A teacher recently asked me,
“How do you know someone has a disability if you can’t see it?”

I paused, then said simply, “You don’t.”

That’s the thing about invisible disabilities: they live in the quiet, overlooked, and misread. They’re often masked by coping strategies, seen as ‘behaviour’, misunderstood by outsiders, and disbelieved by systems that rely too heavily on what’s visible.

So maybe the better question is: What if we didn’t assume?
What if we approached every person with compassion, curiosity, and no expectations of how they should be?

Because here’s the truth: you can’t always tell what someone is carrying. And for families like ours, and the ones I walk alongside, that unseen load can be incredibly heavy.

What Are Invisible Disabilities?

Invisible disabilities refer to the barriers and challenges someone experiences that aren’t obvious to others, but still have a very significant impact on how they move through the world.

A person might face these barriers due to how their brain processes information, how their body manages energy or pain, how they experience sensory input, or their social communication style. Within the context of their environments. These experiences are often present for people who are autistic, ADHD, FASD, have Tourette’s, live with chronic pain, experience anxiety, navigate trauma, or process the world differently in other ways.

We might consider that the disability is not the neurotype or condition itself. Rather, it’s the mismatch between the person’s neuro and social profile, needs, and the environment. Or the lack of understanding, flexibility, or access, that is disabling.

Invisible disabilities don’t come with a wheelchair or a visual marker. But they come with a lot of invisible labour.

And when others don’t see the disability, they often don’t see the need for support either, which can leave families stuck between proving and protecting, advocating and over-explaining, and feeling judged or excluded.

What It’s Like for the Child or Young Person

Kids with hidden disabilities are navigating a world that often doesn’t match how their brains or bodies work, and they know it.

They feel the difference when peers brush them off, or when adults label them as “lazy”, “naughty”, “too sensitive”, “badly behaved”, or “overreacting.”

They work hard to mask their challenges, especially in public or at school, and then often completely unravel when they get to their safe place. What might look like defiance is actually dysregulation. And what might look like apathy could be shutdown. 

That’s why it’s so important to look beneath the surface. Sometimes the behaviour we see is just the tip of the iceberg. Read more about what might be going on underneath →

They aren’t choosing to struggle, and it is an incredibly heavy burden for the child to carry (and those loving and supporting them).

The Impact on the Whole Family

Let’s be honest: when your child has an invisible disability, it affects everything: routines, relationships, school experiences, mental health, sleep, and social life. The logistics alone can feel like a full-time job. But what often hurts more is the lack of understanding.

You’re navigating big emotions, rejection from peers, sensory needs, school communication breakdowns, and healthcare red tape… all while being judged by people who think your child just needs “better discipline” or “less screen time.”

There’s grief in this space, not because your child isn’t who you want them to be, but because you wish the world would love and understand them the way you do; because you fear for your child’s future. 

And siblings are living this too. They’re having to adapt, witness, and absorb it all. Sometimes they get it and sometimes they resent it. 

Living It. Walking It. Working In It.

This isn’t just my work; it’s my life. I’m in the trenches too. I’m parenting a child with invisible disabilities, challenges that are misinterpreted as ‘bad behaviour’. I’ve had the sleepless nights, the public meltdowns, the impulsivity that makes people turn away, the long waiting lists, the misunderstood school meetings.

I’ve also had the quiet victories: the moment my child made a friend, the time that kind lady looked at my child and smiled a genuine smile, asking him how his day had been, the teacher who got it.

Professionally, I support other families and young people navigating similar terrain. That dual lens helps me show up with both lived empathy and clinical insight.

So, What Helps?

There’s no one-size-fits-all. But here’s what I’ve found powerful for families, schools, and communities:

• Start with kindness. If you don’t know what someone’s carrying (and you usually don’t) let compassion lead the way.
• Stop assuming. Not all disabilities look how you expect. Not all needs are visible.
• Believe people. Especially kids. Especially parents and carers. Especially when it’s hard to explain.
• Support. These kids don’t need to be “fixed” or “just behave”. They need to be understood, met where they are, not where we think they should be, and provided with the right scaffolding and support.
• Celebrate differently. We cheer for what matters to them. Progress isn’t linear, and success looks different here.
• Find your people. You are not alone, but you may need to look for the ones who get it, your tribe. They may take some finding, but don’t lose hope. 

So back to that original question:
“How do you know someone has a disability if you can’t see it?”
You don’t. And that’s exactly why we need to make room for grace, curiosity, and diversity. Kick the ‘looking for proof’ out of the door and show up with compassion.

To the families in the thick of it: I see you. I am you. You’re not too much, and your child isn’t broken.

We’re just parenting and living and loving in a world that is still busy catching up (and I believe it will). Together we can make sure our children are heard, accepted, and understood.