What’s in a Name?
What’s in a Name? Reflections on ND-Affirming Therapy, Ethics, and Self-Curious Practice
Last year, shortly after moving fully into private practice, I changed the name of my work from Processing Neurodivergence to Self Curious Therapy. It happened quickly, almost instinctively, and it wasn’t a branding or business decision. It was ethical, relational, and deeply reflective of the work as it actually unfolds.
At the time, Processing Neurodivergence made sense. Much of my work is neuroaffirmative, and I continue to work closely with autistic and ADHD clients. Neurodivergence is not a side note; it shapes how I think, listen, pace, and relate. That hasn’t changed.
What changed was my growing awareness that the name suggested a focus that wasn’t at the heart of what people were seeking.
Because, in reality, clients rarely come to therapy simply to process a diagnosis or improve functioning. Even in explicitly neuroaffirmative spaces, the work is almost always about selfhood, identity, and relational meaning:
Who am I really?
What parts of me have been shaped by trauma, masking, or adaptation?
What patterns am I ready to let go of, and what do I wish to carry forward?
In short, the centre of gravity of therapy is identity, grief, attachment, and meaning — not skills or life hacks. Calling the work Processing Neurodivergence risked implying that therapy’s primary aim is fixing or optimising, rather than understanding and exploring the self.
That’s why I moved to Self Curious Therapy. The new name signals a relational, exploratory approach: curiosity about the self, in all its complexity, within the context of lived experience. It acknowledges neurodivergence without collapsing the person into their diagnosis, and it separates therapy from coaching, which is typically more skills- and outcome-focused.
Neuroaffirming Therapy: holding complexity without over-narrowing
One of the challenges I’ve noticed in ND-affirming therapy is the risk of over-narrowing. We can unintentionally frame clients primarily through their neurotype, which may feel validating at first but can inadvertently constrain their sense of self.
Neurodivergence shapes experience, yes. But it isn’t the entirety of a person’s identity. Focusing exclusively on diagnosis can overlook the trauma, relational patterns, grief, and existential questions that brought someone to therapy in the first place. Therapy is about exploring the self, not only validating the label.
Therapy vs. Coaching: purpose matters
Another distinction I’ve become increasingly conscious of is between therapy and coaching. Coaching often focuses on action, skills, and life improvement, and that has its place. Therapy, by contrast, often addresses questions that don’t have immediate solutions:
Why do I feel stuck?
How do I relate to loss, grief, or unfinished business?
What do my patterns of connection and disconnection reveal about me?
While therapeutic coaching exists, and I do offer it in certain contexts, the default work in therapy is about meaning-making, emotional exploration, and identity formation, rather than just “doing better” in measurable ways.
Creative and Expressive Modalities
For many neurodivergent clients, creative or expressive approaches (art, movement, music, writing, or improvisation) can be profoundly useful. These modalities allow exploration of identity, emotion, and relational patterns without relying solely on verbal narrative.
Incorporating creativity aligns naturally with a Self Curious approach: curiosity about the self can be embodied and imaginative, not only cognitive. It allows clients to access parts of their experience that are hard to articulate, and often offers fresh insight into patterns, desires, and unresolved grief.
At the same time, creativity in therapy must be intentional and ethical. It isn’t a gimmick or a “fun exercise”; it is a relational tool, carefully attuned to the client’s process and pace.
Ethics, visibility, and self-disclosure
Naming a practice isn’t only about signalling the work; it’s also about ethical clarity. Social media, workshops, and public visibility make this even more pressing. What does the name imply? How is the work framed in public?
Therapists share insights, lessons, or anonymised case material, sometimes even with consent, but context matters. Even well-meaning disclosures can shift perception, provoke projection, or alter relational dynamics. The name of your practice, like your public voice, is a subtle promise: it signals what clients can expect ethically, relationally, and emotionally.
Self-disclosure, too, carries nuance. What a therapist shares, about themselves, about the work, about their perspective, shapes the relational field. In hybrid or online spaces, these decisions become even more consequential, affecting trust, engagement, and the sense of safety in the room.
The market, neurodivergence, and the risk of over-simplification
Another layer to consider is the wider ecosystem in which therapy and neurodivergence meet: the market. There’s no escaping it, certain labels, keywords, and framing “sell” better online, in workshops, or in private practice listings. “Processing ADHD,” “Autism Coaching,” or “Neurodivergence Support” are immediately recognisable, but they carry an implicit promise: that the work is about the diagnosis itself, often in a relatively neat, digestible package.
Yet real therapy rarely fits into that neatness. Neurodivergence exists alongside trauma, attachment patterns, grief, and existential questions. Clients rarely arrive with a single, linear goal. Many have complex narratives built over years, perhaps decades, of assessment, masking, misdiagnosis, or life adaptation. Focusing solely on the “neurodivergence angle” risks simplifying these stories, inadvertently reducing someone’s lived experience to a label or checklist.
widely discussed terms like “ADHD,” “autism,” and “neurodiversity” — also has the potential to over‑sell simplicity and under‑represent complexity. For example, global online searches for “ADHD” have grown significantly in recent years, with UK search volume rising more than three‑and‑a‑half times between 2019 and 2023, and social media platforms showing millions of posts under hashtags like #ADHD and #autism.
While using searchable terminology can help make a practice discoverable and accessible, I’ve consciously steered away from relying on buzzwords alone, prioritising ethical clarity and depth instead. It’s a delicate balance: being visible where people are looking, while staying true to the relational, exploratory, and ethical heart of therapy.
By naming my practice Self Curious Therapy, I tried to resist the gravitational pull of marketing trends that might compress neurodivergent lives into easily digestible narratives. The name signals what I actually offer: a space for curiosity, depth, and relational exploration, not just a service that responds to a popular keyword.
Looking ahead, therapy is evolving. In 2025/2026, clients increasingly seek spaces that honour complexity, nuance, and intersectionality rather than quick fixes. Neuroaffirmative, trauma-informed, and identity-aware practices are more visible and in demand.
Technology is also reshaping access: online therapy, hybrid sessions, and online communities broaden who can participate, but bring new challenges for relational presence and ethical boundaries. Balancing accessibility, visibility, and depth is now a core skill for therapists navigating this landscape.
Language matters. What we name the work, the client, and the process shapes expectation, engagement, and perceived safety. ND-affirming therapy requires careful balancing of validation with exploration. Labels alone are not enough; the relational frame, ethical clarity, and invitation to self-curiosity must always accompany them.
Invitation to Dialogue
I’m curious how other therapists approach this:
How do you introduce your work — and why?
How do you balance ND-affirming language with the broader aims of therapy?
How do you navigate self-disclosure, public visibility, and ethics in your naming and marketing?
How do you integrate creative or expressive modalities without it feeling tokenistic?
How do you signal your purpose clearly without reducing the client to a label or outcome?
Naming a practice, like naming the work itself, is rarely neutral. It’s ethical, relational, and reflective of the values we bring to each session. I’d love to hear how others think about this — the names we give, the promises we imply, and the ethics we carry quietly behind them.
