When I first started thinking properly about neuroinclusive learning, I assumed I needed to know far more about individual diagnoses. ADHD, autism, dyslexia… surely the more I understood about each one, the better I would be at supporting people?
That knowledge can absolutely be useful, but it isn’t where I now think trainers should begin. Neuroinclusive learning means designing and facilitating learning so that unnecessary barriers are reduced before somebody has to disclose a diagnosis or ask for help. Rather than trying to work out why somebody is finding an experience difficult, we can notice the barrier, ask what would help and build more clarity, choice and flexibility into the experience.
Diagnosis can be important to an individual, their identity, the support they receive and their legal rights. But, as a trainer, I don’t need to know or infer somebody’s diagnosis before I can make a workshop clearer, more flexible and easier to access. The more I’ve worked in this area, the more I’ve realised that curiosity and thoughtful learning design are usually a much better place to start than trying to become an amateur diagnostician.
Why Good Intentions Can Lead Trainers Into the Diagnosis Trap
Most trainers I meet genuinely want to do the right thing. But neurodiversity conversations can create the same anxiety I remember from workplace conversations about mental health years ago. People can become so frightened of saying the wrong thing that they either overcomplicate the problem or avoid it altogether.
The diagnosis trap starts when we assume that understanding a label will tell us exactly what a learner needs.. a. It won’t.
Two people with the same diagnosis may experience learning very differently and, at the same time, somebody without a diagnosis may still find unclear instructions, surprise participation, sensory demands or a heavy working-memory load difficult to manage.
If somebody falls asleep during an afternoon session, for example, does that suggest neurodivergence? Perhaps. Or perhaps they are ill, sleep-deprived, dealing with something difficult outside work, taking medication that makes them drowsy, or simply having a grim afternoon.
The trainer’s job isn’t to diagnose the cause. It’s to notice what is happening, check what the person needs and decide whether anything in the learning experience can be adjusted.
Why Disclosure Can’t Carry Your Inclusion Strategy
At VTT, we routinely give people the opportunity to tell us about learning or accessibility requirements before a workshop. Very few people do actually, but that doesn’t mean that nobody needs anything.
Someone may not have a diagnosis, may not know what would help, may not want to disclose personal information, or may be so used to coping that it hasn’t occurred to them to ask for something different. This is why neuroinclusive learning needs to start before an individual request arrives. ACAS advises employers to consider support that can be available to everyone, while making clear that this doesn’t replace any individual reasonable adjustments required by law.
In learning design, that means building useful clarity, choice and flexibility into the normal experience, then staying ready to respond when somebody needs something more specific.
What Is Hidden Effort in Learning?
At VTT, we use Hidden Effort as practical language for the extra work somebody may be doing simply to access the learning experience. It isn’t a clinical model, but it gives trainers a useful question to come back to:
What is this learner having to work at that has nothing to do with what they’re here to learn?
Before the learning
A learner might be trying to interpret vague joining instructions, worrying about surprise participation, deciding whether to disclose a need or navigating an unfamiliar building.
During the learning
They might be managing noise, holding several verbal instructions in working memory, monitoring their facial expression, forcing eye contact, processing information after the group has moved on, or trying to appear conventionally engaged.
After the learning
Some people may need significant time and energy to recover afterwards. This extra demand connects closely with the wider challenge of reducing cognitive load at work.
This is where trainers can have a real blind spot. Somebody can enjoy a workshop, learn from it and give you excellent feedback, while still leaving exhausted by what it took to participate. Good feedback tells you something valuable, of course, but it doesn’t tell you everything.
What We’ve Started Noticing in Real Workshops
This hasn’t just stayed as a design principle on paper. It’s changed the conversations we’re having with trainers.
During a recent two-day face-to-face VTT programme, we worked with a team of trainers led by Dan Pilling, Customer and People Training Manager at a large UK utilities company. Some delivered management development and soft skills training, while others ran much longer classroom-based programmes.
The group wanted clarity, but the most useful shift was accepting that a trainer won’t always be able to explain every behaviour or design a perfect response for every scenario. One participant put it beautifully:
“I think I was looking for clarity for every scenario but I learnt that it isn’t going to be perfect and that’s okay.”
We have also seen the thinking travel beyond a workshop. Three Cornwall Council participants who responded to a written follow-up survey after VTT’s three-hour workshop described adding audio to e-learning, making ‘now and next’ expectations clearer, adapting group activities, and applying the same thinking to recruitment and wider communication.
As one participant explained:
“It’s not one big change, but more a different mindset when designing and communicating things.”
That’s what I hope people take from this work. Not a list of worthy intentions, but better day-to-day decisions.
Don’t Mistake Visible Behaviour for Engagement
Trainers naturally look for clues. We notice who is speaking, looking at us, sitting still, smiling, taking notes or switching their camera on. The trouble starts when we treat those clues as a verdict.
| What you notice | What the behaviour could also mean |
| Camera off | Reducing visual or social load, managing the environment, connectivity problems or a simple preference |
| Fidgeting or moving | Regulating attention, discomfort, pain, energy or concentration |
| Silence | Thinking, processing, uncertainty about when to speak or preferring another contribution route |
| Repeated questions | Trying to make an unclear task concrete or checking working understanding |
| Limited eye contact | Listening in a way that takes less effort |
I have had to reconsider some of my own assumptions here, particularly around cameras in virtual training. The idea had been brewing for a while, but conversations with Hayley Brackley, who I sometimes co-facilitate with, were what finally convinced me to question how confidently I was reading camera use as engagement.
I still value the connection cameras can create. Seeing one another can make conversation feel more human, and there are times when camera use genuinely supports the learning activity. But I’m now much less likely to assume that camera-off means disengaged, or that camera-on automatically means somebody is learning. A camera gives you information, but it doesn’t give you the whole person.
What Does Neuroinclusive Learning Look Like in Practice?
The alternative to designing for a diagnosis is not designing for an imaginary average learner. It’s designing for the edges: asking where your default experience may create avoidable friction, then building in options that make it easier for more people to access the learning.
Clarity and choice have to work together. I still don’t think the answer is to offer every possible contribution route at once. If I ask a question and say, “Pop it in chat, speak up or raise your hand,” people can end up wondering what they’re meant to do and waiting to see what everybody else does.
Instead, I will usually give one clear primary direction: “Put your answers in the chat box.” I give people a few moments and then add, “If you would prefer to speak, feel free to raise your hand or unmute.” On another question, I might do the opposite: ask for verbal contributions first, pause, then make it clear that anyone who would rather use chat can do that too. People know the expected route, but they also have explicit permission to contribute another way.
Clear route first. Explicit alternative second.
I’m becoming more intentional about this face to face as well. At the beginning of a longer programme, I now explicitly tell people that they can stand up or move if they need to and, if the room isn’t working for them or they’d like something changed, they can come and speak to me. It seems small, but permission matters.
Other useful choices include:
- Send clear joining instructions that explain what will happen, what participants need and how they will be invited to contribute.
- Make the agenda and task instructions visible, not only verbal.
- Give people thinking time before asking for an answer.
- Avoid surprise participation where it is not essential to the learning outcome.
- Plan movement and breaks rather than treating stillness as the price of attention.
- Keep materials clear and uncluttered, with enough time to process them.
- Treat camera use as a design decision, not a moral test.
This thinking has much in common with CAST’s Universal Design for Learning guidance, which encourages multiple means of engagement, representation, action and expression. That doesn’t mean offering an unlimited menu in every activity. It means making intentional choices instead of assuming one route works equally well for everybody.
Inclusive Defaults and Individual Adjustments Do Different Jobs
It’s tempting to treat inclusive design as a way to avoid individual adjustments, but that isn’t the aim. Inclusive defaults can remove some unnecessary barriers before anyone has to ask, while individual support responds to the needs of a particular person. We need both.
A visible agenda may reduce uncertainty for many learners, but one learner may still need the materials in advance. Offering chat and spoken contribution may widen participation, while somebody may still need a different format or extra processing time.
At VTT, accessible slide design and clear joining instructions are already part of how we work. The newer shift isn’t a formal policy change. It’s that I’m more intentional in the moment about permission, participation routes and what I’m assuming from the behaviour I can see.
Requirements around disability and workplace adjustments vary by country, so trainers and L&D teams should use the right local guidance rather than trying to interpret the law themselves. UK readers can find current information through ACAS and GOV.UK.
Start With One Thoughtful Change
Neuroinclusive learning doesn’t require you to redesign every programme by next Tuesday. Pick one upcoming learning experience and look at it in three stages:
| Stage | One useful question |
| Before | What could you make clearer or more predictable before people arrive? |
| During | Where are you relying on one narrow picture of participation or engagement? |
| After | How could you ask about friction, not only satisfaction? |
Then make one change, see what happens, ask what helped and keep improving. The goal isn’t perfect expertise. It’s better noticing, more thoughtful choices and a willingness to learn from the people in front of you.
Use the Neuroinclusive Learning Design Check
The Neuroinclusive Learning Design Check helps you review a learning experience before, during and after delivery. It brings together practical prompts for making the unknown known, designing different participation routes, looking beyond visible behaviour, listening for barriers and choosing one improvement.
If your organisation wants to build this capability across its trainers, facilitators and learning designers, VTT’s Neuroinclusive Learning Advanced Train the Trainer Masterclass turns the principles into practical design and facilitation choices.
Frequently Asked Questions
Neuroinclusive learning is an approach to learning design and facilitation that notices and reduces unnecessary barriers, builds in useful clarity, flexibility and choice, and responds to individual needs without stereotyping people by diagnosis.
No. A diagnosis may be important to the individual and to formal support, but trainers don’t need to know or infer it before making learning more inclusive. Ask what would help and respond to the need you can observe or the person describes.
Start with inclusive defaults. Clear instructions, visible agendas, thinking time, structured participation choices, accessible materials and reduced surprise can remove barriers without requiring anybody to disclose personal information.
There isn’t one rule for every session. Cameras can support connection and some learning activities, but camera-off shouldn’t automatically be read as disengagement. Decide what the activity genuinely requires, explain why and provide flexibility where possible.
Inclusive learning design reduces avoidable barriers in the default experience, while individual adjustments respond to a particular person’s needs. Good neuroinclusive learning uses inclusive design without assuming it removes the need for individual support.
Examples include clear pre-work, visible agendas and task instructions, one clear contribution route followed by explicit permission to use another, thinking time, planned breaks, less cluttered materials, flexible camera expectations and feedback questions that ask what made participation harder than it needed to be.
