraderie, and mutual respect felt more powerful than any victory. It’s in these moments of character, beyond the scores and podium finishes, we redefine what success looks like, especially in the context of neurodivergence.

Biles was far from the only neurodivergent athlete to shine at the Paris Olympics. Noah Lyles, a dyslexic ADHD’er, sprinted his way to gold in the 100m, while fellow ADHD’er Adam Peaty took silver in the 100m breaststroke. Meanwhile, Allysa Seely, also with ADHD, captured bronze in the Paratriathlon. These athletes’ achievements – and many others – are a powerful reminder that neurodivergence can be a source of strength, not limitation.

Of course, these incredible athletes are much more than their ADHD or other neurodivergent conditions. Their strength, courage, and perseverance are deeply personal attributes, and they’ve pushed through challenges to reach the height of their careers. But watching their achievements unfold, it also became clear how much support they’ve received along the way—something made evident in the emotional pre and post-event interviews. No one reaches the pinnacle of success alone.

That’s one of the most important lessons I’ve learned through my own journey and in becoming a coach. At every stage of our lives our ability to believe in ourselves is nurtured by the belief others have in us. One unforgettable moment that deeply moved and inspired me this summer was when Celine Dion, despite battling a rare neurological disorder that caused debilitating muscle spasms and robbed her of her voice, powerfully channeled the spirit of Edith Piaf as she sang L’hymne à l’amour during the Olympic flame lighting ceremony. Celine Dion’s remarkable live performance on the iconic Eiffel Tower—her first in four years—not only showcased her incredible personal courage but also reflected the deep belief and confidence the event producers had in her.

We should never underestimate the power of believing in those around us. If you truly want to make a difference in this world, remember that the simple act of believing in others can create a profound impact. Whether we are athletes, performers, coaches, colleagues, parents, or friends, your belief can ignite a spark within the people you care about, inspiring them to reach extraordinary heights.