How to Self-Advocate in Education Without Feeling Like a Burden

So, you’ve finally summoned the courage to email your teacher and request that thing—the one you know will make your life ten times more manageable. Maybe it’s an extension. Maybe it’s access to slides in advance. Maybe it’s just the chance to not have to group project your way into despair. You send the email. You wait. And while you wait, that old familiar voice creeps in: “Was that too much? Did I just make things harder for them? Am I being a problem?”

Let me stop you right there.

You are not a burden.

You are a human being with a brain that works a little differently—and, might I add, often brilliantly. You are allowed to have needs. You are allowed to take up space. And you are certainly allowed to ask for support in an institution that is meant to educate you, not exhaust you.

But I get it. The act of self-advocacy, especially for autistic and ADHD students, can feel like walking a tightrope in a spotlight. It’s exhausting. It’s vulnerable. And it often comes with the sneaky pressure to prove you’re “disabled enough,” “competent enough,” or—my personal favourite—“polite and grateful enough” for your needs to be taken seriously.

So let’s reframe this whole experience, shall we? Let’s stop playing the “good student with quiet struggles” and start owning our right to access education without having to apologise for it.

Why It Feels So Hard to Ask

First, a bit of context. If you’ve grown up being labelled as difficult, disruptive, or “a bit much,” you’ve likely developed a sixth sense for whether people are actually listening—or just tolerating you. Many of us learned early that advocating for ourselves came with consequences: side-eyes, exclusion, or the dreaded “we all have struggles” deflection.

Now add to that the academic environment, where independence and “grit” are treated like the holy grail. You’re supposed to power through. Manage on your own. Sink or swim, preferably while smiling and submitting coursework on time.

Against that backdrop, saying “Actually, I need something different” can feel like a revolutionary act. And that’s because it is. You’re stepping outside the expected script, and that’s uncomfortable—for everyone.

But here’s the kicker: discomfort does not mean you’re wrong. It just means the system was not designed with you in mind. You’re not the problem. You’re the proof that the system needs to do better.

The Burden of Proving You’re Not a Burden

Now, let’s talk about that weird guilt spiral that follows every accommodation request.

You might find yourself explaining in detail—sometimes excruciating detail—why you need a break, an extension, or a different way to participate. You overcompensate with politeness. You apologise for the inconvenience. You reassure them that you really are trying your best.

And all of that effort? It’s not coming from entitlement. It’s coming from internalised ableism.

At some point, you absorbed the idea that you have to earn your place in the room. That your presence is conditional on performance. That being supported is a favour, not a right.

Let me be very clear: none of that is true.

Support is not a reward for good behaviour. It is not something you need to “deserve.” It is a basic, reasonable expectation in an institution that claims to serve diverse learners. And yes—you get to have needs even when you’re doing well. You don’t have to be in crisis to ask for support.

Self-Advocacy Doesn’t Mean “Doing It Alone”

One of the great myths about self-advocacy is that it’s all on you. That if you just learn to ask the right way, at the right time, in the right tone, people will help. And if they don’t? Well, maybe you just weren’t assertive or prepared enough.

No.

Self-advocacy is not about being the perfect neurodivergent student. It’s about communicating your needs with clarity and self-respect—and the institution meeting you halfway. It’s a two-way street. Or, at the very least, it should be.

If you’re stuck in a loop of requesting the same support repeatedly, or feeling like your needs are constantly questioned or minimised, that’s not a reflection of your failure to advocate properly. That’s a sign of an inaccessible system, plain and simple.

And remember: just because your needs aren’t visible doesn’t mean they’re invalid. ADHD and autism are often dynamic and context-dependent. What you can manage on Monday might be unmanageable by Friday. That doesn’t make you inconsistent. It makes you human.

Boundaries Are Not Optional

Let’s talk about boundaries, shall we? Because self-advocacy is not just about asking for help—it’s about knowing where your line is.

You are allowed to say, “This doesn’t work for me.” You are allowed to say, “I cannot do this without compromising my mental health.” You are allowed to say, “No.”

And no, that doesn’t make you difficult. It makes you clear. Which is terrifying to people who are used to students saying yes at any cost.

Start with small, direct scripts. Write them down if you need to. For example: “Because I experience executive dysfunction, I benefit from task breakdowns and regular check-ins. Would it be possible to structure the assignment this way?” or “I find group discussions overwhelming when they’re unstructured. Could I contribute in writing, or have questions sent in advance?”

You don’t need to justify your entire existence. You’re not applying for permission to have needs. You’re simply stating them.

You Deserve To Be Here

Let’s be honest: educational spaces weren’t exactly built with neurodivergent brains in mind. But you are here anyway. You’re navigating inaccessible systems with creativity, grit, and likely a collection of spreadsheets, alarms, and coping rituals that would rival a NASA launch team.

And you are not a burden.

You are a student with a brain that deserves support—not because you’ve jumped through hoops, not because you’ve earned it through hardship, but because accessibility is a baseline, not a bonus.

So keep advocating. Not perfectly. Not without nerves. But with the deep knowing that your needs are real, your boundaries are valid, and your voice belongs in every classroom, lecture hall, and email thread.

Self-advocacy isn’t about proving you’re worth the effort.

It’s about believing—maybe for the first time—that you already are.