Things I might once have simply understood as anxiety, for example. Someone who needs to know exactly what's going to happen, who asks the same question several times because there's already too much information to process, or who struggles when a plan suddenly changes.
Someone who doesn't want to be touched or talked to, or who needs information explained in a particular way. And sometimes, someone who seems perfectly fine until suddenly they really aren't.
I started wondering how often we misunderstand what we're seeing, and how easily someone can be described as difficult, anxious, or demanding when we haven't understood what they are experiencing.
And how often do we expect people to adapt to the care we offer, rather than adapting our care to the person?

Giving a Name to Neuro-Affirming Care

Why I'm making neuro-affirming care an intentional part of Juno Births.

Neuro-affirming care is something I've been thinking about for a while. I haven't suddenly decided to add another service to Juno Births. Actually, quite the opposite.
A lot of the things I now recognise as neuro-affirming care were already part of how I worked with families. They just didn't have a specific name, and perhaps I wasn't always doing them consciously either.

My interest in neurodivergence isn't only professional. It has also changed how I understand myself, how I look back on different parts of my life, and how I understand other people. With a background in pedagogy, I've always been interested in how people develop, how their environments shape their experiences and how differently we can respond to the same circumstances. But there is a difference between understanding something academically and recognising how it shows up in everyday life.

As I continued learning about neurodivergence, I found myself revisiting situations I'd encountered in my work, sometimes questioning how I'd interpreted them at the time.

For me, neuro-affirming care isn't a checklist of things I do for "neurodivergent clients". It doesn't mean assuming that every autistic person needs quiet, every person with ADHD needs reminders, or that everyone experiences pregnancy and postpartum in the same way. That would rather defeat the point. It means being curious about what works for you, rather than assuming I already know.

Some people prefer everything in writing because they know they won't remember half of what we discussed. Others would rather talk things through. You might want to know exactly what I'm going to do before I touch you, or perhaps you really don't want to make conversation while I'm preparing your lunch. And having choices isn't always empowering. Sometimes being presented with five different options is the last thing you need, and you'd much rather have someone help you narrow them down.
For someone else, having a plan, a plan B and some idea of what happens if plan B doesn't work either is exactly what makes them feel comfortable.
Or perhaps you've had enough physical contact for one day and desperately need ten minutes without your baby touching you.

None of those things make you difficult; they tell me something about how I can care for you better.

Sometimes it isn't even about doing something differently, but about recognising what isn't needed. Not filling every silence with conversation, not giving unsolicited advice, and not assuming that someone who doesn't make eye contact isn't listening, or that someone who asks a lot of questions doesn't trust you. What looks like a small thing to one person can be an enormous demand for another. I think that deserves to be taken seriously.

I think this is particularly important during pregnancy, birth and postpartum.
Throughout our lives, we build systems around ourselves. We develop routines, ways of regulating, foods we rely on, ways of organising our days and ways of recovering after being around people. Some of these are conscious choices, while others become so familiar that we barely notice them anymore. Sometimes we don't even realise how much we depend on those systems until they stop working.

Pregnancy can throw all of that off balance: your body feels different, your sensory tolerance can change and you're tired. There are appointments, decisions and a ridiculous amount of information coming at you, some of which probably isn't important anyway.
And if you're navigating maternity care in a country or healthcare system you didn't grow up with, there's another layer of things to understand. Different professionals, different expectations, unfamiliar terminology and often a lot of responsibility placed on you to figure things out.

Then there is birth, with all its emotions and unpredictability. And new environments, bright lights, sounds, touch, pain and people asking questions. Plans can change quickly, and you may find yourself having to make decisions while your brain is already processing an enormous amount.

And then you come home with a baby: you're sleep-deprived, someone needs your body almost constantly, and your days are filled with crying, feeding, leaking, touching, visitors, professionals coming into your house, advice from everywhere and very little predictability.

Honestly, I'm getting overwhelmed just by writing this.

Of course, none of this is exclusive to neurodivergent people. Pregnancy and postpartum can be overwhelming for anyone. But for someone who already relies heavily on routines, predictability, sensory regulation or carefully developed coping strategies, losing those things can be particularly difficult.

Sometimes the very things that helped you manage everyday life are suddenly unavailable, right when you need them most.

Pregnancy changes the systems that kept us going

So what does neuro-affirming care actually mean?

Why give it a name now?

This is the part I've been thinking about most. If I was already working this way, why put Neuro-Affirming Care on my website now?
I think because naming something makes you more intentional about it.

Over the years, I've continued learning about pregnancy, birth, postpartum recovery, trauma-informed care and neurodivergence. As I moved further into kraamzorg, I also became more aware of how much happens in those first days at home, and how personal the care we provide really is. You're not just supporting someone with feeding or checking how their recovery is going.

You're entering their personal space, their routines and their family dynamics, sometimes at one of the most vulnerable moments of their lives. Before, I might have adapted my care because I noticed someone needed something different. Now I want to make understanding those needs a more intentional part of how I prepare to support a family.

How does someone prefer to receive information? What makes things harder when they're overwhelmed? Do they need quiet, predictability or more time to process decisions? What helps them feel safe and comfortable?

And just as importantly, what assumptions am I making about what pregnancy, birth, recovery or motherhood is supposed to look like?
Even with the best intentions, we bring our own expectations into the room.

I don't want someone to have to perform being an "easy client" in order to receive good care, or feel that they have to explain and justify every need they have. And you don't need a diagnosis to have these conversations either.

I've also thought about what it means to put the rainbow infinity symbol on my website. I haven't chosen to attach this approach to a particular programme or certification, although I've followed trainings and will continue learning from people who have been working in this field for much longer than I have. I see the symbol as a reminder of the responsibility that comes with saying I offer neuro-affirming care. I need to keep learning, including from the people I support, and be willing to recognise when I've misunderstood something. I don't expect to get everything right. There will always be things I don't know, and probably things I need to unlearn too.

Still the same Juno Births

I'm not changing Juno Births into something completely different, and I'm not creating a separate service exclusively for neurodivergent families.
I'm still offering the same personal, (w)holistic support throughout pregnancy, birth and postpartum, with attention to the mother, the baby and the family as a whole. The same belief that good care starts with knowing the person in front of you.

What has changed is that I pay more attention to things I might have overlooked before, and I question some of the assumptions I've carried with me, both personally and professionally.

I don't know exactly how this will evolve, and I don't think I need to. What matters to me is that I keep learning, questioning and making room for people to be themselves, without expecting them to fit into someone else's idea of what they should need.

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E-mail: valentina@junobirths.nl

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Valentina Zago-Binnendijk