What If They’re Not Broken—Just Misplaced?

I’m in the Highlands of Scotland right now, living the dream I’ve always held quietly in my chest.

I’m sat on a grassy bank, birds singing their own kind of wisdom around me. The sun is pushing through the mountain ridges like it’s greeting me personally. Despite the chaos of knowing we’ll be heading back soon, for the first time in a long time, I am at peace.

We’ve spent the last two days exploring Aviemore—climbing the very mountain I’m now staring at, taking in the whole town at our own pace, soaking up every scent, every sound, every shift in energy. And now it’s Monday, and we’ve done what we never seem to make time for—we’ve slowed down. We’re basking. We’re being.

And in that stillness, a thought hit me hard.

My brain thrives here. But it’s not just mine.

My son—my beautiful, creative, wild-hearted son—becomes someone else here. Not less of himself, but more. Back home, in our boxed-in lives, he lives through computer games. It’s his escape, his structure, his sanctuary from the noise of a world that doesn’t make sense to him.

But here? Here he climbs, he explores, he asks questions, he notices details, he laughs louder, and he breathes deeper. He is connected. He is grounded. He is alive in a way I rarely see back home.

And it got me thinking…

Are We Creating the Problem?

The rise in neurodivergence. The overstimulation. The anxiety. The meltdowns. The disconnection.

What if it’s not them? What if it’s us?

What if our homes, our schools, our concrete jungles are starving our children of the exact stimulation their brains are wired to crave? Not the synthetic kind—but the real, raw, grounded, rhythmic kind that only nature can give?

What if these children aren’t struggling because they’re different—but because we’ve removed them from the environments they were meant to thrive in?

What if they’re not broken… just misplaced?

I don’t have the full answers, but I do know this: out here, in the vastness of the Highlands, my child is flourishing. And I wonder how many others would too, if only they were given the chance to reconnect with the Earth that’s always been waiting for them.

Maybe the revolution starts not in systems or treatments—but in remembering what we really are.

Wild. Curious. Connected. Free.

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A Glimpse Backwards

When I was a child, I explored every inch of my hometown. I wasn’t inside staring at a screen—I was out jumping off cliffs into freezing pit ponds, running barefoot through muddy fields, and climbing trees like they were ladders to another world. That was when I felt the most alive. The most free.

But then adulthood hits—and it all becomes a memory. A past you either let fade… or cling to with everything you’ve got. I hold on like it’s the last lifeline in a storm. Because if I let go completely, I worry I’ll drown in the noise.

And now? Our children are born into this noise. Into concrete. Into screens. Into overstimulation. From birth.

There’s no stillness. No dirt under their nails. No rhythm in their breath.

They’re screaming for something—but no one’s listening.

And it makes me wonder… Are the increases in neurodivergence really a flaw in them? Or are they a warning sign that something vital has been lost?

Maybe what we’re seeing isn’t disorder. Maybe it’s a disconnect—from the Earth, from our nature, from ourselves.

And maybe the cure isn’t more control—but more freedom. More forests. More space. More remembering.