Faye | CBT Therapist | F&B Digital Therapy

Like many neurodivergent people, I often watch the same shows or films on repeat as a form of comfort. I know what to expect, it requires less mental energy, and honestly, starting something new can sometimes
feel overwhelming. But occasionally, I get stuck in a rut and need something fresh. When I’m not in the mood for a comfort show, film, or true crime documentary, comedy is my go-to. It offers a light mental
break—easy to digest, okay to miss a few minutes of, and crucially, a welcome contrast to the emotional depth of therapy work.

A while ago, a former client recommended a couple of films. One of them—Night School, a comedy starring Kevin Hart (one of my favourites!)—sat on my list for ages. I finally gave it a go, expecting
something completely unserious and over-the-top. I wasn’t prepared for its surprisingly thoughtful take on undiagnosed learning disabilities.

Spoiler alert ahead!

Teddy Walker is a high school dropout. He struggled as a student—while his sister thrived academically, Teddy’s parents couldn’t understand why he couldn’t keep up. The film shows his inner world: exam
questions make the words blur and jump off the page. He never tells anyone. Instead, he leans into the role of the class clown, declaring he won’t be “a sheep” like everyone else taking the GED (the US
equivalent of UK GCSEs). He walks out of the exam and never looks back. Years later, Teddy is in a modest job in sales. He’s ashamed of not finishing school and hides it from his girlfriend. He uses credit cards to pay for dinners, even pretending to find hairs in his food to avoid the bill. After losing his job, he’s offered a new one—with a catch: he needs his GED. So, he joins a night school class with other adults also returning to education for various reasons.

Cue the comedy: Teddy dons a chicken suit for a side job and conspires with classmates to steal test answers. But amid the laughs, the film takes a turn. His teacher suggests testing for learning disabilities.
The diagnosis? Dyslexia, dyscalculia, and a processing disorder.
In a typical comedy arc, you’d expect Teddy to ace the test and ride off into the sunset. But Night School doesn’t follow that path. His classmates pass the GED on their first try—Teddy doesn’t. He fails, again and again. Eventually, he does pass—but not without a real, frustrating, and deeply human struggle.

When Comedy Reflects Reality

Teddy’s story echoed my own battle with maths. To this day, passing my GCSE maths remains one of my proudest achievements. I failed in school, then failed again in college. I think it was fourth time lucky. I
cried over maths constantly—even in primary school. I couldn’t tell the time, couldn’t understand the basics. Honestly, I still struggle with reading a “normal” clock. It wasn’t a teacher who finally helped me—it was my best friend in primary school, during break time.
She explained it in a way that made sense. (Thank you, Hannah.) My sister also helped me learn to tie my shoelaces using a different method than what I’d been shown. I still use the “bunny ears” technique— slowly—and it’s still the only way I understand. I felt shame. Like Teddy, I thought I was “dumb.” But I’m not. I’ve done well in other subjects, built a meaningful career, and I simply learn differently. In my 30s, I was diagnosed with auditory processing
difficulties and dyspraxia, and suddenly, my past started to make sense.

Learning Differently Is Not Failing

Too often, children and teenagers who don’t learn in conventional ways are written off—seen as lazy, disruptive, or not trying hard enough. Sometimes they mask their struggles by becoming the class clown, just like Teddy. They’re misunderstood, not misbehaving. Recently, while talking with my supervisor about the role of shame in therapy work, she shared something powerful:

“Secrets are the friend of shame.”

When we carry shame, we often carry it alone. We don’t share it. We think it’s too big, too heavy, too shameful to be seen. But hiding these struggles only makes it harder for teachers, parents, and caregivers to recognize what’s really going on.

Let’s Make Room for Difference

Learning differently isn’t shameful. Struggling with processing or comprehension isn’t a character flaw —it’s just a difference in how your brain works. Many brilliant minds have learning disabilities or are neurodivergent. The more we normalize these differences, the more comfortable young people might feel sharing their experiences—and the fewer adults we’ll see carrying the weight of feeling “dumb,” “different,” or “not enough.”

All that… from a comedy film! ?