​Inclusion isn’t only about the songs we sing or the language we use, it’s about the spaces we occupy.  No matter how welcoming your ethos is, if a singer can’t physically, sensorially, or emotionally access your venue, that welcome stops at the door.

One of the simplest ways to embed accessibility into everyday choir life is through an Accessibility Rider a short, practical checklist that ensures consistency and care whether you’re hiring a new rehearsal space or preparing for a performance. 

It’s a bit like the detailed documents that travel with a pop star, listing everything they need to perform - from their favourite brand of water to the flowers in their dressing room. Only instead of catering to celebrity whims, yours helps your choir operate in new spaces more smoothly and safely, ensuring that inclusion is built into every logistical decision.
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Think of it as your choir’s travel companion: it asks the right questions so you don’t have to start from scratch each time.

Meet Sarah...

​November 2024 was a rather important month for me. It was on the 6th that, at 35 years old, I finally got my autism diagnosis. The sense of relief I felt after that phone call was immense; there were a lot of tears, both happy and sad. After years and years of believing I was a failure, that it was all my fault, I had an official diagnosis. I’m not broken; I’m just me. For so long, especially in secondary school, I had been punished for falling behind, for forgetting homework, for getting easily distracted. Not once did they ask why. I learnt to hide my ‘quirks’ (what I’d later learn to be stims) for fear of being bullied, and tried so hard to be ‘normal’. The mask I built was heavy and painful. But now I had a reason for it all, I had permission to be me, to be different. (And, since writing this post, have also had my ADHD diagnosis, too!).
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November was also around about the time I started singing with a local choir run by my singing teacher, Emma [Rowland-Elsen, of this website].

​Here's my story.

One of the hardest parts of being a choir leader isn’t the repertoire, the admin, or even the fundraising. It’s those delicate, heart-in-your-mouth conversations where you know you need to address a musical issue with a singer, but you’re worried about how it might land.

Perhaps someone is consistently too loud, throwing off the balance. Or maybe their pitching is unstable, and it’s starting to affect the section. You notice it, the choir notices it, and yet, the singer is clearly having a wonderful time. To complicate matters further, they may be neurodivergent, or they might be struggling with their mental health. You believe your “regular” way of offering feedback could easily cause shame, shutdown, or rupture.
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So, what do you do? Ignore it, and risk the choir’s sound (and the frustration of other members)? Or speak up, and risk causing upset or harm?

The truth is: we need a third option. One where you, as choir leader, can have musically-honest conversations, and give constructive feedback, in a way that is clear, kind, boundaried, trauma-aware, and inclusive. Conversations that preserve group safety, while still honouring - and respecting - individual needs.

​Here's how.

Community choirs are often built with the best intentions: warmth, connection, and belonging. But for neurodivergent singers - including those with autism, ADHD, sensory processing differences, and social anxiety - some of the most common "welcoming" behaviours can actually create the opposite effect.

In fact, the things we think are inclusive can feel overwhelming, confusing, or even distressing for neurodivergent participants. The good news? With a few small shifts, your choir can become a genuinely safer, more accessible space for all kinds of minds - without losing its joy and community spirit.

Let’s look at five well-meaning habits that could be doing more harm than good, and how you can adapt them with every singer in mind.