What Desire Lines Teach Us About Neuroinclusion
What are desire lines?
There's something quietly powerful about this image.
A paved path curves neatly around the grass.
Next to it, a muddy track cuts straight across—the route
most people clearly prefer.
Urban planners call this a "desire line".
It's what happens when people ignore the design and make
their own way.
They’re not being rebellious.
They’re being honest.
And it’s that honesty that has everything to do with neuroinclusion.
Design vs. Reality
Planners built the official path based on assumptions.
Probably a diagram. Some logic. A neat idea of
how people "should" move through space.
But people knew better.
They made the route that worked for them.
That’s what many neurodivergent people do too.
We take the shortcut across the grass.
Not because we’re difficult. Because the long way doesn’t make
sense. It’s effortful, confusing, or just… not right.
Sometimes we’re told that shortcut is “wrong”.
We should just try harder to follow the expected route.
But what if the route never worked for us in the first place?
Desire Lines in the Workplace
Desire lines show up everywhere.
Not just on muddy lawns, but in how people work, communicate, plan
their day.
Here’s what that might look like in a neuroinclusive context:
- Someone uses voice notes instead of emails
- They start meetings five minutes late to regulate transitions
- They take walking breaks instead of sitting through another hour of overload
- They use visuals over words, or silence over small talk
It’s not about preference.
It’s about access.
And when systems don’t account for these paths, people end up burnt out—or excluded.
Why Neuroinclusion Means Letting People Lead
Too many systems are built with a single kind of brain in mind.
Linear. Verbal. Focused. Consistent.
But not everyone is like that.
Not everyone can be like that.
So people mask. They contort. They walk the long way round to avoid judgment.
Or they’re punished for
taking the route that actually makes sense to them.
Neuroinclusion starts when we stop forcing people to fit the design—and start redesigning to fit the people.
That means:
- Noticing when people carve their own paths
- Asking what they need, not what they’re doing “wrong”
- Making room for flexible ways of working, thinking, existing
- Letting function matter more than form
If ten people take the shortcut, it’s not a problem.
It’s feedback.
You Can’t Design for Inclusion from a Diagram
I see this in coaching all the time.
Clients think they’re failing because they can’t follow the route
others take.
But they’re not failing. They’re finding their own way.
That’s resilience.
The trouble is, we still reward compliance more than honesty.
If someone makes a new path that works better—shouldn’t we be curious about why?
Shouldn’t we take that seriously?
Neuroinclusion means moving from control to compassion.
From “stick to the path” to “what would
actually work better here?”
Let the Mud Be the Map
Look again at the photo.
The official path is smooth.
But the real path is used.
That’s the story.
Neuroinclusion isn’t about building prettier systems.
It’s about noticing the messy, human ones
already in use—and legitimising them.
Because where people walk, that’s where the path really is.
What now?
Look for the desire lines in your world.
Notice where people keep
walking—even if the path wasn't designed for them.
Then ask: what would it take to make that the official route?
That’s where inclusion begins.
Further Reading If You're Interested in Desire Lines
If the idea of desire lines caught your attention, here are some thoughtful reads that explore how they shape the world—and what they reveal about inclusion, design, and human behaviour:
- Desire
Lines: The Unofficial Pedestrian Paths That Shape The City
A deep dive into how urban planners are rethinking design based on where people actually walk, not just where they’re told to. - Designing for
Neurodiversity and Inclusion
Explores how office and public spaces can be reimagined to support neurodivergent needs—flexibility, comfort, and choice.
These aren't just design concepts. They’re invitations to listen—to what people show us when we stop telling them how they should move through the world.
Get in Touch
If this post spoke to you, or made you rethink how we design for real people, I’d love to hear from you.
Whether you're:
- navigating life after a late diagnosis
- trying to make your workplace genuinely inclusive
- or just curious about what neuroinclusion looks like in practice
You're welcome here.
📩 Message me directly: adhdaptive.org/get-in-touch
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chat: adhdaptive.org
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I read every message.
Real connection matters more than polished formality.
Let’s make space for the real paths people take.