Over the past 20 years working alongside neurodivergent students, their families, and advocates, I have grounded my leadership in three core commitments: radical transparency, innovative programming, and a deep respect for the weight of educational decisions. Families are not just choosing a school, they are choosing a future, a more direct and clearly articulated pathway, and often a renewed sense of hope for their child.
With that comes pressure. With that comes emotion. And with that comes questions that are sometimes difficult to ask out loud and answer on the spot. This is why I studied these questions in my doctoral work and the weight it has on families during key decisions during various academic transitions. I wanted to understand the unspoken, or sometimes, questions families feel too afraid to ask during the admissions process, especially with their child in the room.
As my team moves through peak enrollment season, and families are touring schools, exploring summer programs, and considering next steps for college and beyond, I am reminded that some of the most important questions are the ones that linger quietly in the background or are skirted around. The ones that feel too vulnerable, too uncertain, or too complex to name. But those are exactly the questions we should be asking – especially given the cost of independent schools.
When we create space for honest dialogue, we create space for clarity, alignment, and ultimately, better outcomes for students. Retention improves, partnership is born, and more importantly, guards can be let down. So, with that, I want to share five of the most common unspoken questions I encounter, or that I feel families are asking, along with the conversations I believe we should be having in the space of specialized education.
“What do I do to help my student make friends, and how does social growth happen if they are only around other neurodivergent students?”
This question is rooted in a very real fear: isolation.
What I often share with families is that meaningful social growth does not begin with exposure, it begins with safety. We cannot force socialization, even with the best of intentions. We can create opportunities, take away technology, and put pressure on students, and yet, that just fosters resistance and greater isolation. With this generation, especially, students develop socially when they feel safe enough to demask, to be authentic, and to engage without entering an environment that immediately judges them or expects failure. In environments designed for neurodivergent learners, the unspoken rules of social interaction are made visible. Nuance is taught. Social dynamics are broken down, practiced, and revisited in ways that make them more predictable and accessible.
It is also important to challenge a common misconception: neurodivergent students are not inherently struggling with social skills. More often, they are navigating internal dilemmas about interpretation, timing, trust, and self-perception. They are overthinking interactions, a process no different than I did at 16. The difference with our students is that they name the disconnect, and once they feel safe, can work through their social perceptions with a trusted faculty who can teach complex human interactions in a way that makes sense for how they process information. How cool is that?
In this regard, I believe that strong schools do not force friendships through artificial groupings or assigned mentorship. Instead, they build multiple entry points for connection. Clubs, athletics, arts, shared interests, and unstructured social opportunities create a landscape where students can choose how and when they engage. Authentic relationships are not manufactured by an older student forming a temporary relationship with a younger student or one struggling with engagement. They are discovered when a school takes a step back, asks the students what engagement may look like, and creates flexible programming that fosters students to have some fun in the activities that actually interests them. It should be no surprise that the social environment needs to involve the student voice, not the comfort of educators facilitating the activity.
Isn’t neurodivergence just another word for autism? What if my student doesn’t have ASD?
This is one of the most common and important clarifications. Neurodivergence is not a diagnosis. It is a way of understanding that human cognition is diverse, layered, and non-linear. It recognizes that students bring different strengths, challenges, and ways of processing the world. It also deeply recognizes that students have had to form their own world understanding, which often makes them more brilliant thinkers than their peers.
When families focus solely on diagnostic categories, they risk missing the more important question: What is the school actually doing to support how my child learns? We all have misconceptions about diagnostic labels like “Autism” or “Dyslexia”, yet we don’t provide time to talk about what it looks like at a school, how skill-based instruction can support a multitude of learners, and how a multi-model, strength-based learning environment transcends a diagnosis.
When visiting schools, pay close attention to their “school profile” language. Is the environment affirming or stigmatizing? Is there a culture of inclusion, or subtle hierarchy around diagnoses? Are all students working toward shared, meaningful outcomes? Families should be more wary of schools that push away specific diagnostic labels, when many do enroll a wide variety of neurodivergent learners. The most effective schools are not built around labels, nor do they minimize the student experience to a singular identity. They are built around designing environments where differences are expected, supported, and leveraged, and intersectionality remains at the epicenter of conceptualization. Students are not enrolled because of a diagnosis. They are enrolled because they have the capacity to grow, to learn, and to achieve alongside their peers.
How do I accept that my child may not have a ‘normal’ high school experience?
This question often carries grief, even if it is not spoken that way. Families want what every family wants: belonging, safety, joy, and opportunity for their child. For many marginalized youth, wanting predictability and normalcy should be expected. There is a natural desire for a “typical” high school experience. What I often encourage families to consider is this: How is a “normal high school experience” accomplished? It takes significant coordination, shared mission, and the willingness to have high expectations for students who have sometimes been undervalued.
At schools like Franklin Academy, we do not remove the high school experience. We redefine access to it. Students attend prom. They compete in athletics. They participate in student government, performances, internships, and college preparatory coursework. The difference is not in what is offered, but in how it is delivered. And more so, we do not reduce engagement due to inherent deficits. Executive functioning difficulties, like organization or time management, should not prevent a student from engaging in activities. Instead, we have to be flexible in creating age-appropriate supports to build skills while keeping an extra-curricular routine that keeps them motivated.
Smaller environments, intentional support, and structured independence allow students to participate fully, rather than observe from the margins. For many students, this is the first time high school feels real.
Will a diploma from a school for neurodivergent students be viewed differently?
This is a high-stakes question, especially as families look toward college admissions and long-term outcomes. The answer is straightforward: there is no label or designation on a diploma that identifies a school as “for neurodivergent students.” What matters is accreditation, curriculum integrity, and academic rigor.
At Franklin Academy, our program is fully accredited. Our curriculum is carefully scoped and sequenced. We participate in programs such as UConn’s Early College Experience, which reinforces the strength and credibility of our academic offerings. I have also worked at one of the two colleges in the United States that cater exclusively to neurodivergent students and I said the same thing: there is no “learning difference stamp” on the transcript.
Equally important, we do not dilute standards. We do not inflate grades. We do not modify outcomes in ways that misrepresent student performance. Our transcripts are honest. We use class names that reflect what they are working towards so admission counselors in colleges are not questioning our transcript – they actually understand it. With that, our transcripts reflect true growth, real achievement, and meaningful effort.
Colleges are not looking for perfection. They are looking for students who have developed skills, resilience, and self-awareness. We have not found our graduates to be at a disadvantage. In many cases, they are more prepared because of the depth of their experience. This is why our outcomes continue to defy the college success rates of students who learn differently.
How do I get my child to want to go to boarding school?
This is where the balance between autonomy and guidance becomes most delicate. I often hear, “This needs to be my child’s decision.” And while student voice is essential, we also have to acknowledge that adolescents are still developing the capacity to make complex, future-oriented decisions.
Truthfully, this is the hardest question for me to answer. A parent has to ensure their kid feels safe and not pushed away. It is a process. At the same time, we need to help students address automatic negative thoughts and the endless “what ifs” that run through their minds. This means our school admission process needs to be highly relational.
Boarding school represents change, uncertainty, and risk. It is entirely normal for students to resist that. The key is not forcing a decision, but coaching through it. We are seeing a generation that, in many ways, has had fewer opportunities to build distress tolerance. Navigating discomfort, ambiguity, and challenge can feel overwhelming.
Parents play a critical role in helping students break down the decision into manageable parts, explore fears without reinforcing avoidance, and visualize both short-term discomfort and long-term growth
At the same time, it is important to be clear: if a student is truly unwilling and the experience would compromise their wellbeing, it is not the right time. But hesitation is not the same as inability. Growth often lives just beyond the edge of comfort.
Moving Forward: Creating Space for What Matters Most
If there is one message I hope families and educators take away, it is this: You are allowed to ask the hard questions. In fact, you should and I strongly encourage it. You are in the driver’s seat and if educators push you away for these questions, that school likely is not a fit.
These decisions are too important to be guided by assumptions, silence, or surface-level conversations. When we lean into honesty, even when it is uncomfortable, we create the conditions for trust, partnership, and meaningful progress.
At Franklin Academy, and in my own leadership, we are not afraid of these conversations. We welcome them. Because behind every tough question is a family trying to do what is best for their child. And that is a conversation worth having, every single time.
