Planning a neurodivergent-friendly humanist wedding

By John Paul Fitzpatrick — Humanist Society Scotland celebrant

I'll be straight with you before we go any further: I'm not a clinician, a therapist, or an expert on autism or ADHD. What I am is a celebrant who has sat with a lot of couples and listened hard to what they actually needed from their day — and over the years, more and more of those conversations have started with some version of "we're both autistic" or "he's got ADHD and big crowds finish him" or "our best pal is neurodivergent and we want her to actually enjoy this, not just survive it." This post is what I've learned from listening, not from reading a textbook. If something here doesn't fit you, tell me — the whole point of a humanist ceremony is that it bends to you, not the other way round.

Why humanist ceremonies start from an advantage

A humanist wedding in Scotland isn't a fixed script with your names slotted in. It's written from a blank page, around the two people getting married. That matters here more than almost anywhere else, because it means none of the traditional furniture — the receiving line, the forced mingling, the "everyone stand for the bride," the long unplanned gaps where nobody quite knows what's happening — is actually load-bearing. It's not there because it has to be. It's there because most couples don't think to ask for anything different. You can. We build the day around what genuinely works for you and the people you love, rather than taking a traditional format and trying to file the edges off it afterwards.

Sensory considerations: lighting, sound, and crowding

Small, practical things make an enormous difference. If a venue's PA system tends to run hot, we test it and bring the levels down — a ceremony doesn't need to be loud to be heard, it needs to be clear. If a room has harsh strip lighting or a lot of glare, we talk to the venue about dimming it or moving the ceremony spot nearer a window instead. I try to avoid packing everyone shoulder-to-shoulder for the key moment of walking in or signing the register; a bit of breathing room in the seating plan costs nothing and helps more people than you'd think, not just the couple who asked for it.

I also think it's worth having a quiet space guests can step into if things get overwhelming — a side room, a quiet corner of the garden, even just "through that door and along the corridor" — and saying so out loud, once, at the start: "if anyone needs a breather at any point, there's a quiet room through there, no questions asked." That one sentence tells every neurodivergent guest in the room they've been thought of, and it costs you nothing.

Predictability: a written run-sheet, no surprises

Unpredictability is often the hardest part of a wedding day for autistic and ADHD guests and couples alike — not the ceremony content itself, but not knowing what's coming next, or when, or for how long. So we fix that. I put together a proper written order of events well in advance — who walks in when, roughly how long each part lasts, where any surprises are (because sometimes you do want one, and that's fine, as long as it's a choice, not an ambush) — and I share it with you to share onward with whoever needs it: your wedding party, your parents, a guest who finds not-knowing genuinely stressful. We also properly rehearse the flow, not just "who stands where" but the actual rhythm of the thing, so nobody — including me — is improvising on the day. Predictability isn't the opposite of a meaningful ceremony. Done well, it's what lets people relax enough to actually be present in it.

Flexibility on tradition: skip what doesn't serve you

Because there's no fixed script, there's no rule you're breaking by leaving things out. Don't want a receiving line where you're expected to make small talk with eighty people in a row? Don't have one. Find long, unstructured speeches draining rather than fun? We can keep them shorter, or build in a natural point to move on. Somebody stims, fidgets, needs to move during the ceremony, wears headphones, needs sunglasses indoors, or would rather not be hugged by everyone in the room? That's just how the day goes — nobody comments on it, because there's nothing to comment on. I'd genuinely rather build a shorter, calmer, quieter ceremony that the two of you and your guests can actually enjoy than a longer, grander one that leaves people wrung out. There's no version of "the normal way" you owe anyone.

Building it together

Practically, this starts the same way every humanist ceremony does — with a proper conversation, where you tell me what helps and what doesn't, and I write around it. If you want to see how the rest of a humanist ceremony typically comes together, here's what actually happens at a humanist wedding, and if vows feel like a daunting bit to get right, here's my guide to writing wedding vows at whatever pace and in whatever format suits you — some couples write together, some write separately and never show each other in advance, some would rather I read theirs out for them. All of it's on the table. I'm still learning, every couple teaches me something new, and I'd rather ask than assume — so if there's something specific that would make your day easier, tell me, and we'll build it in.