We created this space to support families and individuals navigating life abroad—especially those who are neurodivergent and living outside the systems they grew up in.
Our family’s move abroad was driven by necessity—access to care, safety, and a life that truly works for us. Along the way, we realized that most expat resources assume everyone fits a “standard” mold.
Inclusive Expat exists to fill that gap. This is a place for practical guidance, honest conversation, and community—built with neurodivergent people, queer families, and complex lives in mind.
This is a growing project. We share what we learn, what works, and what we’re still figuring out. No one is expected to fit in here—everyone belongs.
When the election happened in 2024, I reassured my family that the worst wouldn’t come to pass. I told them that hateful promises were just rhetoric—that the systems in place would hold.
By January 2025, I had to take those words back.
We began having very real conversations about the future of our family in the United States—not hypothetically, but practically.
We are neurodivergent, and we listened as plans were discussed for increased data collection and a federal registry of people with autism. We watched disability protections weakened and DEI rolled back across government and public institutions.
We are queer, and we saw policies enacted that targeted transgender people, restricted healthcare access, and censored LGBTQ+ education.
At some point, the thinking phase ended. The action phase began.
But action raises a terrifying question: Where do you go?
And an even harder one: How do you uproot your family and move across an ocean?
We are a neurodivergent household—a neurodivergent person married to a neurodivergent person, raising neurodivergent young adult children. Every step of this process required us to figure out not just what to do, but how to do it in a way our brains could actually handle.
We had to break enormous, overwhelming tasks into bite-sized pieces—the way you do for an ADHD brain. We had to anticipate overwhelm and meltdown triggers. We had to plan for change and transition with care, knowing how hard those are for autistic people.
We did the pre-work.
We sold many of our belongings—which was not easy for all of us.
We packed what we needed to bring.
We navigated visas.
And eventually, we got on the plane.
When we arrived, we thought the hardest part might be over.
It wasn’t.
We were still neurodivergent people—now living in an entirely new world.
For months, we were frustrated by the loss of safe foods. We melted down over everything being different. We struggled to build new routines—and struggled again when those routines felt too loose. Some of us thrive on sameness, and suddenly almost nothing was the same.
It was messy.
And uncomfortable.
And exhausting.
But we learned.
There’s another part of this story. It starts with mac and cheese.
Mac and cheese is my safe food. Not fancy mac and cheese. Not baked or elevated or artisanal. Store-bought, boxed, the-same-every-time mac and cheese.
When we arrived in Spain and everything was different—the food, the language, the routines. I just needed one thing to be the same.
Six months into the transition, I was talking to a friend who had made this move five years earlier and now lives in Berlin. He’s also neurodivergent. I told him that one of the hardest things for me was missing comfort food—missing my safe food. I told him I missed mac and cheese.
That’s when he told me he’d figured out how to replicate it.
Not fancy oven mac and cheese. Crappy stovetop mac and cheese.
He gave me the steps. He said it didn’t have to be exact, but of course, for me, it absolutely did. I bought the ingredients. I followed every instruction. And when I sat down with that bowl, it wasn’t identical — but it was close enough.
It felt like home.
The rest of the family agreed. This mac and cheese gave us comfort in a moment where comfort felt scarce.
And that’s when it clicked.
Neurodivergent people need to help neurodivergent people.
Inclusive Expat exists because no one should have to navigate something this big alone—especially not without resources that actually account for how neurodivergent brains work.
There are countless expat guides. Facebook groups. WhatsApp communities. Step-by-step checklists for people who fit the assumed mold.
What’s missing are resources for doing this as a neurodivergent person—with real constraints, real needs, and real accommodations.
This project is built from what we learned by making our own mistakes and from what others have learned along the way. It’s here so that moving abroad doesn’t mean losing yourself in the process.
Everyone deserves to feel safe.
Everyone deserves comfort.
And no one should have to figure it all out alone.
