Mel King Is TV’s Most Realistic Neurodivergent Character Yet

Mel King Is TV’s Most Realistic Neurodivergent Character Yet

BY QUINN QUE

For years, pop culture has portrayed neurodivergence as a weakness, a tropey superpower, and usually with all the nuance of a clown swinging a mallet. Think Sherlock Holmes as played by Benedict Cumberbatch or Jim Parsons’ Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory: someone brilliant but socially awkward in ways that feel more like punchlines than authentic human experience.

That’s why the new medical drama The Pitt surprised me with their character Dr. Melissa "Mel" King (Taylor Dearden).

Watching Mel develop over the show's 15-episode first season is something different: a neurodivergent-coded character whose traits weren't her defining feature or the source of cheap laughs, but rather threads woven naturally into the fabric of a complex, capable person. 

Mel is in the second year of her residency program, having just transferred to the ER after a year at the Veterans Administration hospital. Though she is very much still a student, Mel’s quick thinking and intuitive understanding earns her props from more experienced colleagues. She moves through the world with genuine enthusiasm, displaying both a mild social awkwardness and a deep empathy. She occasionally misses sarcasm but still connects well with both patients and coworkers. The recurring themes with Mel are competence and understatement, and these play beautifully throughout the series.

The casting of Dearden, an actress who has been vocal about her own ADHD, brings a level of authenticity to the role. Her portrayal not only avoids the rigid, robotic mannerisms that have become shorthand for "autistic character" in Hollywood, but also depicts the complexity and nuance of life as a neurodivergent. 

Though no specific diagnosis is mentioned, Mel uses strategies many of us will recognize from our own lives. She stims and hums to herself in quiet moments. When overwhelmed, she uses self-regulation apps, sings a mantric song lyric to psych herself up, or steps away to reground. Yet Mel isn’t adrift in the real world, like some ND characters – she’s navigating it in a real and relatable way.

The subtlety around Mel’s status also feels intentional rather than evasive. The Pitt presents Mel as someone who might not know she's neurodivergent yet, a reality for many women who were missed by childhood screening. But the show doesn't need an overt diagnostic label to validate her experience or our recognition of it.

Her grounding techniques, her deep capacity for empathy paired with moments of social uncertainty, her sparks of brilliance – these aren't just neurodivergent traits. They're human ones, and they exist on a spectrum we all navigate.

By showing Mel's behavior as natural extensions of her personality rather than clinical symptoms, the show reminds us that the line between "neurotypical" and "neurodivergent" is often more fluid than we assume.

One of the show's most powerful moments comes when Mel treats Terrance, an amateur table tennis player whom her mentor and supervisor, resident physician Dr. Robert Langdon, is struggling to treat. She immediately checks Terrance’s chart, notices his autism diagnosis, and reorients the situation. She reduces sensory stimuli (dims lights, etc); speaks directly; and most importantly, addresses Terrance’s unstated but underlying fears about his injury keeping him out of an upcoming tournament. The scene reveals Mel’s – and the writers' – genuine knowledge of ND support needs.

Throughout the season, Mel thrives in the controlled chaos of the ER, performing exceptionally during crisis situations like a mass shooting. In another episode, we see her hyperfocus as she delightedly picks gravel from wounds, finding the repetitive task soothing rather than tedious. This seeming contradiction – feeling deeply while excelling under pressure – reflects a complex reality of not just the ND experience but the human one.

The relationship between Mel and her sister Becca adds another layer of authenticity to Dr. King’s background. Becca has a more pronounced case of autism, which requires daily caretaking. Mel took on the role of her sister's primary caregiver after their mother's death, but ultimately had to get Becca a room at a care facility nearby in order to work. As we learn their family backstory throughout the series, we see a relatable tale of a plausibly ND adult balancing care for others whilst managing her own support needs.

Though sometimes conflicted over the choices she’s made to strike that balance, Mel’s commitment to their Friday night ritual of dinner and movies reflects a lot – sisterly love, an acknowledgment of how important routines are (especially for people like us), and an urge towards intimate decompression after a stressful, highly social day. Their longstanding family date is clearly essential for both sisters, despite their differences.

This nuanced portrayal matters because representation shapes perception.

When neurodivergent characters are only seen as savants, comic relief, or burdens, it reinforces harmful stereotypes that affect how we're treated in real life.

The Pitt and Dr. Mel King clearly tell audiences that neurodivergent people can be competent professionals, caring friends, and complex individuals whose neurological differences are just one aspect of who they are. It proves that authentic neurodivergent representation doesn't require grand gestures or special episodes.

It simply requires seeing us as fully human.

BIO: Quinn Que is a journalist, commentator, and artist featured in a variety of publications. His primary areas of interest are arts, entertainment, philosophy, and politics. In addition to his prolific Twitter (X) account, he enjoys writing about the intersection of identity and media on his blog, the Edokwin Editorial.

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