Neuroqueer people are seeking out communities built for people who are both neurodivergent and queer; not simply neurodivergent spaces with queer members, or traditional LGBTQ+ communities that happen to include neurodivergent people.
These are intentionally designed around both experiences simultaneously, where members don’t have to explain either identity. They prioritize clear communication and sensory-friendly environments with a pronoun-conscious culture, and an acceptance of diverse ways of moving through relationships and the world.
As more neurodivergent people identify as queer, these communities are growing online and off, from Discord servers and Facebook groups to local meetups and support networks.
As more neurodivergent people identify as queer, [neuroqueer] communities are growing online and off, from Discord servers and Facebook groups to local meetups and support networks.
“I’m looking for a community of folks with similar experience without demonizing or antagonizing [cis] and neurotypical people, or people from my own communities,” a 22-year-old AuDHD, bisexual and gender nonconforming person posted to Reddit about their dating luck — or lack thereof. “I feel left out a lot.”
In the post, they described feeling like they didn’t fully fit anywhere; not in many queer spaces, not in many neurodivergent spaces, and not in conventional dating culture.
The thread quickly struck a chord with dozens of people sharing their own experiences and a recurring message: “I’ve never felt so seen.”
It wasn’t all grievance though. There was one piece of advice woven throughout the thread: get yourself some friends. Good friends. Good neurodivergent friends. Ones who are also queer — who understand.
But the rise of these communities is far more than an interest in inclusivity. It’s the world waking up to intersectionality. Neurotypical, heteronormative society has spent far too long separating disability, gender, sexuality and mental health into different boxes — if given a box at all. And now that we know there’s nothing wrong with us, and that somewhere out there, there are millions of people like us, or people different like us, we want to know them.
After all, many of us — autistic, ADHD and otherwise neurodivergent — identify as LGBTQ+ at higher rates than the general population. Hence neuroqueer not only serving as an identity label, but for many people, as a way of understanding how their neurodivergence and queerness intersect.
“Neurodivergent individuals, especially those on the autism spectrum, tend to be less influenced by societal expectations or restraints,” wrote Morgan Blair, a licensed professional counselor. “Which makes sense — the very definition of neurodivergent means to stand apart from the norm.”
But while neurodivergent people are more likely to identify as LGBTQ+, neither identity guarantees the other, which can leave some people feeling caught between communities. Queer spaces may unintentionally prioritize social norms that can be challenging for those of us on the spectrum, while neurodivergent spaces might center predominantly cisgender and heteronormative experiences.
In practice, neuroqueer spaces are often remarkably ordinary. Members celebrate milestones, swap advice, co-work alongside one another, and offer support through life’s transitions.
In practice, neuroqueer spaces are often remarkably ordinary. Members celebrate milestones, swap advice, co-work alongside one another, and offer support through life’s transitions.
One member thanked their community for helping them navigate three job changes, a gender transition, three relationships and three big moves, writing that his “experiences [in the virtual neuroqueer group] were life-giving and life-changing.” Another was met with praise after sharing that he “Deleted 2850 emails tonight!”
Others exchange practical lifestyle hacks. My personal favorite being: sprinkle glitter on your medication if you sometimes forget whether or not you took it. That way, there’ll be evidence if so.
Because small moments like these may seem trivial, especially in neurotypical society. But for many neuroqueer people, they’re reminders that somewhere out there are people who understand exactly why those victories matter.
And that, more than anything, is what neuroqueer spaces are built to provide.
