The Lines We Draw Are the Ones We Can Erase

He didn’t start out believing he was the "problem."

At first, he was just a boy who couldn’t sit still for long, a boy full of ideas, energy, and curiosity. But over time, after enough trips to the principal’s office, after enough moments where teachers looked at him first when something went wrong, something inside him started to shift.

"If this is who they think I am," he said to me once, "then maybe I'll just be that kid."

That moment stayed with me. It’s what prompted me to write this, to explore how the lines we draw, often without even realising it, shape not only how we see others, but how they come to see themselves.

Every day, in ways big and small, we draw lines.

Sometimes with words, sometimes with silence, sometimes just by looking away instead of leaning in.

We draw lines around "normal" and "different."

Around "us" and "them."

Around who belongs easily, and who must constantly justify their place.

And we rarely stop to ask:

"Who taught us to draw these lines?"

"And what would happen if we picked up the eraser instead?"

Seeing the Lines

As an ADHD coach and the mother of a teenage boy who also has ADHD, I see the impact of these invisible lines every day.

Lines that separate the kids who are praised for learning the "right" way from those who are labeled as "challenging," "difficult," or "falling behind."

Lines that separate "adults who function normally" from those who quietly wrestle with executive dysfunction, sensory overwhelm, or relentless self-doubt.

I remember one parent-teacher meeting where the conversation wasn’t about what lights him up, or how he learns best. It was a list: the disruptions, the reminders, the strategies to "manage" him. I sat there feeling like they weren’t describing my son, just a series of behaviours they wanted to fix.

It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, seeing someone you love reduced to a problem to solve.

And yet, the more I witness, the more I realize: These lines are not inevitable.

They are choices. Choices we inherited, absorbed, and sometimes unconsciously reinforce. But choices, nonetheless.

If we can draw them, we can also erase them.

The Paradox of Difference and Belonging

There's a tension here, a paradox we have to be honest about.

On one hand, naming difference matters. It matters to recognise ADHD, autism, dyslexia, sensory processing differences, or any other lived experience, not as flaws, but as realities that deserve understanding, respect, and meaningful support.

And yet, if we're not careful, those names can harden into walls. Into labels that confine rather than free. Into boxes that define worth based on how close someone comes to an invented, mythical "norm."

I didn’t always see things the way I do now.

Truly understanding difference takes time, and for me, it’s come through experience, education, and being in relationship with people whose ways of being are different from mine.

It’s taken asking questions, listening without rushing to fix or explain, and being willing to see things differently than I did before.

I’m still learning.

But what I know is this: being open, curious, and non-judgmental hasn’t just helped me connect more deeply, it’s changed me.

It’s stretched me, challenged me, and made my life richer.

So we stand at a crossroads:

"How do we honour difference without reinforcing division?"

"How do we see each other fully without slicing the world into smaller and smaller factions?"

Remembering We Have a Choice

The truth is: the lines were never permanent.

The moment we notice them, we hold a choice in our hands.

We can leave them where they are, or we can soften them. Question them. Redraw them. Erase them.

We can say:

• There is no "normal," only human.

• There is no "them," only us.

• There is no "perfect way to be," only the beauty of life - messy, brilliant, and real.

We can choose a world not built on rigid categories, but on flexible compassion. A world where we meet each person not with a checklist, but with curiosity:

"How can we make space for who you are?" "

How can I understand you better?"

Neurodiversity as a Mirror for Us All

Neurodiversity has taught me this more profoundly than anything else. When we stop seeing differences as problems to be solved, we begin to see them as parts of a greater whole, a richer, more complex human ecosystem.

An ecosystem where no single way of thinking or learning or feeling is "correct," but every way has value.

It is not about pretending we are all the same.

It is about recognising that difference and belonging are not opposites. They are partners.

We belong because we are different, not despite it.

Belonging doesn’t happen by making everyone the same. It happens because we each bring something unique, different ways of thinking, feeling, creating, experiencing the world.

Belonging isn't about saying, "You're allowed to stay even though you're different."

It’s about saying, "You are needed, because of your difference."

A New Kind of Space

The world feels fractured right now. Lines are being drawn faster than ever: politically, culturally, even within our own communities. Sometimes it feels like the only option is to pick a side, defend it, and fortify the wall around it.

But maybe there is another way. Maybe the real courage is not in fighting harder across the divide, but in reaching across it.

Not inviting 'them' into 'our space.

Not forcing agreement and sameness.

But dissolving walls, erasing the lines and designing a shared space together, where everyone's voice, experience and differences shape what the space becomes.

Belonging isn't created for someone, it's created with someone.

At the end of the day: the lines we draw are the ones we can erase.

And the future we long for is already within our hands.

All we have to do is choose!

My Wish

As a coach, and as a mom, I think about this a lot.

I want my son, and every kid, every adult who feels different, to grow up in a world where we don't draw lines that shut people out.

Where belonging isn’t something you have to earn by being less yourself.

Where we stay curious about each other, even when it's messy, even when it's hard.

My hope is simple: that we remember we have a choice.

And that more often, we choose each other.

Mirka