Neuro-Inclusion Isn't a "Nice-to-Have" - It's a Necessity

I was recently featured in the International Business Times discussing neuro-inclusive leadership and the unintended harm caused by well-meaning systems. This conversation reflects much of what we explore through Unlabelled & Limitless: not whether inclusion matters, but how design decisions quietly shape who can participate at work and who is forced to compensate. 

Neuro-inclusion is often positioned as a “nice to have.” Something progressive. Something values-led. Something organisations will get to once more pressing priorities are addressed. But for Human Resources teams and organisational leaders, this framing no longer holds. Neuro-inclusion isn’t optional. It’s structural. And increasingly, it’s unavoidable. 

Neurodivergence Is Structural, Not Niche

Neurodivergence isn’t a group. It’s a distribution. An umbrella term that encompasses a wide range of known and unknown neurotypes across the global population. 

Whilst most formal estimates sit around 15-20%, several recent workplace-focused analyses suggest the true prevalence may be higher, potentially approaching 30%, once we account for underdiagnosis, misdiagnosis, outdated assessment criteria, and advances in our understanding of neurodevelopment. These aren't clinical consensus figures, but they do reflect a growing recognition that diagnosis rates significantly under-represent lived reality.

"Diagnosis rates do not equal prevalence. What we are seeing now is not a sudden surge in difference, but a surge in recognition". 

The recent spike in visibility can largely be explained by late diagnosis. Generations of adults were missed or failed, moving through education systems, workplaces, and institutions, wondering why, despite “doing everything right,” they still struggle to keep up, are burned out, or quietly fall short. People weren’t suddenly born neurodivergent in the last decade, nor is this a generational failing. What’s changed is language. Prevalence is difficult to measure because diagnostic criteria, access to assessment, cultural norms, and masking behaviours all influence who receives a formal label. As our understanding evolves, so does our sense of scale.

Multiple studies now highlight the gap between diagnosis rates and underlying neurodevelopmental traits. Research from organisations such as EY's Global Neuro-inclusion at Work Study (2025) and Drexel University's Neurodiversity Evidence Summary indicates significant under-identification among adults, particularly for ADHD and learning differences, and emphasises the value of dimensional models that capture the full spectrum of cognitive variation. This reinforces what many people already know from experience: neurodivergence is far more common than our systems currently recognise.

And language matters, because once we accept scale, the idea that neuro-inclusion is optional collapses. If we take the growing body of research seriously suggesting that neurodivergence may be more widespread than formal diagnoses indicate, potentially affecting as much as 30% of the population, then the idea that neuro-inclusion is optional collapses.

Neutrality is no longer neutral. Design decisions become inclusion decisions, whether or not organisations acknowledge them. 

Most Exclusion is Designed; Not Intended

When people struggle at work, it’s often framed as a capability issue. In reality, it’s far more often a design issue. 

Over the last two decades workplace design has shifted dramatically. Open-plan offices, constant collaboration, aesthetic comfort, and “always on” accessibility have become markers of modern culture. Pool tables, sofas, free meals, gyms, and visually open workspaces are usually introduced with good intentions. Who wouldn’t want a workplace that feels welcoming and progressive?

But there is a cost to poorly thought-through design. Many modern offices are built to block sight, not sound. Open spaces function as constant interruption engines. These environments prioritise visibility over focus and reward interruption tolerance rather than contribution. 

Most workplaces are not hostile. They are simply designed around a very narrow cognitive norm; one that equates sensory overload with resilience and labels the need for quiet, predictability, or structure as fragility. The distinction between accessibility and availability blurs. Being reachable becomes synonymous with being available. 

Needing fewer interruptions, clearer expectations, or more control over one’s environment isn’t a personal failing. It’s a human one. And continuing to assume that one size fits all, especially as pressures and demands increase, guarantees unnecessary strain. 

When Inclusion Language Outpaces Structure

Inclusion slogans without structure don’t land as intended. Phrases like “bring your authentic self to work” sound supportive, but without clarity, they often create confusion, erode trust, and increase risk. 

Authenticity collapses without definition. Who decides what authenticity looks like? How much is acceptable? Which parts of someone’s identity are welcome, and which quietly breach unspoken rules? In practice, these messages often come bundled with contradictions 

From Accommodation to Work Design

“If we design things properly, most people never need to ask”.

Much of the conversation around neuro-inclusion still centres on accommodations; individual requests, disclosures, and adjustments made after someone has already struggled. While accommodations are important and often necessary, they are ultimately a downstream response to systems that weren’t designed with enough variability in mind to begin with.

Labels can be incredibly helpful to individuals. They offer language, validation, and often relief, a way to make sense of patterns that may have gone unnamed for decades. But labels do very little for systems. Organisations don’t scale through diagnosis; they scale through design. 

When inclusion relies primarily on exception handling, it places the burden on individuals to disclose, explain, and justify their needs. That pressure is unevenly felt and often avoided altogether, particularly in workplaces where psychological safety is fragile or where being seen as “difficult” carries real risk. Reducing the need for disclosure is, in itself, an inclusive act. 

This is where work design matters more than intent. Designing for choice rather than compliance allows people to engage in ways that suit how they process information and manage energy. Focus and collaboration do not need to compete with one another; they can be treated as distinct modes of work, each with their own environmental and behavioural requirements. Flexible sensory environments, clear processes, and predictable expectations tend to benefit far more people than those who explicitly ask for support.

When support is universal, stigma begins to evaporate. Quiet spaces are no longer “special arrangements.” Clear agendas are not remedial tools. Flexibility stops being framed as favouritism and starts being understood as functional. Inclusion shifts from something reactive to something built in. 

The goal is not to remove labels or deny differences. It is to stop making labels the entry point. Better design reduces friction for everyone, not by lowering standards, but by aligning environments more closely with how humans think and work. 

This Isn't About Labels. It's About Reality.

People live whole lives, not categories. They navigate work, family, health, grief, ambition, and change with nervous systems that continually adapt to context. When workplaces respond only to narrow definitions of productivity or professionalism, they ask people to carry unnecessary cognitive and emotional load just to belong. 

Workplaces function better when they respond to how people actually think, rather than how systems assume they should. Small shifts in design, language, and expectation can compound over time; especially when leaders stop treating neuro-inclusion as optional or aspirational and start recognising it as foundational. 

This is the space Unlabelled & Limitless exists within, where lived experience, research and practical design meet. Not to offer perfect answers or one-size-fits-all solutions, but to continue asking better questions about how we build systems that work for most people, most of the time.

The world may feel chaotic, fast-moving, and increasingly demanding. Perhaps the work isn’t to remove that chaos entirely, but to learn how to design within it; thoughtfully, responsibly, and with greater care for the humans expected to operate inside it.

Lois