When we first discovered the power of co-regulation, it wasn’t in a clinic—it was in our kitchen, with a loud blender and a frazzled morning. A steady hand on the back. Matching breaths. Lowering the lights. No lectures, no “use your words”—just nervous system to nervous system, bringing Phoebe back from the edge (Ruttenberg, 2025).

When Phoebe was 18 months old, our family left a series of appointments armed with new labels—autism, ADHD, intractable epilepsy—but few answers (Ruttenberg, 2025). While people spoke kindly, the subtext felt like a polite apology for a future that hadn’t started yet. My wife Suzy and I sat with two kinds of fear, but looking at Phoebe’s intense gaze and sense of humor, we promised to parent the child we had, not a brochure version of who she was supposed to be.

For years, “sensitivity” in the workplace was seen as a weakness. But emerging science and real-world career stories reveal that being a highly sensitive person (HSP)—what researchers call “Sensory Processing Sensitivity”—is a cognitive asset that can provide distinct career advantages in the right environment (Aron, 2020; Malinakova et al., 2021).

Normalization isn't progress—it's erasure. For decades, the medical-industrial complex has profited from labeling neurodivergent traits as disorders, pushing therapies that force autistic, ADHD, and other neurodivergent individuals to mask their authentic selves. Ableism In Disguise inflicts deep psychological harm, from internalized shame to higher rates of anxiety and depression. As a neuroscientist and advocate inspired by my autistic daughter, I see this as systemic viole

Got4titude—a safe, intentional space designed exclusively for fathers raising children with disabilities or complex medical needs.

Sometimes, life throws you curveballs wrapped in inspiration. As a father, neuroscientist, and serial “let’s-try-this!” tinkerer, I’m used to chasing big dreams and bigger questions. But nothing prepared me for the wild, beautiful ride of raising our daughter Phoebe—a brilliant force of nature with her own unique sensory world.

In a world where misinformation can spread faster than facts, where policy decisions affecting millions can be made without consulting those most impacted, I find myself at a crossroads that feels both deeply personal and profoundly urgent. My role on the Scientific Review Board of the Autism Data Science Initiative (ASDI) isn't just another line on my CV—it's a calling that emerged from the intersection of my life as a research scientist, a father, and an advocate.

For decades, romance researchers have studied neurotypical relationships, but what about the estimated 15% of the population who experience love differently due to neurodivergent traits (Ebooks IOS Press, 2024)? Research into sensory processing differences and social experiences has revealed surprising truths about neurodivergent romance—truths that challenge everything we think we know about connection and compatibility.

Autism isn’t a tragedy—but the demonization of autistic people is. Let’s abandon this harmful narrative and build a world where people thrive as they are. Difference isn’t a defect to fear. It’s a catalyst for innovation, empathy, and growth.

Just before age two, our daughter Phoebe was diagnosed with autism, ADHD, and epilepsy. Rather than focusing on deficits, we chose to see her neurological differences as unique strengths requiring support, not correction. Over 20 years, we prioritized accommodations, personalized technologies, and inclusive education, enabling Phoebe to thrive academically and socially. Today, she is completing her first year of college, confidently embracing her neurodivergent identity.

In this post, I will share our story and explore how neurodiverse families like ours are driving innovation and advocacy in the neurodivergent community (and beyond). By highlighting the challenges we face and the lessons we've learned, I hope to inspire others to join us in creating a more inclusive and supportive world for neurodivergent individuals.