Hello, I am David Mitchell Howie. I am a son, a brother, and an uncle. Because I was diagnosed with a brain tumour – Medulloblastoma, at the age of four – thirty-six years ago and had a stroke in the same time frame. I was told there is a good chance I cannot have children due to the chemotherapy and radiotherapy side effects. I should, therefore, be happy with my personal identity. I am not.

I hold an MSc in Social Innovation and have worked since I was seventeen. I should also be happy with my professional identity. I am not. The lack of a professional identity, which I am satisfied with, lowers my subjective vision of myself, resulting in lower well-being.        

For as long as I can remember, I have felt empty. Not emptiness, as in I require someone or something to fulfil me and make my life worth living. This emptiness is more like dualism – society imprisons the mind due to its refusal to accept the necessity of a required system change, while the body is enslaved to a culture that seems stumped by the mind.

Do neurotypical citizens have the same “Alice is in Wonderland” or, as I call it, Jason Bourne syndrome thought? On a good day, the mind and body are whole, and I have a sense of professional and personal identity. On a bad day, the mind is trapped in a bell jar, and the body is shackled to a treadmill with no escape. I am a hamster on a hamster ball.

Is my brain “neurodivergent”? I had a medulloblastoma – a brain tumour – at age four. It should not take a neurologist to conclude that my brain is neurodivergent.

Neurodivergent perhaps. The medulloblastoma diagnosis was thirty- six years ago. I have employment and an MSc in social innovation. On the surface, my neurodivergent brain has not hindered my development extensively. Comprehensively. However, I ponder if my subjective well-being would be increased if the synaptic self – my brain did not have to travel so close between the neurotypical and Neurodivergent definitions.        

I start sourly because I don’t wish to give the reader false hope. I am a generous and optimistic person – that is, I hope to empower others, and I hope this book will help at least one person.    

I am an optimistic person. The future will be brighter for all citizens of Scotland, including myself, despite knowing that over one million people living in Scotland are living in poverty. With nearly half living in deep poverty (according to the Joseph Roundtree Foundation), I believe in a brighter future. Despite knowing that citizens living in deprived areas are less likely to trust governmental institutions (according to the Scottish Government), I believe in a fairer Scotland. Despite knowing that between 4-8 per cent of people with Learning Disabilities are in employment (source the Scottish Government), I believe in a Scotland that has strong growth. Despite knowing that 70 per cent of people diagnosed with ADHA may also experience depression in their lifetime (source unmasked, Ellie Middleton), I believe in a healthier Scotland.    

This is not a book about cancer and hope. That book has been written. Besides, I have too much experience that leads me to believe that sustainable hope is only possible with a system change.

I have structured this book to avoid the requirement for linear consumption – you are not required to read the chapters in numerical order. For example, if your interest is void of politics and business, you can skip chapters one and five. If, on the other hand, you desire to know why the Scottish Government’s social policy is achievable only with the creation of a social contract between the duty bearers – the institutions in Scottish society that are responsible for providing citizens with human rights. The Scottish third sector. The fourth sector – the social enterprise sector. You will want to read chapters one and five numerous times.

Chapters one and five focus on the Scottish Government’s upcoming Human Rights Integration (Scotland) Act 2026, The Learning Disability, Autism, and Neurodiversity (Scotland) Act 2026 and how the framework I designed as part of the social enterprise was intended to aid the Scottish Government and empower citizens living in Scotland, respectively.

Chapter two focuses on my medical history. It was the most challenging chapter because it was mainly based on medical records. I concentrated on writing this chapter from the medical professional’s perspective, not to justify the medical model but to give it a human face. For readers unaware, the medical model is the concept of treating the disease, not the patient.      

Chapter three focuses on my journey with education. I have achieved academic success, and with the right research question, I could get my Ph.D. I do not consider myself to be an academic. The academic process of writing a paper needs to be more structured in questions. My neurodivergent brain is suited for academic writing when I am interested in the subject area. For example, I excelled in ethics, governance, and responsible leadership, achieving a 70-plus mark. However, I scraped by in global social entrepreneurship, which should have been my best class. It was not until 2003, two years after graduation that I read Ellie Middleton’s Unmasked. I recognised that I write in statements when the subject is close to home. I default to writing statements when I disagree or become tired of academic literature. My neurodivergence works similarly to someone with ADHD or autism. I may have improved my marks if I had known that two years ago. But would it have improved my well-being today?    

Chapter four concentrates on my employment status. I was a key worker during COVID-19. I replenished the shelves and served you food. There is nothing wrong with working in food retail. Offord a position on the board of a food retailer as a non-executive looking after the stakeholders, including staff, well-being I would accept without a second thought. Given my experience of being on the People Power Health and Well-being reference group board, Inclusion Scotland’s sub-board for policy and research, having over ten years of experience volunteering in Scotland’s third sector, two years trying to set up a social enterprise, achieving an MSc in social innovation. Not to mention being on the Scottish Government’s human rights lived experience board. Dreaming of a non-executive role is not farfetched. But I am forty-two (by publication), had a medulloblastoma as a child, and only ever worked in retail. Regarding employment, I am the hamster on a hamster ball.

Chapter Six, I have titled “Do I consider myself disabled today?” Chapter two focused on the medical model of disability. Chapter Six focuses on the social model of disability – which says that people are disabled by barriers in society, not by their physical limitations. Yes, I do consider myself disabled as I cannot see the laptop screen due to the new technology without blinding one eye. Additionally, the social norms and culture say a person with a lived experience of childhood medulloblastoma cannot be a non-executive member of a board, subjective.      

Chapters seven and eight discuss the topics of Human rights and Learning disabilities in detail as related to my experiences and the broader objective evidence, asking what the Human Rights Integration (Scotland) and Learning Disabilities, autism, and neurodiversity ACTs 2026 will do for the well-being of the citizens of Scotland and myself respectively. I titled this chapter “Why I Don’t Have a Personal and Professional Identity.” Perhaps “Society Shapes Subjective Well-being” would be a more productive title. While studying politics, philosophy, and economics at the Open University, I was required to write a paper titled “What Makes You the Same Person Over Time?” Removing the philosophy, I think I concluded then and affirmatively now. What makes me the same person over time is the trauma of my childhood medulloblastoma. It is difficult to explain as I am excelling medically to the point that my follow-up with my neurologist is a five-minute phone call every two years. Despite the thirty-six (eight by publication) removal of the tumour, I still, at times, feel shackled in front of the bedroom mirror as four-year-old me was. Trying to stop my head from flopping from side to side – releasing the mind from the bell jar society has placed it in.