Is ASL a Good Fit for My Neurodivergent Child?
I want to start by saying that I’m not the ultimate expert on ASL. I’m a second-language learner. I’ve taken classes for well over a decade from incredible Deaf instructors. I even earned interpreter certification, though I chose not to pursue interpreting professionally because I never felt my fluency was strong enough to do it ethically.
I’m also an audiologist. And I’m neurodivergent—autistic, ADHD, and gifted. I’m also a parent. Because of all that, I often find myself being the first person people ask when they’re trying to figure out if ASL might be a good fit for a child who thinks or learns differently.
It’s a great question. Especially if your child has dyslexia, speech or language delays, auditory processing disorder, or verbal processing difficulties. ASL isn’t necessarily easier—but it is differently difficult. And for the right learner, it can feel like coming home.
ASL is a full, complex language. It doesn’t follow English grammar. It doesn’t rely on sound. It’s spatial. It’s visual. It’s built through the hands, the face, and the body. It uses facial grammar—eyebrow movement, eye gaze, mouth shapes—not just to show emotion, but to express sentence structure. It’s expressive and conceptual, not just a code for English words.
It’s also not as iconic as people think. Some signs, like “tree,” are visual in a way that makes sense to beginners. Others, like “complicated,” aren’t. That sign uses two bent fingers crossing in opposite directions across the face—not something you’d guess just by looking. It’s part of a deeper visual-morphological system that learners come to understand over time.
There are handshape patterns too. One of my favorites is the five-hand with the middle finger gently curled inward. That handshape shows up in signs like “shiny,” “empty,” “naked,” “bald,” and “touch.” They all deal with tactile or surface experiences. And when you start to combine that handshape with specific motions or locations in space, it opens up even more meaning.
Take the sign for “obsess.” You point to your head to show thought. Then you use that curved middle finger to touch the top of your opposite fist—meaning to “touch on” a topic. Then you move that hand forward in a circle, showing that the thought is returning again and again. That layering of shape + space + repetition = a beautiful, embodied metaphor for obsession.
Another one of my favorite signs is “perspective.” To sign it, you hold your non-dominant hand with the index finger pointing straight up, like a person or an object. Then you take your dominant hand in a V-shape—representing two eyes—and move it from one position near your body to a new position that rotates around to view that object from a different angle. It’s a literal shift in point of view. That’s the kind of language ASL is: spatial, visual, embodied. It teaches you how to think in three dimensions.
But that complexity also makes it hard. ASL is not just visual—it’s visuospatial. You have to track facial grammar, hand motion, symmetry, direction, palm orientation, and metaphor all at once. That’s a lot of cognitive load—especially for neurodivergent learners with sensory processing or executive function challenges.
Fingerspelling is another common struggle. Even though ASL avoids traditional spelling and phonics, fingerspelling is still used constantly. And it’s one of the hardest things to read—even for hearing people who aren’t dyslexic. If your child struggles with visual tracking or sequential memory, fingerspelling can feel like trying to read cursive underwater.
Eye contact is also non-negotiable. In ASL, you can’t look away and still “hear” what someone is saying. For autistic learners—and adults like me—eye contact can be difficult to maintain, especially when you’re trying to regulate or process. But Deaf culture expects constant visual engagement, because language is happening in the visual channel.
Even so, many neurodivergent people say ASL is the first language that actually made sense to them. It bypasses all the auditory confusion. It gives form to thoughts through space and movement. It’s rhythmic. It’s embodied. And for many of us, it offers access in a way spoken language never did.
That said, one final warning: not all ASL classes are created equal.
Some teachers just teach Signed English with a few ASL grammar markers layered in. You memorize signs. You furrow your brow for WH-questions. You raise your eyebrows for yes/no questions. And because you’ve added one or two grammar rules, it feels like ASL—but it’s really just English with signs. It’s systematic, it’s easier to memorize—but it’s not the real language.
That kind of shortcut teaching is common. And while it may feel more accessible at first, it robs students of the real power and perspective ASL has to offer.
I hope your child doesn’t end up in a class like that. Because the beauty of ASL is that it isn’t English. And that’s exactly what makes it so worth learning.
Visual Description:
The illustration features a stylized, cartoon-like brain centered on a soft beige background. The brain is pinkish-red with thick black outlines, drawn with simple curves and a friendly expression—two small black eyes and a gentle smile give it a warm, approachable look.
Inside the brain, two tan-colored hands are positioned in front, each making the American Sign Language (ASL) sign for “I love you,” with the thumb, index finger, and pinky extended. The hands are also outlined in black for contrast and clarity. Between the hands, embedded within the brain’s outline, is the bold text: “I LOVE YOU”, written in all caps in a clean, sans-serif font.
Above the brain, large black text asks:
“Is ASL a Good Fit for My Neurodivergent Child?”
The entire image has a gentle, inclusive tone, combining neuroscience imagery with human connection and communication, illustrating how ASL can be embedded meaningfully in a neurodivergent child’s learning.
