When the Symbols Fail the 'Foreigner:' The GLP Struggle to Hear and Transcribe Within the International Phonetic Alphabet
As an autistic Gestalt Language Processor (GLP) returning to college to “import” my Canadian TESOL certifications into California’s teacher credentialing system, I expected a few challenges. What I didn’t anticipate was the constant friction caused by the curriculum, particularly in one of my classes, “Theories of Second Language Acquisition and Grammar.” The course, cobbled together from various sources, is delivered through a poorly designed learning management system (LMS). Its content on phonetics and phonology is undeniably framed from a West Coast US perspective—though the material doesn’t seem to be aware of this bias.
This Western-centric framework immediately clashes with my own understanding of language, which is deeply rooted in the English of the West Highlands and Islands region of Scotland. As a GLP, I rely on the holistic patterns of language I’ve internalised over the years, and in my mind, those patterns are distinctly Westie. The section on the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA) and transcription is particularly challenging. Not only is it written from a single regional perspective, but it also fails to acknowledge that even within the US, different accents and pronunciations exist. This narrow viewpoint completely ignores the fact that, as a GLP, I struggle to reconcile these American-centric instructions with my own language processing style.
The quizzes and tests only amplify this dissonance. The poorly worded questions and the assumption of a singular ‘correct’ pronunciation leave me feeling invisible. I’m forced to confront yet another instance where my identity as an autistic GLP is not recognised, where my experiences as a neurodivergent person are sidelined. I need to pass these tests, but doing so feels more like a battle against the system itself than a demonstration of my knowledge.
The Autistic GLP Struggle Against Assimilation
As an autistic GLP, my experience of language goes far beyond words or sentences existing as isolated, abstract entities. The scripts I hold onto are rich, multi-sensory experiences that encompass sights, sounds, smells, emotions, and even associations with specific people, both positive and negative. When I access a language script, it isn’t just a sequence of phonemes or grammatical structures—it’s a deeply embedded, embodied experience. For example, a phrase or word might evoke the memory of the classroom where I first heard it, the texture of the paper I was writing on, or the emotional state I was in at the time. These multi-layered scripts make it incredibly challenging to adjust to new dialects or linguistic frameworks because it requires not just altering individual sounds, but reconfiguring entire sensory experiences tied to those sounds.
In my current class, this dissonance is particularly evident. The course material, framed entirely from a West Coast American perspective, assumes that learners can easily manipulate language into its smallest components—breaking it down into phonetic sounds and symbols. For neurotypical learners, this might be straightforward, but for me, as an autistic GLP, my internal scripts are grounded in Westie English and are resistant to change. When asked to transcribe pronunciations using the IPA, I find myself struggling because it'‘s not just about altering a vowel sound—it’s about reprocessing the rich sensory and emotional layers attached to that script.
This is where the Power Threat Meaning Framework (PTMF) becomes essential for understanding the challenge. The educational system operates under the assumption that neurotypical methods of language processing are universal, favouring those who can adapt quickly to new linguistic norms. For GLPs like me, who are expected to adopt and perform within this neurotypical framework, the power dynamic is oppressive. My “failure” to assimilate into American phonetic norms isn’t due to a lack of ability, but rather the system’s refusal to accommodate a neurodivergent way of processing language. Instead of being supported, I’m left feeling unseen, as the course design fails to recognise that language for me isn’t just sounds but lived experiences.
Baron-Cohen and Staunton’s (1994) research on autistic children and accent acquisition inadvertently sheds light on how GLPs resist language and accent assimilation, even though the authors did not frame their findings in this way. Their study observed that 83.3% of autistic children in England acquired their non-English mother’s accent, whilst only 12.5% of their neurotypical siblings did. What Baron-Cohen saw as a failure to assimilate, based on his deficit model of autism, actually reflects something far more insightful about GLPs: our language scripts are deeply rooted in sensory experiences and tied to our identities and environments.
Baron-Cohen, like many researchers of that time, viewed autism—and by extension, GLPs—as something to be “fixed” or made to conform to neurotypical norms. His interpretation of the results focused on the idea that autistic children lack the social drive to identify with peers and therefore fail to acquire their accents. However, this framing misses the mark. What Baron-Cohen observed was the effect of GLPs’ natural resistance to linguistic assimilation, not because of a social deficit, but because our internal scripts are fundamentally different from those of analytic language processors (ALPs).
For GLPs, language isn’t just about phonetic adaptation or peer-group identification. Our scripts are rich, multi-sensory experiences, involving sights, sounds, smells, emotions, and personal associations. When Baron-Cohen saw that autistic children retained their mother’s accent, he was witnessing the strength of those embedded scripts—scripts that are not easily rewritten simply by being in a different linguistic environment. This shows that GLPs don’t passively adopt new accents because our connection to language is deeper and more sensory than what neurotypical frameworks account for. Unfortunately, Baron-Cohen’s interpretation pathologises this natural difference, reinforcing the idea that autistic people must conform to neurotypical expectations.
In reality, what his research highlights is the cognitive and sensory depth of GLP language processing. The children in his study weren’t failing to assimilate; they were maintaining the integrity of their sensory-rich language scripts, which resist shallow, surface-level phonetic adjustments. This understanding aligns with the work in my own books, where I argue that GLPs don’t need “fixing” but require environments that respect and accommodate our unique ways of processing language.
To navigate these challenges, I’ve turned to Self-Regulation Strategy Development (SRSD). SRSD helps me manage the cognitive and emotional burden of adapting to American phonetic expectations. By setting small, achievable goals and breaking down overwhelming tasks, I can make the transcription process more manageable. Vocalising new sounds repeatedly allows me to gradually integrate them into my existing gestalts without feeling the pressure to abandon the rich sensory experiences that come with my Westie scripts. SRSD also allows me to regulate the emotional tension that comes from feeling unseen in the classroom, offering strategies to help me persist through tasks that demand I conform to a system that doesn’t recognise my needs.
The power imbalance created by this system, which assumes all learners process language in the same way, places an undue burden on neurodivergent individuals like me. Through both PTMF and SRSD, I’m learning to navigate these challenges, but it's clear that the system itself needs to change. Until education becomes more inclusive of different ways of experiencing language, GLPs will continue to face the cognitive and emotional strain of trying to fit into a neurotypical world.
The Disparity Between UK and US English for GLPs
For GLPs, the challenge of shifting between dialects such as UK English and US English goes far beyond simply swapping out a few sounds. GLPs process language as holistic, multi-sensory scripts, where words are tied not just to sounds but to memories, emotions, and experiences. This means that when a GLP is confronted with a new dialect, like hearing “praw-sess” instead of “PRO-sess,” it’s not just about adjusting pronunciation—it’s about reworking the entire script in a way that feels unfamiliar and disruptive. The pressure to assimilate to American English, which I face in my current course, requires far more cognitive effort than it would for an ALP who can more easily break language down into individual components and adjust accordingly.
From a “decolonial perspective,” this expectation to assimilate into American English highlights the underlying power structures at play. Historically, one form of English has been elevated as “standard,” with other dialects marginalised and viewed as inferior. The push for GLPs to adapt to American English reflects this colonial mindset. In fact, the insistence on prioritising one dialect over another continues to reinforce the idea that neurotypical ways of processing language—those that favour easy switching between dialects—are superior. As Professor Ngulube (in “Learn English Son”) discusses, the differences between British and American English are often framed as problems to be corrected, rather than being seen as part of the natural richness of linguistic diversity. This framing echoes the colonial mentality that views non-dominant dialects and neurodivergent language processing styles as inherently flawed.
In this context, the PTMF provides a useful lens to explore how these power dynamics affect GLPs. The pressure to assimilate to dominant linguistic norms is a form of systemic oppression that pathologises GLPs who resist this assimilation. The issue is not that GLPs are “failing” to adapt, but that the system creates unrealistic and unnecessary cognitive demands by expecting conformity. The strain this creates for GLPs, who must constantly reprocess (re-PRO-sess) sensory-rich scripts, is not a reflection of individual weakness but of a system that fails to recognise and accommodate diverse ways of processing language.
By using the PTMF, we can reframe the experience of struggling with dialect shifts as a response to external pressures rather than an internal deficiency. When GLPs are asked to conform to dominant dialects like American English, the expectation is rooted in a power dynamic that privileges certain ways of speaking and thinking over others. The cognitive strain that comes with these shifts is exacerbated by the fact that the system pathologises our resistance to linguistic assimilation, when in reality, it is simply a reflection of how deeply embedded our language scripts are within our sensory and emotional experience of the world.
In recognising these power dynamics, the solution is not to “fix” GLPs but to challenge the system that imposes these expectations. We need to create environments that honour linguistic diversity and make room for neurodivergent ways of processing language—without forcing assimilation into narrow, dominant norms.
Code-Switching, Diglossia, and the Cognitive Load on GLPs
The expectation of code-switching—the practice of alternating between languages, dialects, or linguistic registers in different contexts—is often seen as a sign of fluency and adaptability in professional and academic settings. However, for GLPs, code-switching comes with a unique and disproportionate cognitive load. Unlike ALPs, who may shift between languages or dialects by adjusting isolated linguistic elements, we GLPs process language holistically. We hold language as rich, multi-sensory scripts, meaning that switching between forms isn’t just about altering sounds or words—it’s about reconstructing entire language experiences. This reprocessing can be overwhelming, especially when demanded frequently in academic or work environments.
From the perspective of the PTMF, code-switching represents more than just linguistic agility; it reflects the dominance of one linguistic form over others. GLPs, who rely on deep, internalised language patterns, are often asked to conform to the dominant linguistic expectations, which are designed to suit neurotypical ways of processing (PRO-sess-sing) language. The power structure embedded in professional and academic environments assumes that everyone can and should code-switch with ease. However, for GLPs, this demand places an unfair burden on our cognitive stability, forcing us to dismantle and rebuild our linguistic scripts repeatedly. The strain of constantly shifting between language forms can result in emotional exhaustion and mental overload, further marginalising GLPs in environments that value neurotypical fluency.
In Ngulube’s “Learn English Son”, he touches on code-switching as an expected norm in multilingual societies. However, for GLPs, this expectation isn’t just difficult—it becomes a threat to our sense of coherence and stability in language processing. The act of switching between language forms destabilises the scripts we rely on, leaving us with an additional cognitive and emotional burden that neurotypical language processors don’t experience in the same way.
To manage this cognitive load, SRSD offers practical strategies that GLPs can use. Again, SRSD encourages breaking down tasks into smaller, more manageable chunks, allowing GLPs to approach code-switching gradually rather than facing overwhelming shifts all at once. For example, instead of attempting to fully switch from UK to US English in one go, a GLP can focus on one linguistic element at a time, such as vowel pronunciation, before tackling broader language shifts. SRSD also emphasises self-monitoring, which can help GLPs track their progress and recognise when cognitive overload is approaching. By setting realistic language goals and incorporating emotional self-regulation techniques, GLPs can reduce the strain of code-switching, even when navigating oppressive linguistic expectations.
Through both the PTMF and SRSD, it becomes clear that the demand for code-switching is rooted in systems of power that privilege certain forms of language processing. GLPs need environments that recognise the additional cognitive load we carry and provide us with strategies that allow us to navigate these expectations without sacrificing our mental well-being.
Here’s what I mean …
In my journey as an autistic GLP, studying the IPA poses unique challenges (it is a new language after all). As someone who processes language holistically, learning IPA isn’t just about memorising symbols. It’s about connecting those symbols to my existing linguistic gestalts, which are deeply rooted in the Westie version of UK English. This means I need to work with words that are already familiar to me, words that resonate not just with their phonetic value, but with my personal and professional experiences.
So, I’m building a “study list.” In building this study list, I’m selecting words that I use frequently in my writing and teaching. These are words that evoke full, sensory-rich scripts in my mind—language that carries meaning not just through its sound but through its emotional and contextual weight. By using these familiar words, I can bridge the gap between my internal language scripts and the American-centric IPA transcriptions that I’m being asked to learn and will be tested on. This way, I can connect the sounds to their IPA representations more intuitively, without feeling overwhelmed by the dissonance between the two dialects.
This approach will allow me to make the IPA more accessible, adapting it to my own neurodivergent way of processing language, while reducing the cognitive load that comes from trying to reconcile two different linguistic systems.
Words Related to Autism and Education
Autism: /ˈɔtɪzəm/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈɔːtɪzəm/ (UK English)
Neurodiversity: /ˌnʊroʊdaɪˈvɝsɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌnjʊərəʊdaɪˈvɜːsɪti/ (UK English)
Gestalt: /ɡəˈʃtɑlt/ (West Coast US) vs. /ɡəˈʃtɑːlt/ (UK English)
Processor: /ˈprɑˌsɛsər/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈprəʊsesə/ (UK English)
Special: /ˈspɛʃəl/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈspeʃəl/ (UK English)
Education: /ˌɛdʒəˈkeɪʃən/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌɛdjuːˈkeɪʃən/ (UK English)
Inclusive: /ɪnˈklusɪv/ (West Coast US) vs. /ɪnˈkluːsɪv/ (UK English)
Accommodations: /əˌkɑməˈdeɪʃənz/ (West Coast US) vs. /əˌkɒməˈdeɪʃənz/ (UK English)
Learning: /ˈlɝnɪŋ/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈlɜːnɪŋ/ (UK English)
Disability: /ˌdɪsəˈbɪlɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌdɪsəˈbɪlɪti/ (UK English)
Identity: /aɪˈdɛntɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /aɪˈdɛntɪti/ (UK English)
Words Related to Advocacy and Critical Theory
Advocacy: /ˈædvəkəsi/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈædvəkəsi/ (UK English)
Critical: /ˈkrɪtɪkəl/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈkrɪtɪkəl/ (UK English)
Theory: /ˈθɪri/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈθɪəri/ (UK English)
Power: /ˈpaʊər/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈpaʊə/ (UK English)
Threat: /θrɛt/ (West Coast US) vs. /θrɛt/ (UK English)
Meaning: /ˈminɪŋ/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈmiːnɪŋ/ (UK English)
Framework: /ˈfreɪmwɝk/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈfreɪmwɜːk/ (UK English)
Inequity: /ɪˈnɛkwɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /ɪˈnɛkwɪti/ (UK English)
Capitalism: /ˈkæpɪtlɪzəm/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈkæpɪtəlɪzəm/ (UK English)
Neoliberal: /ˌnioʊˈlɪbərəl/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌniːəʊˈlɪbərəl/ (UK English)
Words Related to Gender and Transition
Transition: /trænˈzɪʃən/ (West Coast US) vs. /trænˈzɪʃən/ (UK English)
Transgender: /trænzˈʤɛndər/ (West Coast US) vs. /trænzˈʤɛndə/ (UK English)
Dysphoria: /dɪsˈfɔriə/ (West Coast US) vs. /dɪsˈfɔːrɪə/ (UK English)
Identity: /aɪˈdɛntɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /aɪˈdɛntɪti/ (UK English)
Woman: /ˈwʊmən/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈwʊmən/ (UK English)
Feminine: /ˈfɛmɪnɪn/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈfɛmɪnɪn/ (UK English)
Voice: /vɔɪs/ (West Coast US) vs. /vɔɪs/ (UK English)
Pronouns: /ˈproʊnaʊnz/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈprəʊnaʊnz/ (UK English)
Words Related to Social Issues
Homelessness: /ˈhoʊmlɪsnəs/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈhəʊmlɪsnɪs/ (UK English)
Persecution: /ˌpɝsɪˈkjuʃən/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌpɜːsɪˈkjuːʃən/ (UK English)
Marginalised: /ˈmɑrdʒɪnəˌlaɪzd/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈmɑːʤɪnəlaɪzd/ (UK English)
Scapegoat: /ˈskeɪpˌgoʊt/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈskeɪpgəʊt/ (UK English)
Equity: /ˈɛkwɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈɛkwɪti/ (UK English)
Inclusion: /ɪnˈkluʒən/ (West Coast US) vs. /ɪnˈkluːʒən/ (UK English)
Trauma: /ˈtrɔmə/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈtrɔːmə/ (UK English)
Climate: /ˈklaɪmət/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈklaɪmɪt/ (UK English)
Words Related to Language and Linguistics
Phonology: /fəˈnɑləʤi/ (West Coast US) vs. /fəˈnɒləʤi/ (UK English)
Phonetics: /fəˈnɛtɪks/ (West Coast US) vs. /fəˈnɛtɪks/ (UK English)
Grammar: /ˈgræmər/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈgræmə/ (UK English)
Syntax: /ˈsɪntæks/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈsɪntæks/ (UK English)
Morphology: /mɔrˈfɑləʤi/ (West Coast US) vs. /mɔːˈfɒləʤi/ (UK English)
Transcription: /trænˈskrɪpʃən/ (West Coast US) vs. /trænsˈkrɪpʃən/ (UK English)
Language: /ˈlæŋgwɪʤ/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈlæŋgwɪʤ/ (UK English)
Acquisition: /ˌækwɪˈzɪʃən/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌækwɪˈzɪʃən/ (UK English)
Other Common Words
Community: /kəˈmjunɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /kəˈmjuːnɪti/ (UK English)
Intersectionality: /ˌɪntərˌsɛkʃəˈnælɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˌɪntə(ː)ˌsɛkʃəˈnælɪti/ (UK English)
Research: /ˈrisɝʧ/ (West Coast US) vs. /rɪˈsɜːʧ/ (UK English)
Society: /səˈsaɪɪti/ (West Coast US) vs. /səˈsaɪɪti/ (UK English)
Policy: /ˈpɑlɪsi/ (West Coast US) vs. /ˈpɒlɪsi/ (UK English)
IPA is essentially a code—a way of visually representing how a word sounds. Each symbol corresponds to a specific sound, helping bridge the gap between how a word is written and how it is pronounced. However, IPA varies subtly across dialects, so the way a word is transcribed in UK English can differ from how it’s represented in West Coast US English. For example, vowels and diphthongs, like those in “process,” are coded differently, reflecting the pronunciation shifts between the two dialects.
For quizzes and tests, I need to learn the “West Coast US version” of this code. But, as a GLP, I process language holistically and rely on auditory input—one of my instructional accommodations is “text-to-speech,” which is crucial because my mind needs to “hear” the words in order to access the scripts I’ve internalised. When I transcribe words, I reverse-engineer the process: I first sound out the word, connecting it to my internal gestalt, and then try to find the corresponding IPA symbols.
The difficulty lies in the fact that what I hear doesn’t always match the “correct” symbols. I’m hearing and vocalising the sounds based on my own linguistic background, which doesn’t always align with the IPA code expected for American English.
To make matters worse, the LMS doesn’t display the IPA symbols in a standard format. Instead of showing familiar symbols like /aɪ/, it displays them as “aI” (lowercase ‘a’ and uppercase ‘I’) in the same font as the exam question. This non-standard presentation throws off my mental processing, making it much harder to connect the sounds I know with the code I’m expected to use. This mismatch between what I hear, see, and know causes significant confusion and amplifies the challenge of working through the course material.
Implications for English Language Development (ELD)
When considering English Language Development (ELD), it's clear that current methods fail to meet the needs of neurodiverse learners like GLPs. Traditional ELD frameworks are designed with neurotypical learners in mind and often focus on teaching “standard” English, disregarding the complexity of dialects and neurodivergent ways of processing language. This prioritisation of a singular version of English, particularly in the US context, reinforces colonial narratives that marginalise linguistic diversity. In fact, these frameworks often demand that learners conform to a standard (e.g., ELPAC) that doesn’t reflect their lived experience, ignoring the nuanced ways that GLPs, like myself, process language as multi-sensory, deeply embedded scripts.
Ngulube’s “Learn English Son” offers a practical approach to teaching grammar and language, but even this model, like many others, operates within a neurotypical and colonial framework. His focus is on ensuring students master “correct” forms of English, without considering the cognitive load this places on learners who don’t engage with language in a purely analytical way. For GLPs, this approach is inadequate because it doesn’t account for how we experience language holistically, and it fails to provide the kind of flexible support we need to thrive.
This is where SRSD again becomes essential. SRSD offers a trauma-informed, inclusive strategy that recognises the cognitive challenges GLPs face in language learning. By focusing on self-regulation, goal-setting, and scaffolding, SRSD aligns with the need for a more holistic approach to ELD. It allows learners to break down overwhelming tasks into manageable chunks, set personalised goals, and regulate emotional responses to language learning, which is especially crucial for neurodivergent individuals.
In my upcoming book, “Decolonising Language Education: Reframing ELD for Multilingual and Neurodiverse Learners,” I examine how current ELD frameworks fail to account for the diverse ways that humans process language. The issue isn’t limited to ELD alone; it reflects a broader systemic problem where educational institutions and credentialing bodies, such as those in California, often disregard the lived experiences of neurodivergent learners. Take my own experience, for example: despite publishing hundreds of articles and several books, my professional work holds no weight in the credentialing process. The system assumes that standardised tests are the only valid way of measuring competency, reducing language mastery to the memorisation and recall of disconnected data points.
This example illustrates a deeper problem—most systems, including my college, operate on the assumption that only one way of demonstrating knowledge and proficiency is valid. They fail to recognise that learners like GLPs have different needs and ways of engaging with language, often prioritising real-world, meaningful language use over rote memorisation. It’s time for a shift toward a more inclusive and equitable framework, one that values diverse ways of learning and using language rather than forcing everyone to conform to a single, narrow standard.
Final thoughts …
In closing, the challenges faced by GLPs when it comes to ‘language assimilation’ are deeply rooted in how we process language differently. Unlike neurotypical individuals, GLPs don’t simply manipulate language as individual phonemes or grammatical rules. Instead, our relationship with language is multi-sensory and holistic, tied to memories, emotions, and experiences. This makes shifting between dialects—such as UK English and American English—far more complex, as it requires reprocessing entire language scripts rather than adjusting individual sounds. Through the lens of the PTMF, it becomes clear that the pressure to conform to dominant linguistic norms, such as American English, is a reflection of broader power structures that marginalise both non-standard dialects and neurodivergent ways of processing language.
However, there is a path forward. SRSD offers a practical, inclusive approach for GLPs to manage the cognitive and emotional load that comes with language learning and code-switching. By focusing on self-regulation, scaffolding, and setting achievable goals, SRSD empowers GLPs to navigate these expectations without overwhelming strain. Rather than forcing GLPs to conform to neurotypical standards of linguistic fluency, SRSD respects the diversity of language processing and offers a framework that accommodates neurodivergent learners.
It’s time for educators, linguists, and policymakers to adopt a “decolonial, neurodivergent-inclusive approach” to language teaching—one that values diverse ways of processing language and reduces the pressure to assimilate into a single, standard form of English. By doing so, we can create educational environments that are truly inclusive and responsive to the needs of all learners, particularly those who have been marginalised by traditional systems.
In my upcoming book, “Decolonising Language Education: Reframing ELD for Multilingual and Neurodiverse Learners,” I’ll delve deeper into these issues, offering practical solutions for English Language Development that prioritise inclusivity, neurodiversity, and linguistic equity. It’s time to shift the paradigm and embrace a more holistic, trauma-informed approach to language education.