Inclusion Is Not One-Size-Fits-All: Belonging, Choice, and the Least Restrictive Environment

Inclusion is often discussed as though it has one appearance: a neurodivergent child sitting in a general education classroom beside neurotypical peers for the entire school day. For many children, that setting—when paired with meaningful support—is exactly where they learn, build relationships, and thrive. For others, the same classroom may be so loud, socially demanding, fast-paced, or poorly supported that most of their energy is spent trying to remain regulated rather than learning. That does not mean inclusion has failed. It means we have defined inclusion too narrowly. True inclusion is not simply being allowed into a room, it is having access to communication, instruction, relationships, safety, dignity, and real participation. Sometimes that happens in a large general education classroom. Sometimes it happens through a combination of general and specialized settings. Sometimes a smaller, neurodivergent-centered environment is the least restrictive place because it removes the barriers that were restricting the child everywhere else.

Inclusion can be the right fit

Children with higher support needs have historically been denied access to neighborhood schools, academic content, extracurricular activities, and relationships with low support need peers. Inclusive education developed in response to that exclusion, and its importance should not be minimized. Under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), public agencies must educate children with disabilities alongside nondisabled children to the maximum extent appropriate. Removal from the regular educational environment should occur only when satisfactory education cannot be achieved there, even with supplementary aids and services. Importantly, the law says “to the maximum extent appropriate,” not “in the general education classroom at all costs.” Placement must be based on the individual child—not a disability label, a school’s staffing model, or an ideological preference. (U.S. Department of Education, 34 C.F.R. § 300.114)

When implemented well, inclusion may offer:

• access to grade-level curriculum and high expectations;

• natural opportunities to develop friendships with a broad range of peers;

• participation in school traditions, clubs, arts, sports, and community life;

• opportunities for students of all support needs to learn with and from one another; and

• a sense of membership in the wider school community.

But successful inclusion requires more than placement. Research on autistic students identifies environmental adaptations, individualized support, knowledgeable staff, collaboration, predictable routines, and attention to sensory and social needs as important parts of inclusive practice. It also cautions against putting all responsibility on the autistic student to change in order to fit the existing environment. (Petersson-Bloom & Holmqvist, 2022) In other words, inclusion is not placing a child in an unchanged environment and waiting for the child to adapt. The environment must adapt, too.

Physical presence is not the same as belonging

A child can spend every minute in a general education classroom and still be isolated.

They may sit beside peers without being able to communicate with them. They may be present for instruction that is inaccessible. They may be disciplined for sensory distress, prevented from moving or stimming, or praised for appearing quiet while internally overwhelmed. They may be assigned an adult who completes work for them or inadvertently separates them from classmates. They may be tolerated without ever being known. Research describing autistic students’ school experiences documents bullying, social exclusion, loneliness, and isolation even when students attend mainstream settings. (Holmes, 2022) Studies also identify sensory and social features of mainstream secondary schools as significant barriers for many autistic students. (McKinlay et al., 2024) This is why we must ask more than, “Is the child in the general education classroom?” We must also ask:

• Can the child access the instruction?

• Can they communicate in the ways available to them?

• Do they feel physically and emotionally safe?

• Are their sensory needs respected?

• Are they learning, or merely surviving the day?

• Do they have authentic relationships rather than only adult-managed proximity?

• Can they be themselves without constantly masking?

• What does the child communicate—through words, behavior, body language, or an AAC system—about the setting?

A placement should not be called inclusive when the price of admission is chronic distress or the suppression of a child’s identity.

What autistic students say inclusion feels like

Research about autistic education has too often relied primarily on the observations of adults. Parents, teachers, and clinicians hold important information, particularly when a child communicates without speech or needs extensive support. But no discussion of inclusion is complete without taking autistic people’s own experiences seriously—and without making research participation accessible to people who communicate in different ways. When researchers have asked autistic students directly, their accounts have challenged the idea that inclusion can be measured by classroom location. In Craig Goodall’s qualitative study of 12 autistic young people for whom mainstream education was difficult, students described inclusion as a subjective experience rather than a particular placement. The study concluded that mainstream school was not appropriate for every autistic young person and that, from the students’ perspectives, inclusion was not synonymous with mainstream placement. (Goodall, 2020) A systematic review of autistic young people’s mainstream-school experiences found recurring reports of loneliness and isolation. Students said that understanding teachers and support staff mattered: they valued adults who recognized individual needs, maintained high expectations, showed genuine interest, and responded without shouting or irritation. (Horgan et al., 2023) Other research involving autistic students who had experienced school avoidance or exclusion described noisy, complex environments, poor understanding of autism, harmful peer relationships, inappropriate responses to distress, and breakdowns between families and schools. Yet the same research found that autistic students could successfully attend—and even enjoy—school when appropriate care and support were in place. (Gray, Hill, & Pellicano, 2023) These perspectives do not produce one universal autistic opinion. Some autistic students strongly prefer learning with a broad mix of peers. Some prefer specialist or neurodivergent-majority settings. Some want both at different times. The consistent lesson is that adults should not decide what counts as inclusion without asking the people whose lives are most affected. Listening must also extend beyond spoken interviews. Schools can seek a student’s perspective through AAC, writing, drawing, visual choices, supported communication, observation across settings, and patterns of approach, avoidance, engagement, and regulation. The goal is not to make behavior speak for a child when the child can speak for themselves. It is to ensure that students with significant communication needs are not erased from a movement built in the name of inclusion.

The least restrictive environment is individual

“Least restrictive environment,” or LRE, is frequently treated as another name for full-time general education. Legally and educationally, it is more individualized than that.

IDEA requires a continuum of alternative placements, including regular classes, special classes, special schools, home instruction, and instruction in hospitals or institutions. It also requires supplementary services to be considered alongside regular-class placement. (U.S. Department of Education, 34 C.F.R. § 300.115) The existence of a continuum matters because children do not all need the same intensity, environment, or combination of services. For one child, a separate classroom may unnecessarily limit access to peers and grade-level learning. For another, a smaller specialized classroom may provide the communication support, sensory regulation, explicit instruction, therapeutic integration, pacing, and staffing needed to make learning possible. Some students may thrive with a blended schedule. Needs may also change over time, which means placement should be revisited rather than treated as a permanent statement about the child’s potential. The “least restrictive” setting should therefore be understood in relation to the barriers a particular child experiences. A crowded classroom may look less restrictive on paper while functionally restricting a child’s ability to communicate, regulate, participate, and learn. A specialized environment may look more separate while giving that child greater independence, more successful communication, deeper relationships, and broader access to education. It does mean that location alone cannot tell us whether an education is inclusive or restrictive.

When separation may support safety—and when it does not

There are times when distance from a group is needed to protect a neurodivergent child or the people around them. Saying this does not make a child dangerous, bad, or less deserving of inclusion. It recognizes that safety is a human need and that distress behavior often communicates an unmet need, sensory overload, fear, pain, loss of control, or an environment that has exceeded the person’s capacity in that moment.

A child may need access to a smaller or separate space when:

• noise, crowding, lighting, touch, or unpredictable movement has produced severe sensory overload;

• the child is trying to leave an unsafe area, running toward traffic, climbing, or otherwise unable to recognize an immediate environmental danger;

• the child is in acute distress and is hitting, biting, kicking, throwing dangerous objects, or engaging in self-injury;

• another student is escalating the situation, bullying the child, invading needed personal space, or targeting a sensory vulnerability;

• medical, feeding, toileting, communication, or personal-care needs require privacy and specialized support;

• focused instruction or therapy cannot be delivered effectively or respectfully in the larger group; or

• the child asks for solitude, a quiet room, reduced social demands, or a familiar regulated setting.

In these circumstances, separation should first mean space, reduced demands, and support—not punishment. A calm adult can reduce language, remove hazards and unnecessary people, offer communication and sensory supports, protect privacy, and wait without demanding eye contact, apologies, explanations, or immediate compliance. Peers may sometimes be moved instead of requiring the distressed child to move. The safest response is the one that reduces danger while preserving the greatest possible autonomy and dignity.

Safety planning should be proactive rather than waiting for crisis. A neuroaffirming plan asks what happened to and around the child, not simply what is “wrong” with the child. It may include:

• identifying sensory, communication, medical, academic, and relational contributors;

• providing predictable routines, visual information, movement, AAC, breaks, food, water, and access to trusted adults;

• teaching and honoring a functional way to request “stop,” “break,” “help,” “no,” or “leave”;

• adjusting work, transitions, group size, physical space, and demands before overload occurs;

• using collaborative, individualized safety plans developed with the child whenever possible and with the family and relevant professionals;

• ensuring that staff are trained in prevention, de-escalation, disability, trauma, communication, and the least restrictive emergency response permitted by law; and

• reviewing every emergency response to determine what environmental or support changes could prevent recurrence.

Repeated crises are not proof that a child needs more control. They are a signal that the environment, supports, communication access, health needs, or placement must be reassessed. Separation may be protective in a particular moment or may form part of an appropriate specialized program, but it should always serve a clear educational, regulatory, privacy, or safety purpose.

Sometimes neurodivergent people do not want to be “included”

There is another truth that is often left out of the conversation: not every neurodivergent person wants constant participation in neurotypical spaces or social activities. Some people prefer solitude. Some feel more comfortable communicating online, through shared interests, or in smaller groups. Some want friendships but not frequent social contact. Some value time with other neurodivergent people because they can communicate more naturally, explain less, mask less, and experience a sense of cultural belonging. Some do not want to attend the dance, join the group game, eat in a noisy cafeteria, or participate in an activity merely because adults believe participation looks more “normal.” That preference should not be confused with exclusion imposed by others.

Inclusion should guarantee the right, access, accommodations, and invitation to participate. It should not create an obligation to socialize, perform normalcy, tolerate sensory pain, or accept every invitation. Disability self-advocates have consistently connected genuine community inclusion with choice, control, and self-determination—not physical presence alone. (Autistic Self Advocacy Network) For children who cannot yet clearly state a preference, adults must be careful listeners. Communication may ap

pear through approach and avoidance, changes in regulation, attendance, sleep, physical symptoms, behavior, or engagement. Behavior should not automatically be treated as refusal to comply; it may be information about an inaccessible environment. Families and professionals must interpret that information thoughtfully while continuing to offer opportunity, teach skills, provide accommodations, and avoid making a temporary difficulty into a permanent limitation.

A better definition of inclusion

Inclusion is not sameness. It is not one room, one schedule, one teaching method, or one acceptable way to participate.

Meaningful inclusion means:

• presuming competence without denying support needs;

• providing access without demanding conformity;

• maintaining high expectations without ignoring disability;

• offering relationships without forcing social performance;

• protecting a person’s right to participate and their right to decline;

• prioritizing safety;

• facilitating the ability to access learning for all students;

• listening to the student and family when evaluating success; and

• selecting an environment based on the individual rather than the appearance of inclusion.

The goal should not be to make every neurodivergent child fit into the same space. The goal should be to build enough responsive, high-quality options that every child can learn, communicate, belong, and grow. For some students, that will mean full inclusion in a general education classroom with appropriate supports. For others, it will mean a smaller or specialized program. For many, it will mean a flexible combination that changes with their needs. None of those choices should be judged solely by how “typical” the setting appears.

The most inclusive question is not, “How do we get this child into the room?” It is, “What does this child need in order to have genuine access, agency, belonging, and the opportunity to learn?” When we begin there, inclusion stops being a place—and becomes a practice.

References

• Holmes, S. C. (2022). Inclusion, autism spectrum, students’ experiences. Review the article.

• Goodall, C. (2020). Inclusion is a feeling, not a place: A qualitative study exploring autistic young people’s conceptualisations of inclusion. Review the article.

• Gray, L., Hill, V., & Pellicano, E. (2023). “He’s shouting so loud but nobody’s hearing him”: A multi-informant study of autistic pupils’ experiences of school non-attendance and exclusion. Review the article.

• Horgan, F., et al. (2023). A systematic review of the experiences of autistic young people enrolled in mainstream second-level schools. Review the article.

• McKinlay, M., et al. (2024). Which psycho-social-environmental factors do autistic students identify as contributing to their educational experiences? Review the article.

• Petersson-Bloom, L., & Holmqvist, M. (2022). Strategies in supporting inclusive education for autistic students—A systematic review of qualitative research results. Review the article.

• Autistic Self Advocacy Network. Person-Centered Planning and Practice Project: Comments on choice, control, and community inclusion. Read the comments.