Inclusion.
It’s a word we say a lot—especially in April.
But the truth is, inclusion isn’t just a concept. It’s a feeling.
And sometimes… it’s the feeling of not being included that stays with you the longest.
As a girl, feeling left out was always a quiet struggle for me.
Not the loud, obvious kind—but the subtle kind.
The kind where everyone else seems to know something you don’t.
The kind where plans are made around you, not with you.
The kind where you smile and pretend it doesn’t bother you… but it does.
It always did.
So when Ella was growing up, that was one of my biggest worries.
Would she feel that same sting?
Would she notice when she wasn’t invited?
Would she understand the shifting dynamics of friendships, the unspoken rules, the quiet exclusions?
And the truth is… she has felt it.
But maybe—not always in the same way I did.
Ella has this incredible ability to be content in her own space.
To find joy in puzzles, in art, in her routines.
To not constantly measure herself against others.
In many ways, she handled it better than I ever did.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
Because whether you are a child, a teenager, or a twenty-something…
Whether you are neurotypical or neurodivergent…
Being left out stings.
It doesn’t matter how strong you are.
It doesn’t matter how independent you’ve become.
There is something deeply human about wanting to belong.
I’ve felt it.
Ella has felt it.
If we’re honest… haven’t we all?
And that’s why inclusion matters so much.
Not just the big, organized kind.
Not just programs or initiatives or awareness campaigns.
But the everyday kind.
The “pull up an extra chair” kind.
The “I thought of you” kind.
The “you belong here” kind.
Because inclusion isn’t about changing who someone is so they fit in.
It’s about expanding the space so they don’t have to.
It’s making sure there is a seat at the table—
not as an afterthought,
not out of obligation,
but because it was always meant for them.
I think about Ella now, as an adult.
And I think about what inclusion looks like for her in this stage of life.
Friendships that are understanding.
Spaces that are patient.
People who don’t just tolerate differences—but embrace them.
And I think about myself, too.
Because here’s the part we don’t always say out loud—
that feeling of being left out doesn’t magically disappear when you grow up.
It just gets quieter.
More internal.
A little harder to admit.
But it’s still there.
So maybe inclusion isn’t just something we advocate for our kids.
Maybe it’s something we all still need.
A reminder that we belong.
That we matter.
That there is a place for us—exactly as we are.
This Autism Acceptance Month, when we talk about inclusion,
let’s make it real.
Invite someone in.
Notice who’s on the outside.
Be intentional.
Because at the end of the day…
Don’t we all deserve a seat at the table?
