In the middle of Cherie Clonan’s bright Melbourne home sits a room in total darkness, “for our son to retreat to”, she says. “It’s all black in there. You wouldn’t believe it’s the same home!”
The space, lined with sound-blocking panels, is a sanctuary for her autistic son: a quiet cocoon for decompressing after school. “He loves to go in there to game online with his mates,” Clonan says.
Diagnosed autistic at 37, Clonan lives in a weatherboard cottage with her husband, Chris, and her two neurodivergent teenagers. Since buying the house five years ago, she has been reshaping it around their needs. “Our family’s split half-half – 50% sensory-seek versus sensory-avoidant,” she says. “I chase light. I love light-filled everything. But my son really is the opposite.”
As diagnoses of autism and ADHD rise, Clonan is among a growing number of Australians rethinking how their homes can support neurodivergent needs. “We all deserve to live in a home that’s designed for the way our brains work,” Clonan says. “We spend so much of our lives trying to fit into spaces that were never built for us.”
It’s an idea echoed by architect and design psychology researcher Dr Jan Golembiewski, who studies how the built environment affects the mind. “It can ease symptoms, even heal,” he says. “For someone with ADHD, it’s about building in positive affordances – things that invite focus, calm and a sense of ease.”
He likens it to “designing the stage set for the behaviour you want to see”: arranging a space so it supports what you need to do. “Even in a small apartment, you can create distinct zones for work and rest,” he says.
A home in balance
Clonan’s redesign began with a family conversation, mapping each member’s “sensory quadrant” using the Dunn Model of Sensory Processing, which helps people understand how they respond to sensory input. Two of them seek stimulation; two prefer calm.
The result is a home in balance. Their bright, colourful, open-plan living area suits her sensory-seeking daughter and husband, while their second living room provides a quiet counterpoint, with black-painted walls, light-filtering shutters and soft, calming fabrics. “Myself and my son are both sensory avoidant,” Clonan says. “The only thing with me is I can handle a lot of light, as long as it’s natural and daylight. I can’t stand fluorescent lighting.”
Her approach is also practical. “It’s a highly organised home,” she says. “It has to be because we’ve got a lot of forgetful souls. If we can’t see something, we forget it exists. There’s one tray in our fridge that isn’t see-through. We call it the Bermuda Triangle, because what goes in doesn’t come out.”
Reducing the daily drag
Eddie Page, a Newcastle-based architect and co-founder of firm Maxwell & Page, was diagnosed with ADHD at 13. He says it gives him a sharper sense of how spaces make people feel.
That philosophy guided the J-Pod, a compact studio he designed in a suburban back yard for 22-year-old Josie, who has ADHD and autism. The 16 square metre home had to do everything. “Sleeping, cooking, washing, resting, all within the footprint of a single room,” he says.
To avoid sensory overload, Page kept the palette simple. “With ADHD and autism, clutter can be the enemy,” he says. Walls are lined with hoop pine plywood, which he describes as “like a nice cocoon, like a hug”. Storage is neatly out of sight. “The kitchen and storage are tucked away so when you’re in bed you can’t see the mess,” he says.
Light and temperature were tuned to Josie’s preferences. “She’s a bit of a cold frog,” Page says. “She wanted a sealed, air-conditioned box with the blinds down all the time.” Blockout blinds and insulation keep the space cool and quiet, while a high window allows in filtered northern light.
Page designs around the flow of daily life. “We’re not just ticking off a list of rooms – we’re designing around how someone actually lives: their sequencing, their rituals, their sensory patterns. It’s about finding ways to reduce the daily drag of getting tasks done.”
For Josie, the shift into a purpose-built space has been transformative. “Having the independence of living on my own has been great for my wellbeing … and though it’s too small to have many separate rooms, it still has clear zones so I can separate my headspace.” She describes the studio as having a “natural and calming feeling”.
Clinical psychologist Luisa Livingstone says many people with ADHD or autism spend their days “masking” – working hard to focus, filter out noise and keep up socially – and often come home mentally spent. “Everyday chores can feel impossible when your motivational energy is already gone,” she says.
“Design and layout can make a real difference. If everything you need is in one place and you don’t have to search or decide, it’s far more achievable.”
Clonan believes shaping a home around her family’s sensory needs has brought them closer together. “My son’s a teenager and yet he respects us so much because he feels safe here. Whatever happens out there, you’ve got the safest place to come home to, and it’s a home that knows your brain. It won’t mock you for the things that that brain needs.”
Page takes a similar view. He’s focused on building a future where difference is part of the design process rather than an afterthought. “I think the best designers are empathetic,” he says.
“You’re designing for somebody else, you’re designing for somebody’s experience. You’re trying to see the world through their eyes. That’s what good design is about.”
