In 2021, emerging from the shadows of Covid, I paused to consider the role of nature close to home in Oxford, and how it contributes in no small part to my mental health and physical wellbeing. A Life More Local felt like a fitting theme at the time; after all, we couldn’t really go anywhere or do anything. Now, my thoughts turn to Neurodiversity Celebration Week 2025 and the role we, as Landscape Architects, play in shaping more inclusive environments. But there’s one problem — something anyone living in a neurodiverse household will appreciate: it’s difficult to stop and think!
Our eldest daughter, as she frequently reminds us, “is going to be a teenager next year.” Back in 2020, those blissfully happy (cough) wanderings in nature were pre-ASD diagnosis, but not without their challenges. Has 11 years of witnessing the emotional and sensory realities of neurodiversity — the highs, the lows, and everything in between — changed the way I think as a designer? Absolutely.
Research in Landscape Architecture and related disciplines suggests that well-designed environments can positively change how those with autism experience and navigate spaces that they usually find overwhelming. With the rising number of people diagnosed with autism, this level of inclusivity should be a given rather than a nice to have. Plenty has been written from an academic perspective and the statistical evidence is widely available. With that in mind, this isn't a detailed research paper – this is a personal perspective.
‘Do you want to go into town?’ A seemingly innocuous question. Or not. Oxford has plenty to offer, and over time I’ve grown to appreciate the rougher edges alongside the more widely known postcard image. Let's ignore for a moment the lack of safe and attractive pedestrianised spaces, the uneasy relationship between buses, taxis, cyclists, scooters and pedestrians, or the tired paving and vacant shop fronts. Oxford has an incredible heritage and some truly stunning buildings, streets and parks. But they’re crowded, unpredictable and quite simply overwhelming for some.
Noise, light, sound and animation. Buzzwords so often celebrated in placemaking; vibrant, dynamic, surprising are a world away from inclusive for many.
We can manage a trip to Westgate — perhaps more through gradual familiarity than specific design, though there is a structure to it, a predictability. It’s a new space, and somewhat of an anomaly amongst the irregularities and quirks of old Oxford. It is light, spacious, ordered and clean. We can cycle there along the river from home, (there's no shortage of cycle spaces – I still remember counting and recounting them in every layout conceivable!), but stepping out into the city beyond is a struggle. Hypersensitivity and emotional regulation are easily tested by the gauntlet of a bustling city street, people, transport, music and sounds.
Witnessing the transformational effect nature has on my daughter reinforces my belief that we must bring more natural elements into our towns and cities for the benefit of all. There is much to discuss and better understand about scale, lines, pattern and sequence — a positive for the hypersensitive may differ for those with hyposensitivity, but these are the conversations we should be having. How does the predictability of a planting bed, with consistency of form, pattern and colour — all potentially beneficial for creating mental calm and regulation for the Neurodivergent — work alongside a need for plant communities that offer climate resilience, the age-old demand of ‘low maintenance’ and visual stimulation?
How do we balance quiet, restorative spaces within busy urban environments, without creating hidden spaces that bring with them their own issues of safety and inclusivity? How can important issues including Make Space for Girls work alongside design for neurodiversity to remove the obstacles that currently prevent so many from enjoying their public spaces?
Is a dynamic seasonal events strategy inclusive, and how can landscape spaces potentially contribute by providing areas of comfort and familiarity as a counter to inevitable change? Something that enriches the environment for many can at the same time trigger uncertainty and anxiety for those accustomed to the familiarity and predictability of a space. It’s never easy.
I don’t have all the answers. In truth, I barely have any of them.
Most of what I understand about neurodiversity in design comes from helping one child navigate the landscapes and streetscapes so many take for granted. But every day, I learn a little more about the real layers of inclusivity beyond access ramps, colour contrast, and tactile paving.
A structured thought piece on neurodiversity in Landscape Architecture should, in theory, start with a clear introduction, move neatly into well-informed recommendations, before wrapping up with a well-reasoned conclusion. I won’t judge myself too harshly if I haven’t achieved that. What I have achieved is what I set out to do—think about it, write about it, and, hopefully, keep the conversation going.
The more we reflect on the role of landscape in creating spaces that truly cater to everyone’s needs, the greater the awareness—and hopefully, the more action will follow. Until then, I will keep learning, with the hope that one day, for the benefit of my daughter and everyone navigating their own experience of neurodiversity, I can speak from an equally well-informed position
