When Your Child Is Neurodivergent: Lessons From Marc Cucurella — and What They Mean in the Family Court
On 19 July 2026, Spain beat Argentina 1–0 to be crowned world champions, and among the players lifting the trophy was their left-back, Marc Cucurella. If you watched the final, you will know him even if you know nothing about football: the tumbling mop of curls that he never ties back, unmistakable at either end of the pitch. It is widely reported that the hair is not merely a style choice. Cucurella keeps it loose and recognisable, so the story goes, so that his young son Mateo — who is autistic — can pick his father out on the field, wherever he is playing.
There is something quietly moving in that image. A man at the very summit of his sport, in front of a global audience of hundreds of millions, wearing his hair a certain way for an audience of one. It says a great deal about how Cucurella has chosen to father — and about the courage it took, not long before that final, to sit down and speak publicly for the first time about raising a neurodivergent child. The interview, conducted by a young autistic advocate and his father, was tender and unpolished. Cucurella became visibly emotional, at one point apologising as he was moved to tears, admitting that it was "a very personal subject" he had always found hard to discuss. For a celebrated athlete to stop, in his own words, "hiding the cracks" and talk openly about the worry, the grief and the small hard-won joys of parenting his son is genuinely admirable — and, for the many families who live the same reality without a trophy or a spotlight, quietly validating.
As a forensic psychiatrist who prepares reports for parenting proceedings, I listened to that interview through a particular lens. Cucurella was not offering legal advice, and neither is this article. But almost everything he described — routines, transitions, therapy, the right school, the family working as a team — maps directly onto the questions an Australian court asks when it decides what arrangements are in a neurodivergent child's best interests. This piece connects the two: what Cucurella got right as a parent, and why those same themes carry real weight when a family separates.
What Marc Cucurella got right about raising a neurodivergent child
Stripped of the football metaphors, Cucurella's reflections land on six practical truths that clinicians would recognise immediately.
Trust your instincts and seek early assessment. With their first child, Cucurella and his wife had nothing to compare against, and well-meaning people reassured them out of their concerns — "he's just little, they learn." His honest regret was that earlier recognition would have meant earlier support. Parental instinct is data. It deserves to be taken seriously, not soothed away.
Protect routines, because predictability creates safety. Mateo had very specific daily rituals — the same walk to the same shop for an afternoon snack. Cucurella came to understand these not as rigidity but as a source of calm. For many neurodivergent children, a predictable rhythm is not a preference; it is the scaffolding that makes the world tolerable.
Use "anticipation" to prepare for the unfamiliar. Mateo became distressed entering unknown houses and places. The strategy Cucurella now endorses is to show the child the setting in advance — photos, a video, a walk-through — so he can build a mental map and know what is coming. Transitions become survivable when they stop being surprises.
Make the whole family a team. Cucurella credits Mateo's younger siblings with helping him adapt, learning his triggers and comforting him in his own language — one sibling sings to him because he knows Mateo likes it. Support is a system, not a single heroic parent.
Insist on the right educational setting — and treat adaptations as a right, not a favour. A mainstream school left Mateo crying every day; a specialist centre that began from what he loved (blowing bubbles) turned him into a child who went to school happy. Cucurella's blunt observation was that a school which only "understands" a child, without acting, helping and adapting, is not truly inclusive.
Celebrate small wins, and speak openly. He described how the smallest progress with Mateo feels sweeter than any milestone with his neurotypical children — and how being open about autism made his family stronger, not more exposed.
Remember to always celebrate the small wins - and, of course, winning the World Cup!
Why these themes matter when parents separate
Since 6 May 2024, Australian parenting cases are decided under a streamlined set of "best interests" factors in section 60CC of the Family Law Act 1975 (Cth). The old two-tier list was replaced with a single list of general considerations, the presumption of equal shared parental responsibility was removed, and the associated "equal time" pathway was repealed. The child's safety is now the court's paramount concern.
The current best-interests factors ask the court to weigh, among other things: what arrangements promote the safety of the child and their carers (including safety from family violence, abuse and neglect); any views the child expresses; the child's developmental, psychological, emotional and cultural needs; each proposed carer's capacity to meet those needs; and the benefit of a relationship with both parents and other significant people, where it is safe. There is an additional consideration for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children's right to enjoy their culture.
Read that list again with a neurodivergent child in mind, and Cucurella's parenting themes stop being sentimental and become legally material.
Developmental, psychological and emotional needs
This factor is where a child's neurodivergence lives most directly. Autism, ADHD, an intellectual disability or a genetic condition can shape a child's sensory profile, communication, need for routine, tolerance of change and vulnerability to dysregulation. The court is not interested in a diagnosis as a label; it is interested in what the diagnosis means for this particular child's day-to-day needs — and which parenting arrangement actually meets them.
Each carer's capacity to meet those needs
Cucurella's "family as a team" translates, in a separated family, into a hard question: does each parent understand the child's neurodivergence, and can each of them deliver what the child needs? Capacity here is practical, not rhetorical. Does the parent maintain the therapy schedule? Do they know the child's triggers and de-escalation strategies? Can they hold the routines that keep the child regulated? A parent who dismisses the diagnosis, or treats accommodations as indulgence, may struggle to demonstrate capacity — not as a punishment, but because the child's needs are real.
Safety and the reality of dysregulation
Cucurella made a point clinicians echo constantly: when a neurodivergent child hits out or throws something, it is usually communication, not malice — an attempt to express distress they cannot yet put into words. In a parenting dispute this nuance matters enormously. Behaviours of dysregulation can be misread as evidence of harm in one household, when they may reflect an unmet sensory or communication need, a difficult transition, or an environment that has not been adapted. Understanding the difference is central to a fair assessment of safety.
Routines, transitions and two households
The single hardest structural problem for a separated family raising a neurodivergent child is that the child now moves between two homes. Everything Cucurella said about routine and "anticipation" becomes a co-parenting design brief: consistent rhythms across both houses, predictable changeovers, advance preparation for the move between them, and continuity of the things that regulate the child — the same therapies, the same school, the same sensory supports. Frequent, poorly prepared transitions can be destabilising for a child who relies on predictability, which is one reason courts look closely at the practical texture of a proposed schedule, not just the headline division of time.
Schooling as a major long-term decision
Cucurella's school story is not a footnote. Under Australian family law, decisions about a child's education are "major long-term issues" that ordinarily require consultation between parents who share parental responsibility. For a neurodivergent child, the choice between a mainstream setting, a support unit or a specialist school — and the fight for reasonable adjustments — can be one of the most consequential decisions the parents make. Disagreement about it is a common flashpoint in parenting matters.
Where expert evidence comes in: family reports and Single Expert Reports
When a child's needs are complex, the court often needs help understanding them. That is the role of expert evidence — a Child Impact Report, a family report, or a Single Expert Report (SER) prepared by an appropriately qualified clinician such as a psychiatrist or psychologist.
For a neurodivergent child, a well-prepared report does several things at once. It clarifies the diagnosis and, more importantly, its functional implications for this child. It assesses each parent's insight into and capacity to meet those needs. It considers how the child copes with transitions and which arrangements support regulation and development. It does this by reference to the section 60CC factors, so the court can connect clinical reality to legal principle. A diagnosis alone rarely answers the legal question; a thoughtful assessment of what the child needs, and who can provide it, usually moves it forward.
Two cautions are worth stating plainly. First, a child's neurodivergence is never, on its own, a reason to favour one parent — the question is always which arrangement best meets this child's needs. Second, expert opinion is at its most useful when it is measured, transparent about its limits, and free of advocacy for either side.
Practical takeaways for separated parents of a neurodivergent child
If you are co-parenting a neurodivergent child through or after separation, Cucurella's instincts translate into a workable checklist. Keep routines consistent across both homes wherever you can. Prepare your child for changeovers in advance, the way you would prepare them for any new setting. Protect continuity of therapy, school and sensory supports, and resist letting them become a battleground. Make sure both households genuinely understand the diagnosis and the child's triggers, rather than one parent carrying all the knowledge. Document what actually helps your child, calmly and factually. And, as Cucurella found, celebrate the small wins — progress for a neurodivergent child is often quiet, hard-won and worth naming.
This article is general information written by a forensic psychiatrist and is not legal or medical advice. It does not create a doctor–patient relationship and should not be relied upon for any specific case. For advice about your circumstances, consult a family lawyer and your child's treating clinicians.
