Counsellor, Advocate, Realist: Guiding Neurodivergent Students in a System Pushing Them Toward STEM Careers
A student recently came to me after a meeting with their college advisor, holding a list of college STEM programmes that had been recommended as the “smart choice” for their future. They hesitated before asking, “What do you think? Is this the best route for me?” It’s a question I hear often, despite not being a credentialled counsellor. Our school does have college advisors and counsellors, yet students still find their way to my door, looking not for formal guidance but for my honest opinion. Perhaps it’s because, as a Special Education Resource Specialist, I know them well—their strengths, challenges, their families, and the nuances often overlooked by the system’s one-size-fits-all approach to career advice.
Every time I’m asked this, I feel the weight of the tension between the school system’s relentless push toward STEM careers and the stark realities I know these students will face. The messaging is clear and insistent: STEM equals success. It’s the “safe bet,” the fast track to stability and high earnings. But the reality is much messier. The tech industry, often held up as the pinnacle of STEM achievement, is increasingly saturated, volatile, and unforgiving. Automation, outsourcing, and layoffs have reshaped the landscape, leaving even very well-qualified graduates struggling to find secure employment. It’s hard to reconcile the bright promises students hear with the harsher truths they’re unlikely to encounter until it’s too late.
When I offer my perspective, it comes down to a simple belief: students need to be well-rounded and adaptable, not narrowly trained for fields that may not even exist in their current form by the time they graduate from college. They need a foundation that equips them to think critically, pivot when opportunities arise, and thrive in unpredictable circumstances. This isn’t a rejection of STEM as a path—it’s a recognition that life rarely adheres to the linear plans we create for it (and I should know). And for many of the students who come to me, particularly those with unique learning needs, the ability to adapt is the most valuable skill of all.
The Push Toward STEM
The push toward STEM careers as the default “success path” is one of the most pervasive narratives in modern education. Schools routinely promote STEM fields as the ultimate goal, and parents, eager to see their children secure financial stability and prestige, often amplify the message. It’s a narrative that’s rarely, if ever, interrogated. Few take the time to research the claims underpinning this relentless push, and fewer still consider the broader implications of funnelling so many students into an increasingly saturated field.
The reality of STEM careers, however, is far from the golden promise so often presented. The job market in these fields is shrinking under the weight of automation (competition with AI) and globalisation (competition with China and India). Tasks that once required a human workforce are now automated, whilst companies outsource roles to international talent pools where wages are lower. Even in thriving tech hubs, there’s an overwhelming glut of applicants. For every advertised tech job, more than a thousand exceptionally qualified individuals with recent experience are vying for the same position. These aren’t just recent graduates; they’re seasoned professionals competing in an industry that prioritises cutting-edge skills over entry-level talent.
Adding to this, we have a surplus of PhDs—brilliant minds trained to the highest level, struggling to find roles that match their expertise. Global competition, particularly with China, intensifies the pressure. China has invested heavily in STEM, producing graduates and professionals at an astonishing pace. This global race leaves students in the US, many of whom enter STEM fields on the promise of secure futures, facing a market that’s both oversaturated and unforgiving.
For students with disabilities, particularly those with Individualised Education Plans (IEPs), the challenges are even greater. STEM fields often undervalue or overlook the contributions of students with Specific Learning Disabilities (SLD) or neurodivergence. The high-stakes, high-pressure environments prevalent in STEM can exacerbate barriers for these students, many of whom thrive in settings that allow for creativity, collaboration, and flexibility. Yet these qualities are frequently sidelined in STEM fields, which tend to prioritise rigid structures and narrow definitions of success. For many of my students, the system’s push toward STEM careers isn’t just misguided—it’s actively setting them up for failure.
The Need for Well-Roundedness
The brisk pace of technological change highlights the critical need for adaptability over specialisation. Yet, the system still pushes students toward narrowly defined career paths, particularly in STEM, often before they’ve had a chance to fully explore their interests or strengths. This approach ignores a fundamental reality: in five years, the rapid evolution of AI will likely see artificial intelligence designing and improving itself—a development that capitalists will enthusiastically embrace for its efficiency and cost-cutting potential. In such a world, those trained solely for technical roles may find themselves quickly outpaced, whilst a well-rounded education that fosters resilience, critical thinking, and creativity becomes indispensable for navigating and thriving amidst the relentless transformations ahead.
A liberal arts education stands out for its ability to cultivate these qualities. By engaging with a broad spectrum of disciplines, students learn to think critically, connect ideas across fields, and approach problems from multiple perspectives. These skills are invaluable, not just in traditional liberal arts careers, but in any field requiring innovation, cooperation, and an understanding of complex systems. In an increasingly interdisciplinary world, the ability to synthesise knowledge and adapt to new challenges is more important than mastery of a single, narrow domain.
One combination I often suggest to students is a major in sociology paired with a minor in mathematics. At first glance, these disciplines might seem worlds apart, yet both are deeply rooted in the philosophical traditions of the classical liberal arts. Sociology, with its focus on human behaviour, societal trends, and the structures that govern our world, echoes the Trivium’s emphasis on understanding human interaction through logic, rhetoric, and grammar. Mathematics, a cornerstone of the Quadrivium, represents the pursuit of universal truths through numbers, patterns, and relationships. Together, they form a harmonious pairing that bridges the humanistic and the analytical, offering students not just skills but a framework for understanding the world.
Mathematics in this context is not a path to a fixed career in STEM but rather a grounding in the discipline’s enduring principles—an intellectual exercise in precision, logic, and abstraction. It complements sociology’s exploration of the human condition by providing the tools to quantify, analyse, and interpret societal patterns. This blend embodies the classical liberal arts ideal: the integration of different ways of knowing to create a well-rounded, adaptable thinker. By combining the philosophical depth of sociology with the structured clarity of mathematics, students gain a uniquely versatile foundation for navigating a wide range of fields with insight, creativity, and rigour..
The real-world applications of a sociology major paired with a mathematics minor are as varied as they are significant. In public policy, for instance, the ability to understand societal needs and evaluate the impact of policies demands both sociological insight and mathematical rigour. Policymakers must not only interpret data but also craft solutions that resonate with human realities. Urban planning benefits enormously from professionals who can marry data analysis—identifying patterns in housing, transport, and environmental trends—with a human-centred understanding of community dynamics. Similarly, roles in data analysis, market research, and social network analysis increasingly require a delicate balance of technical proficiency and the ability to interpret and contextualise findings within broader social frameworks.
Yet, the value of this combination extends far beyond career applications. At its heart, the integration of sociology and mathematics cultivates skills that are essential for navigating the complex philosophical and political challenges of modern adult life. Sociology trains students to think critically about power, inequality, and the structures that shape our world. It equips them to question assumptions, detect falsehoods, and understand the forces driving societal change. Mathematics, on the other hand, sharpens the mind’s ability to reason logically, identify patterns, and separate emotional rhetoric from evidence-based conclusions.
Together, these disciplines provide a powerful toolkit for good citizenship in an increasingly chaotic world. In a time when misinformation spreads rapidly, the ability to discern truth from manipulation is vital. Students with this training can craft well-reasoned arguments, engage in meaningful debate, and contribute to democratic processes with clarity and insight. They are better prepared to challenge systems that perpetuate inequality and to advocate for policies grounded in justice and sustainability.
Well-rounded graduates excel in these areas because they bring both depth and breadth to their work and lives. They navigate uncertainty with confidence, adapt to new challenges with creativity, and approach problems collaboratively, recognising that no single perspective holds all the answers. For my students, particularly those with unique learning profiles, such adaptability is not just a valuable asset—it’s a survival skill in a world that often undervalues their potential. Encouraging them to pursue paths that balance technical expertise with a nuanced understanding of humanity is, in my view, the best way to prepare them for futures that are as unpredictable as they are rich with possibility.
How I Approach Student Guidance
Again, I’m not a credentialled counsellor. I’m an “autistic elder”—a role I’ve grown into through decades of living and working across three continents, navigating time, politics, and the four acts that define my life. Students come to me because I’ve “been there,” not just physically but philosophically, and because I’ve lived enough lives to offer guidance with both perspective and pragmatism. I listen to their interests and dreams with care and respect, knowing that each vision represents a piece of who they are and who they hope to become. My approach is not to discourage them but to ground their aspirations in reality.
When a student tells me they want to be a civil engineer, for example, I would never pour cold water on their dream. Instead, I sit with them and map out the journey. We discuss what it takes: the education, the internships, the licensure, and the practical experience required to break into the field. I help them understand the costs and consequences—not just in financial terms, but in time, energy, and the sacrifices they may need to make. I lay out the likely timeline for breaking even on their investment of time, talent, and treasure, all whilst reminding them that such projections assume they make every correct choice, encounter no setbacks, and navigate a market that remains static—which, of course, it won’t. Life rarely offers a straight path, and the more specific their aspirations, the more I encourage them to think critically about the path ahead.
Being specific about a career goal has its strengths—it shows determination and focus—but it also requires near-perfect timing and precision, along with a bit of luck. The finish line in many fields, including civil engineering, often shifts long before a student even arrives. Markets change, technologies evolve, and the priorities of industries fluctuate. My goal is to help students understand these realities without discouraging them from pursuing their passions.
Having been a Freemason for more than 20 years, I’ve had the privilege of building a network of professionals across a wide range of fields all across the world. When students express interest in a specific career or location, I can often connect their families with someone who is actively working in that profession, in their location location. Whether it’s a civil engineer, an architect, a business owner, or a tradesperson, these conversations can provide invaluable insights that no textbook or college advisor could offer. Families can ask direct questions, hear about the day-to-day realities of the work, and gain a better understanding of what the career entails.
When a connection is made, these introductions are entirely voluntary and always involve the families of my students, never the students alone. The purpose is to ensure everyone has the opportunity to engage in a thoughtful, informed discussion about the realities of a chosen career path. These days, the exchanges are often asynchronous—conducted through emails—or on Zoom, which allows for flexibility and ensures that busy schedules don’t become a barrier to these valuable conversations.
Such meetings often serve as eye-openers, providing insights that families might not have considered. They may discover aspects of the job—the joys as well as the challenges—that offer a fuller picture of what lies ahead. Sometimes, these discussions confirm a student’s passion, solidifying their resolve to pursue the path they’ve chosen. Other times, they spark a realisation that their interests lie elsewhere, or that their aspirations might need to evolve to align better with their strengths and circumstances. Either way, these conversations are practical steps toward making informed choices, helping to ground aspirations in reality while still keeping the dream alive. For me, this is about equipping students and their families with the clarity, curiosity, and confidence needed to navigate the future together.
Flexibility, I remind them, is their greatest asset. I often guide students toward double majors, minors, or interdisciplinary studies to broaden their options. In California, where the state heavily subsidises public colleges and universities, students can often “afford” to double up on classes without incurring significant additional costs. I show them how diversifying their academic interests can open doors they never knew existed, giving them the tools to pivot when life takes an unexpected turn.
Pushing back against the system’s STEM obsession requires careful navigation. I explain my perspective through the lens of the “Seven Liberal Arts and Sciences” of the Classical Curriculum, connecting students to a broader tradition of learning. I frame this not as a rejection of their culture or aspirations but as an acknowledgment of where we are: the imperial core. If they want to succeed within the empire, they must understand its rules and learn to play its game. My role is not to dictate their path but to give them the context and tools to make informed, resilient choices in a world that often prioritises profit over people.
The Bigger Picture: Systemic Issues
The systemic push toward STEM careers is framed as the ultimate path to success, but it’s essential to question what “success” means in the capitalist world of the Imperial Core. For capital, success is efficiency, profitability, and the maximisation of labour output with minimal cost. Students are not seen as individuals with unique talents and aspirations but as part of a reserve army of labour, ready to be shaped and deployed to meet the fluctuating demands of a profit-driven system. Education, under this paradigm, becomes less about fostering growth, curiosity, and critical thinking and more about producing a workforce tailored to the needs of the market.
Colleges, once centres of intellectual exploration, have increasingly become “free” training centres for capital. The cost of preparing workers is shifted onto the individual—through tuition, debt, and unpaid labour like internships—whilst the profitability of the results remains privatised. This model is sold to students as a promise of security and prosperity, but in reality, it perpetuates inequality, leaving them burdened with financial risk and at the mercy of volatile markets. STEM fields, often lauded as the surest path to a stable career, are no exception, with an oversaturated pipeline and an increasingly narrow definition of what constitutes a viable future.
Yet, capitalism is systematically devaluing liberal arts education, relegating it to the margins because it interferes with the classes colleges are being pushed to offer in service of the labour market. This shift isn’t about a lack of interest from students or a shortage of qualified instructors—it’s a calculated move to prioritise fields that align with the capitalist agenda of workforce production. In rural-serving school systems, liberal arts courses are being scaled back or eliminated, not because they lack value, but because they don’t fit the profit-driven model of education as a training ground for capital.
The consequences of sidelining liberal arts education are profound, particularly for students with creative or interdisciplinary inclinations. These are the students who might have thrived in fields like philosophy, history, or literature—disciplines that encourage deep thinking, innovation, and the synthesis of ideas. Instead, they are increasingly funnelled into narrow, technical tracks that often fail to engage their strengths or foster their potential. For students in SpEd, the push toward STEM is even more damaging. The rigid, high-stakes environments of many STEM programmes frequently overlook the diverse needs and talents of students with learning differences. These students, many of whom excel in collaborative, creative, and flexible settings, are forced to navigate systems that prioritise competition and conformity—qualities that the liberal arts embrace but that are being systematically marginalised.
A stark example of this is my son’s experience in an undergraduate chemistry course at our local state university. On the first day of class last year, the professor announced that at least half of the students would fail—not because of their own shortcomings, but as a matter of policy. He explained that he only passes half of any class, regardless of performance. Imagine my AuDHD son, who excels academically but, like many of us AuDHDers, struggles with anticipatory anxiety, hearing that. From day one, he wasn’t being evaluated on his abilities or efforts but on a professor’s arbitrary decision-making.
According to my son, the decision as to who passed and who failed often came down to personality—who the professor liked and who fit his idea of a “good student.” Despite putting in the effort, and getting more than 90% of assignment / test answers correct, my son ended up with a D in the course, not because he lacked understanding or capability, but because of a system designed to weed people out rather than build them up. (The school’s Ombuds Office didn’t want to intervene, even with clear evidence of bias.) Undeterred, he took the same class at a local community college over the summer and excelled, earning top marks. The material hadn’t changed—only the environment. In a setting that valued teaching and learning over arbitrary gatekeeping, his strengths shone.
This is the kind of setback and challenge many students face, especially those with unique learning profiles. When education becomes about eliminating rather than fostering talent, we fail students who could thrive with the right support. It’s a reminder that we need systems that nurture creativity, collaboration, and individual growth—not just in liberal arts but across all disciplines—if we’re serious about preparing students for meaningful futures.
Final thoughts …
As an educator, I hold a steadfast belief in the importance of adaptability, critical thinking, and a well-rounded education. These qualities are not just ideals; they are necessities in a world where change is constant, and the future remains unpredictable. It is both a privilege and a challenge to be the person my students and their families trust to help navigate the paths ahead. With every question, every conversation, I feel the weight of their hopes and dreams alongside the practical realities we must face together. My role isn’t to dictate their choices but to offer perspective, to help them see the broader context of their aspirations, and to empower them to make informed decisions that align with their strengths and values.
In these moments, I also reflect on how much the landscape of education and ambition has shifted. No parent I’ve encountered these days seems to hope their child will become a poet or a writer, or even a philosopher or historian. These paths, which once symbolised humanity’s highest aspirations, now seem relegated to the realm of impracticality. Yet, my own recent discovery of poetry—of creating it, not just consuming it—has been one of the most profound and fulfilling experiences of my life. Poetry has become a way for me to process, to reflect, and to express truths that words alone can barely contain. It’s a reminder of the beauty and power of pursuits that aren’t easily quantified or monetised but that enrich our lives in ways no other discipline can.
We need to make space for students to pursue these paths, too. Schools must embrace diverse definitions of success, recognising that the STEM pipeline is neither the only nor the best option for every student. For some, it may be the perfect fit. For others, their brilliance may lie in storytelling, in crafting verse, in studying the intricacies of history, or in imagining new futures through philosophy and art. By narrowing the scope of what we deem valuable, we risk not only limiting our students’ potential but also impoverishing society as a whole.
The future demands thinkers, dreamers, and creators just as much as it requires engineers and scientists. We owe it to our students to nurture all these possibilities, to prepare them not just for jobs but for lives of purpose and meaning. And perhaps, in doing so, we can remind ourselves of the richness and depth that comes from embracing all the ways we can be human.