For many families, places of worship are more than buildings. They are spaces of faith, culture, identity, community and belonging. Yet for autistic and neurodivergent people, aspects of worship, such as loud music, crowded rooms, bright lighting, unexpected touch and unspoken social expectations can create significant barriers to participation.These experiences may become even more complex at the intersections of neurodivergence, race, culture and faith. Behaviours such as covering one’s ears, rocking, avoiding eye contact or being unable to speak when overwhelmed can be misunderstood as rudeness, poor parenting, a lack of faith or even a spiritual problem. These interpretations can leave neurodivergent children and their families feeling judged within communities that should offer safety and acceptance.Although Sade’s Sunday is fictional, it reflects challenges experienced by many autistic people and their families. The story is not intended to criticise faith or religious communities. Instead, it invites us to consider how greater understanding and practical adjustments can make places of worship more accessible. Sometimes inclusion begins with something as simple as a quiet space, flexible expectations and a willingness to understand what a person’s behaviour may be communicating.
Sade’s Sunday
Sade becomes overwhelmed during a loud praise and worship session. Some adults interpret her rocking, crying or covering her ears as a spiritual problem. Her mother initially feels caught between protecting her daughter and avoiding judgement from the community.
A younger church leader recognises sensory overload and calmly helps Sade’ outside. The story could explore the difficult distinction between faith itself and harmful misunderstandings within faith communities.
Central message: autism is not caused by weak faith, poor parenting or spiritual failure.
——-
“Good morning,” “Good morning, Pastor,” “Ah, good morning, Auntie Iyabo. “
Sade watches as her mummy walks through the aisle, greeting all the adults at church.
Sade trails hurriedly behind her mummy, copying her.
She replays her mummy’s lesson in her head.
“Remember to greet everyone and kneel. I don’t want anybody thinking my daughter is rude. Just copy me, ok?”
“Yes, Mummy, I’m a good girl, not a rude girl”.
She looks down at the red church aisle carpet, waiting to hear a word of approval.
“I hope I am doing it right. I don’t want to get in trouble with mummy.”
“Good morning, Sade. How are you?”
Sade looks up quickly, just enough to catch Auntie Mildred smiling.
“I’m fine, Auntie.” She smiles.
She looks back down at the floor. It’s easier that way.
“Your daughter is so well trained”.
When they reach the front, her mum sits down. In the wrong row. A sense of panic tightens in her chest. They must sit in the 7th row. The Pastor said Number 7 represents completion. Sade likes completion.
“Mummy, it’s this row “, Sade says as she points. Initially, her mother looks annoyed as the other adults in the row look back and forth between Sade and her mother. But then her mother smiles.
“Oh yes, that’s our favourite row”.
“Yes, Mummy, I put a sticker on the back of the first chair”.
As they settle down, the Pastor comes out and begins the prayers, and they take out their Bibles and notebooks. Sade carefully places her Bible and her mother’s at the back of the chair, so they have everything they need.
“Come on, the Lord can’t hear you!”
Everyone starts praying louder and louder.
Sade can’t hear her own thoughts. All her learnt prayers get jumbled up in her brain. Her legs hurt.
“Sorry, God. I’m sorry, God. I can’t hear my prayers. Why are they shouting when you can hear us all? Hmmmmmm”.
Sade’s mother doesn’t hear her daughter praying. She looks down to see her daughter sitting, rocking, humming and covering her ears. She looks around and sees the gazes of those in nearby rows fixed on them.
“Maybe she needs prayer,” One Auntie whispered. “Proper prayer.”
Sade knows that look. It means Mummy wants to disagree but is afraid of appearing disrespectful.
“Will you stop that? People are looking at us,” her mother says as she searches through Sade’s backpack. Her mother stops searching and closes her eyes for a moment.
“Dang!”
Sade knows what that means. Mummy has forgotten the noise-cancelling headphones again.
This is why it’s important to get up at the same time every day. I keep telling her.
Her mother sits down and whispers to her.
“It’s okay. Just try and sit still. You can cover your ears until the praying and singing stops”.
“I want you to sing a song of praise unto the Lord”, the Pastor instructs loudly.
“Oh no”.
Sade and her mum stare at each other. Their panic mirrored in each other’s faces.
The drummer strikes the first beat. It lands inside Sade’s chest. The keyboard joins in, then the microphone squeals as the choir sings their first note. Every sound seems to arrive at once. She presses her palms harder against her ears, but the noises travel through her hands. The red carpet blurs beneath her.
“Please stop”, she whispers. They do not hear.
Then the sound escapes from her as a scream. Her mother pulls her close to console her, but even Mummy’s arms cannot block out the noise.
One of the younger children’s church teachers jogs over, gives Sade and her mum a gentle look, and whispers.
“I can take her to the quiet room, ma”.
Sade’s mum looks down at Sade, who nods profusely. She wants to get out of here right now.
Her mother looks back at the teacher and nods.
“Thank you”
——-
“Auntie May, what is this room?”
Sade has never been in this room before. She can’t believe what she sees.
Her eyes bulge as she looks around a moderately decorated room with tables and chairs, beanbags, and even an attached sensory room lit with flashing blue lights. A big screen on the wall shows the service in the main church, but no sound comes out. Sade looks at Auntie May’s face and pauses.
Auntie May studies Sade’s uncertain expression. Then, she smiles and hands her headphones.
“This is the quiet room,” Auntie May says. “The church made it for children who sometimes need less noise. You can watch the service on the screen, listen through the headphones or have everything switched off. You choose.”
Sade, overwhelmed with emotions, can’t find her words. She cannot access her words when big emotions come. Fearing Auntie May would mistake it for rudeness, she ran to her and hugged her tight.
“Do you want the service on?” Auntie May asks.
Sade shakes her head. “Not yet.”
She grabs the headphones and sits in front of the iPads at a table. It doesn’t feel right. She looks around. There it is. She runs to the bean bag hidden in the corner. The perfect texture. The perfect place. The beanbag holds her firmly. Here, nobody tells her to stop rocking or hide her dancing fingers. She pushes her back deeply into the beanbag and whispers the prayer she lost beneath everybody else’s voices. God can hear her now. She is sure of it.
—— END
Bio
Sope Odusami is a writer, Speech and Language Therapist and neurodevelopmental clinician specialising in autism and ADHD. Drawing on her professional expertise and lived experience as an autistic and ADHD woman, she writes about the intersections of neurodivergence, race, culture, faith and belonging. Through fiction and advocacy, Sope seeks to challenge harmful misconceptions and illuminate the inner experiences that are often overlooked when neurodivergent behaviour is misunderstood. She is the founder of Empower Neurodevelopmental Services, where she promotes compassionate, culturally responsive and neuroaffirming practice.
Sope Odusami
Highly Specialist Speech and Language Therapist and Neurodevelopmental Clinician
Founder, Empower Neurodevelopmental Services
Website- https://empowerneurodevelopmentalservices.com/
LinkedIn www.linkedin.com/in/sope-odusami-6475999b
Link to Peculiar- https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/peculiar-part-1-sope-odusami-qf7oe
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