Mastering Time – AuDHD Time Lords
For this neurodivergent AuDHD brain, time is fungible, and not all measurements of time are equal. A day on my fave projects zips past faster than a bullet train, but a day doing receipts is like wading through an emotionally draining swamp, full of spider webs.
My temporal perspective is often off and not by a little bit, it can be off by a whole universe. So it is time to go travelling in time, and who knows? Even space itself! To a place where nothing is as it seems, and time is both endless and always running out. The ADHD acts like a hall of mirrors, distorting your reflection, enhancing, augmenting, squeezing and outright lying to you about your own morphology.
Let’s take a look at my own specific Spiegelsaal of Temporal Distortion… My Brain.
Time Dilation & Distortion
This particular organic specimen of cognitive compute, eyes a task and thinks, in its best trade’s voice “Yeah, I can probably bang that out in 2 hours, maybe even an hour if I stop thinking about it and actually crack on. So, be a love, pop the kettle on and stand back, things might get a bit messy.“
With the best will in the world that’s magical thinking and downright self-deception at its core. FFW to Stuart 8 hours from now, and the job has gone through a few iterations, several rabbit holes and two unexpected trips to Screwfix. You find a man with a very ruddy complexion, probably tired, almost certainly sweaty, very definitely swearing, depleted in nourishment and with a thirst for the ages and feeling like he’s about to self-combust.
My wife will be nearby, gently chuckling, cheering me up and praising the effort, if not the efficacy and ensuring I am brought back to a baseline by plying me with food and drink, and packing me off to the shower with a cider. Deal with it, Cider Shower, try it, it’s a thing. Obv. only try it if the law allows and you are of legal age, consult an adult, wear PPE, ensure you have done the proper risk assessment and have applied for the correct permits in your jurisdiction, and have the necessary license and training to operate a water powered, domestic cleansing unit, whilst operating a sponge with an open alcoholic beverage in a moving shower spray, whilst wet. Yeah.
EDITOR’S NOTE – yes, I am editing my own blog, this is not the New Yorker – deal with it. (There’s the ADHD right there on the page… The side quest, the double side quest, the over sharing, but the detail though, I mean, c’mon – did it not paint… stobbit Stuart, man get back to the story – Oooh Bakewell tart, and a cuppa, don’t mind if I do! brb)
Lets just say I am not great at getting going, getting to the point or getting past a Bakewell tart and a cuppa. I am also not great at sizing up a task that I have not done before, or one with many variables, or one of those projects which ‘unfurls’ as it goes. They can be tricky. One of my customer’s pays me per piece of artwork. Ten hours or two, same price. There’s a scale too, more complex etc. But the gist is, if it goes over 2 hours, I am on my own time. That does focus you somewhat, but that’s the point.
Somewhat focused.
Not “Completely” focused.
Somewhat – and that is variable depending on which set of circumstances is currently happening…
It’s hard to accurately judge your capacity when your capability is not consistent.
However, if it’s a task I have done before then I am much better at sizing up the time budget and allowing for hiccups one might encounter.
Better… note that. “Better“, not perfect, not consistent, but “better” and that’s better, on some days…
So, lets have a quick review – so far, we have “somewhat capable” and “slightly better”, productivity going great so far in the ADHD Timeline then..
Working knowledge and muscle memory are one of the reasons I like order and routine. The precision of doing something to an agreed cost and hitting your allocated deadline is such a good feeling. But mess up and miss it, and the rage can start to descend, a pitch tar-like substance obscuring your senses, further exacerbating one’s ability to see things as they are, and suddenly the universe is against you and the world needs to shut up and do-one.
Where’s my sonic screw-up driver???
Then lets add in the hyperfocus, it’s a wormhole where hours go to die, you emerge with bladder/thirst/head/posture/cats screaming at you for relief from all their ailments. Side thought – I think first line of defence against Daleks, send in cats. That’ll confuse ‘em…
Anyway… back to the main plot.
It’s disconcerting to awaken from a self-induced miasma to find that the clocks have changed and we have a new Prime Minister but thankfully DFS still has a sale on, phew. I know how a bear feels after hibernating, I too need to eat – a lot.
Hyperfocus may produce a lot of work in short-order but going from 9am to lunch in one task without intermission, distraction or other side-quest is bewildering. I really feel like I “come to” – much like the giddy-fools who give themselves over to stage-hypnosis. I am fine, honka-honka! See? Nothing wrong, honka-honka.
There’s a temporal vertigo to hyperfocus, it can make your schedule as predictable as walking across a bouncy castle, tipsy, in clown shoes, that are, ironically too small. (Honka-honka.)
This means your own sense of time is often off. However, when not strapped into the hyperfocus express, destination; “detailed and done”. I can usually tell the time within 20 mins, sometimes within 5-10mins. Example;Last night, woke, thought It’s about 6am… checked watch 6:10am. Not a useful skill on your CV, but what aspect of neurodivergence is useful on a CV?
But if I am deep into a hyperfocus, or distracted by a myriad of conflicting and context switching tasks? Then, baby, I am more turned around about what time is is than Pete Burns at a hoola-hoop competition, in a maze. (Turned around, right round baby, right round).
The Planning Fallacy
This can create issues when pricing work, as I said, pricing comparable jobs is relatively straightforward (taking out the variable capacity), but sometimes you are quoting based solely on the time you’re putting into a project, and that’s where things get quite elastic.
It’s hard to judge how much time to allocate, but anything you plan can be derailed especially when you know that:
A) ADHD Chaos Raccoon could blow up your plan for a day by refusing to do as asked and instead you fix the three noisiest items in your office because they are driving you nuts (CREAKING FROM THE SHADE ATTACHED TO MY StuDio will end me if I do not sort it, GAH!)
B) Your brain decides that it needs the emotional regulation of not doing anything vaguely related to productive work. Instead it wishes to lie down in a spa and be pampered all day. But, as budgets are tight, a packet of GF choc biscuits will suffice and is 100% necessary before we get going. Guess I am off to the shops then…
Oh and a pot noodle if they have it.
Shut up!
No you shut up!!
anyway…
C) DID YOU SEE THAT “SQUIRREL”… and then we’re off to the dopamine mines, and in we plunge, headlong… again… What is it this time? The plural of Octopus is Octopodes you say? Fascinating, tell me more about Greek grammar, go!… A Scottish octopus is known as a Scotopus you say? Uh-hmm, right, right, right… Learning all sorts today.
And that’s every day, all day, and twice on the weekends (matinee shows from 2pm). It is just exhausting, like a wild unicorn on which you ride, off on a whim and a prayer. Yes, I know, it’s “wing and a prayer”, but such is my want that I thought it suitable in this instance to change it, as a literary flourish. And even that sentence shows I cannot be trusted to stay on course for more than five minutes, or a paragraph
That makes planning tasks a complete nightmare, you sit down, to do list in hand and it may as well have been someone else’s tasks because your brain is currently tidying your email inbox as it’s now the noisiest thing in your head. All whilst planning to alphabetise your paint storage, and, therefore, before you get to the list of “to do”, you have to complete the sidequests of doom! Where deadlines go to wither and die.
Plan all you like but as you skate into the day, ass-backwards and three FANTASTIC new ideas boiling your brain good luck on getting any of the items that must be done, done anytime soon.
Just sitting down to write this I’ve
- Reglued my StuDio’s acoustic tiles
- Tidied up some cables
- Checked my emails twice
- Responded to several txt messages – various projects
- Done a dive into a customer web issue (90 mins)
- Fixed a CCTV log in issue
- Adjusted my seat
… and made a coffee, which was warm 2 nanoseconds ago, and now is stone cold… why? (ah yes, writing “hyperfocus”, which as we’re discovering is slightly less focused today, the Unicorn is moseying through a pasture, rather than galloping the final furlong in the four-legged cryptid gold cup.) plus answered sundry texts and stared into space contemplating some deals we’re doing right now. NONE of which was on my list of to do.. NONE.
The cognitive load to stay focused is tremendous, even a cluttered desk can add to the overwhelm and I have had a cluttered desk for 5+ years. But no more! I have spent the past three weeks expunging and organising over five years of clutter and chaos in the StuDio. The weight is lifted and all the surfaces are clean and clear. Anything currently residing on my desk is 100% to do with my actions this week. I feel lighter and more focused with a clean and clear workspace, it’s a big accomodation to my own focus & concentration that I needed. And yet.. The above list says otherwise.
How you do one thing, is how you do everything
I’m often heard saying, and it is true of the environment in which you live as much as the work you do. I have struggled with my output for the past few years, several reasons, but mental health has been on a comeback and this is part of the “return to full-strength and focus” plan that I am working on.
But of course all of this can look like being a busy fool, standing still whilst the world spins on, obsessing about the symmetry of your acoustic tiles and adjusting lens stops on your webcam. However it all helps with the emotional regulation if I know my working environment is known, measured, managed and mine to control. From the outside it might seem like folly, but for me it has been about putting out raging fires and ensuring systems are in place to deal with my less regulated moods.
Good luck ignoring it, when the “Do Not Disturb” is on, that’s bad when it’s your own brain!
Running Late and Time-Blindness
The Autist requires hyper-regulation, and now it is all tidy it can settle down and stop feeling quite so out-of-control.
So, what about the ADHD? Well a newly tidied space is a novelty, so we get that dopamine dump. The issue is when it no longer seems new and exciting, what then?
Yes, that is an issue, and one to watch for but the excitement of a clean slate and keeping things in order allows for more creativity to come to the fore. Thus I do hope that, for a while at least, the ADHD beast will be satiated. And it really is Dr. Technical and Mr. Hide-and-Seek. One shows up and keeps things in order until you need the services of an unhinged maniac who can conjure chaos into creative genius.
But yet; you want me to be on time for something? Good luck with that! I am either 30 minutes early or ten minutes late with a great story. For some reason I cannot just get somewhere 5 mins before, park and walk in. I’ve even arrived 30 minutes early and sat outside the venue and somehow still managed to be late into the actual meeting. Combination of distractions, phone, thoughts and a sudden urge to use the facilities, with panicked search for suitable arrangements. Gah.
And sometime the brain just will not budge, I can be sat, staring at the clock, and my brain’s both panicking at how close to the start of the meeting it is and why am I still in my PJs, whilst simultaneously thinking “I am sure I could answer that email, and check that stat, and fill in that form”… It’s like you can see the edge of the cliff approaching fast whilst you keep tuning the radio in the hope you’ll hit the “WBRW – the perfect soundtrack for plunging into the void…”
And ever was it so in my head. Time has not diluted the “gift”.
Teachers regularly reported “he seems bright, if only he would apply himself” or “Stuart is constantly distracted” or “Stuart can be a disruptive influence in the class“, of course I was disruptive, I DEMAND CHAOS, the alchemy of the creative process and then I get to impose ORDER plus I was probably bored, which is like kryptonite to my system.
(I’ll overlook the “seems like a bright boy”, SEEMS? Grrrr… heckled by my junior school teacher! Took years to land… ooof. Thx.)
To drag myself back to the throughline of this blog post, there’s also the energy required to wrangle the entire mess of the process to some tangible timeline. Deadlines are amazing at focusing the effort, and I gave myself to the 21st September to finish the tidying and get back on course and ensure it all was done. Is it ALL done, DONE? Lets go with “mostly” and I can upgrade to “yes” as I tick off a few cosmetic tasks.
Things can get into a terrible mess, but it’s my mess and when I am ready to unmess it then I will do and when I am able to spare the energy, but some messes come with emotional baggage, which really craters your capability. All that weight of expectation, your own scathing review or your current performance, and the anger at having to manage all of that and still be unable to do the thing you HAVE to do, which can make any task more slippery than a greased eel.
So what’s the big takeaway Stu?
Don’t store your eels and grease in the same container? Probably?
No!
That’s a terrible ending…
So, err, here it is…
Help Weeding Your To Do List
This is not going to work for everyone in all situations but I find that in complex tasks, where the outcomes are unclear and variables may change, then I need to have a system to ensure I stay regulated and don’t spin out, chase rabbits down holes and general end up on a side quest or three.
I have this method where everything is broken into two columns – wish lists and deal breakers.
- Wishlist – all the things I would like to have but are not mandatory and should they not happen or be available then I am OK. I will try to get as many of these as possible but even achieving just one item on this list is a win.
- Dealbreakers – critical things which without them renders the entire exercise, project or situation null and void, over and out, done and dusted, no thanks. They make you want to, Meep Meep… and eff off faster than the roadrunner within earshot of a coyote.
But this system allows me to choose and prioritise work according to my energy, time and available resources. It allows me to whittle down any complex project or other such multi-layered problem into “the things that HAVE to happen” and “ the things that, if they were to happen, then bonus!” – get the mandatory tough stuff done first, everything else is a bonus!
This can be adapted to suit a lot of situations – a social meet-up that you are obligated to attend? What are the deal breakers? Going is mandatory but staying, not so much… So, lets say 2 hrs is a deal breaker, 1 hr is a wish list item. Anything in between is going to feel like a win!
For me today’s deal breaker? Dealing with the utility company and their toothless threats… today I am Whatevs Kev, and they can swerve off.
Today’s wish list – get this blog finished, and as you can see, we’re smashing it! Yay! Mostly because I am not dealing with said Utility Company. And have the bandwidth and spoons to write the blog. If I did both then
A) Probably be dysregulated, definitely get wound up… and burn through energy…
2) No blog – or poorly thought through blog at the least due to lack of creative spoons
(note from future Stu – I smashed this out in one hyperfocus and day after I am editing this!)
You can use it for specific tasks, or to pick which tasks, I have used it to choose menu items when you get the “BIG BOOK OF ALL THE MEALS”… usually sticky, and then have to triage what you can eat, what’s allowed with what and all the other rules you unconsciously accommodate at home.
It’s a simple tool to help make sense of the complex, and I hope it helps.
Conclusion and Takeaways
There we are, take all that and do with it what you will; I’ve used this wish list/deal breaker process from buying a house, to deciding meals. It’s not foolproof and relies on gathering all the data for making the right decision. It also helps when things go awry, you can review and see if the “unexpected item in the baggage area” was predictable or was new info, and can help for decision making another time.
This process allows you to triage the entire task, project or other life event that you need to make some quick decisions about. It’s not perfect but it helps keep me grounded in my own best outcomes when dealing with any situation. I even used it when looking for a suitable candidate as a spouse. Yeah. Not exactly romantic, but my partner is amazing and ensures my best interests are always met, and I do the same for her, you know. Marriage/partnership/love 🙂
I do hope the above ramble will help, just a few thoughts around the challenges of having a brain that will not wear a saddle, won’t be told what to do and can sometimes take all your plans and decide we’re off to the seaside for lollies and chips.
As this winding narrative shows, sometimes the journey is the lesson, and I am hoping reading this has been a worthwhile journey.
What works for me, may not work for you, so do let us know if there’s anything you do to help retain some semblance of balance, control or regulation, always willing to add tools to the toolbox of life.
Listen to the Business Oddcast for more exciting tips and tales of misadventures in the garden of neurodivergence.
Strap in, we’re off for a wild ride
I would like to dedicate this specific blog to my great friend and co-host/co-producer on the Business Oddcast, Hannah, she’s supported me over the past month and allowed me to wander off and get this tidy up done. Thank you for your msgs and listening to my whingy whiny complaining. Lets now go smash it!
Who Are You Trying To Impress
I’ve always been pretty proud of my easy-going personality. I’m helpful, I don’t like making a fuss, and I’m generally pretty good at fitting around other people….generally. All excellent qualities, I feel. Five stars for Hannah. Lovely to work with. Would recommend!
Except recently I’ve started noticing how often “easy-going” Hannah says, “Yep, no problem!” when there is, in fact, a problem. Not a call-the-emergency-services problem, obviously. More a I don’t have time for this, don’t particularly want to do it and am now going to have to rearrange half my week kind of problem.
And the most annoying bit is that nobody has pressured me into anything. There are no guns against heads. Someone has just asked a completely reasonable question and given me every opportunity to say no. But before I’m given my brain the chance to engage, my mouth has already committed, and my head is nodding enthusiastically. Even though at that point my brain is in the corner with its arms crossed looking bemused.
Then, later, I’m annoyed. Partly with the person who asked me, even though I know they’ve not done anything wrong. But mainly with myself. Because I’ve done it again. I’ve prioritised being helpful, doing the right thing, being the good girl, whilst totally ignoring what might actually be best for me.
I’ve had a lifetime of this, but in recent years I’ve started to wonder whether I really am as easy-going as I think I am. Or if, in fact, I’ve just gotten really good at being easy for other people. As that’s a whole different kettle of fish entirely.
When ‘easy-going’ stops being easy
To be clear, I genuinely am pretty chill. Unless you cut me up when my kids are in the car! (That’s a road rage story for another time!)
If I don’t care whether we meet at ten or eleven, then I really don’t care. I’m not secretly sitting at home seething because somebody chose eleven while whispering, “This is fine” through gritted teeth.
But I’ve realised there are plenty of other times when I do have a preference. Or something is inconvenient. Or I’m already stretched. And yet out comes the trusty old “Whatever works for you!” before my own opinion has even had the chance to reach the front of the queue.
I think some of that comes from spending years feeling like certain bits of me needed toning down. Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too direct. Too much. You learn pretty quickly that being accommodating gets a much warmer reception than being the person saying, “Actually, this doesn’t work for me.” So perhaps somewhere along the way I got a little too good at it.
Because there’s a point where being flexible stops being about genuinely not minding and starts becoming a reluctance to risk somebody thinking you’re difficult. And THAT is where I’m starting to question things. I don’t want to stop being easy-going because I quite like that bit of me. I just don’t want “easy-going” to mean everyone else gets to be comfortable at my expense.
The helpful one
Being helpful is another one I’ve started looking at a little more suspiciously. Because I LOVE being helpful. Give me a problem to solve and I’m in. I’ll find you the person you need, send you the link, come up with three ideas you hadn’t thought of and possibly become considerably more invested in sorting it out than you are. Possibly? Who am I kidding?…I will definitely be more invested.
This is particularly true in business. A client can ask me for one thing and suddenly I’m thinking, Ooh, but if we did this as well… And then I’ve spotted something else. And that connects to another thing. Before long, what was supposed to be a fairly contained piece of work has developed several additional limbs and I’m happily giving them all away for free.
And some of that is absolutely one of the reasons I’m good at what I do. I don’t want to stop seeing the extra thing just because it wasn’t technically in the brief. That would be like asking my brain to notice fewer things, and good luck with that. But again, I’ve started noticing the difference between doing more because I’m excited, interested and genuinely think it will help, and doing more because I have that little nagging feeling that what I’ve already done might not be enough.
Enough for what, exactly? Enough for the client to be happy? Enough for them to think I’m good at my job? Enough to justify what they’ve paid me? Enough for them to like me? Because “I always overdeliver” sounds like a fabulous business principle until you realise you’re routinely delivering 150% while only charging for 100%. At which point it becomes less of a business strategy and more of an unpaid internship in your own company.
Perfect is safer
Perfectionism gets tangled up in this too. I’ve always cared about doing things properly, and I’m not planning to start merrily chucking out crap in the name of personal growth. There are standards. But there are also times when I know something is good enough and STILL can’t leave the bloody thing alone.
One more read-through. One tiny tweak. Move that sentence. Put it back again. Change a word. Decide the original word was better. Stare at it for another ten minutes as though the I can summon the correct answer with my eyeballs. At that point, I’m not sure we’re talking about high standards anymore.
If I am honest with myself I know I’m removing every possible opportunity for someone to think I’ve got something wrong. And gaslighting myself into thinking it’s my attention to detail, or perfectionist streak.
Overexplaining is probably part of the same family too. I can turn a perfectly straightforward email into something requiring chapters if I’m worried there’s any chance of being misunderstood. The number of times I have thrown what was meant to be a quick email, and invariably evolved into my life’s work, into ChatGPT with the prompt ‘make it less rambly’.
Here’s my answer. Here’s why that’s my answer. Here’s some context. Here’s a small piece of supporting evidence. And while we’re here, would you like to know what happened in 2007 that explains why I think this way?
I joke about it, but there is something underneath all that explaining. If I give you ALL the information, you’ll understand me properly. If you understand me properly, maybe you won’t think badly of me. And suddenly that six-paragraph email looks a little less like being thorough and a little more like me trying to control an outcome I can’t actually control.
Anything to avoid the awkward conversation
Now’s the part where things get particularly ridiculous, because I am absolutely not someone that actively avoids conflict. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go out in search of it. Who wants that?
But if someone I care about is being treated unfairly, then I’m hunting down that conflict, Liam Neeson style. I’ve got the skills to ask difficult questions… I can challenge people. I can become an absolute pain in the arse when required.
Give me an injustice and apparently all concerns about being easy-going have left the building. If there’s a wrongdoing afoot, my flag’s in the air and I’m leading the march. Yeah, I’m gonna chain myself to something in the name of fairness if I need to too!
But disappointing somebody personally? Ah, different department. Suddenly I’m explaining. Softening. Apologising. Adding a smiley face so nobody accidentally thinks I’m furious because I’ve said I can’t do Thursday.
Even saying ‘no’ comes with an entire supporting statement for me. I can’t just give you the cold hard facts. I need to set the scene for you, give the full background story of why I can make it, what else I am doing instead, and a hundred other bits of evidence about how I am still indeed a decent human, in spite of letting you down.
And the crazy thing is that most people aren’t giving any of this a second thought. They’ve read “Sorry, I can’t do Thursday”, thought okay, and moved on with their lives while I’m still mentally preparing my defence for a court case nobody has brought. I think that’s where the fear of disappointing people really shows itself for me. It’s not necessarily that I can’t say no. It’s that I want to make absolutely certain you’re still okay with me afterwards if I do.
When did this become my personality?
This is the bit I find most fascinating. Because when we talk about masking, it can sound like something quite deliberate. You put the mask on for work, networking or a client meeting, do your best impression of a person who definitely knows what they’re doing, then come home and take it off again.
But what if you’ve been doing some of this stuff for most of your life, so you genuinely don’t know where all the lines are anymore. I know I am helpful, and kind. I like making people happy. And I really know how much I care about doing a good job. So, I don’t want to start examining every decent thing I’ve ever done and decide none of it was real and I’ve actually just been one enormous mask in leopard print clothing.
But there are definitely bits I’ve started questioning. Do I actually not mind, or have I just become really good at saying I don’t? Am I making this thing better because I want to, or because I’m scared it isn’t good enough? Am I explaining because the other person needs more information, or because I need them to understand that I am Definitely Not Wrong? And would I still be quite so accommodating if there was absolutely no chance of anyone being disappointed in me?
That last one is a bit of a bugger. Because once you’ve been The Helpful One, The Reliable One, The Easy-Going One and The One Who Will Sort It for long enough, people come to expect it. More importantly, you come to expect it.
So where does the masking stop and my actual personality start? No idea. Helpful, I know. But maybe I don’t need to completely unpick it. Maybe I just need to notice the bits that don’t feel like a choice anymore.
So… who ARE you trying to impress?
I’ve seen enough advice about people pleasing to know I’m now supposed to announce that I no longer care what anybody thinks of me. Unfortunately, that would be bollocks. Of course I care what people think of me. I want my clients to think I’m good at what I do. I want my friends to think I’m a good friend. I want the people I love to know they can rely on me. And, as a general life ambition, I’d quite like most people who encounter me not to leave thinking, “God, she’s an idiot.”
I don’t think caring is the problem. It’s what I sometimes make myself do to guarantee the outcome. Because I can’t actually guarantee that everyone will like me. I can’t make sure nobody is ever disappointed. I can’t explain myself so perfectly that I’m never misunderstood. And I definitely can’t keep giving everyone 150% without eventually wondering why I’m bloody exhausted.
So, I’m trying to notice it sooner. The automatic yes. The unnecessary apology. The extra hour spent making something better that was already absolutely fine. The six paragraphs of explanation when two sentences would probably have done the job. Not so I can become less helpful, less caring or less me. Just so I get a say in it too.
Because maybe the question isn’t really “Who are you trying to impress?” Maybe it’s “How much of yourself are you changing to make sure you do?”
And I think I’m finally ready to stop auditioning quite so hard.
The Performance Never ends
An average working day in the life of a neurospicy business owner (specifically THIS neurospicy business owner!)
10am – I’ve got an online client meeting, which is always a bit of a struggle as I find meetings much easier in person. Without really thinking about it, ‘Client Meeting Hannah’ (CMH) has entered the virtual building.
She’s warm, interested, confident and hopefully making the ‘right amount’ (AKA ‘normal’ amount) of eye contact. Too much and she risks looking overly intense/creepy. Not enough and she looks disengaged. Ironically, my best engaged self is when I am not making any eye contact. That’s when my ears and brain concentrate best.
CMH knows what she’s talking about, but she’s also keeping half an eye on whether she’s talking too much about what she knows. There is, apparently, a very fine line between demonstrating expertise and accidentally delivering an unsolicited TED Talk.
The meeting goes well, but CMH feels wrung out like a sponge and needs to regroup her headspace before the next thing on the workday list. A cup of tea and CMH is ‘back in the room’, ready to make a phone call that she has been putting off. This requires a slightly different version of me, so in comes ‘Phone Hannah’ (PH).
PH likes to know what she’s going to say before she says it, ideally with several possible conversational routes planned in advance. This works beautifully until the other person completely ignores the script that PH has thoughtfully prepared for both of us and asks an unexpected question. Frankly, PH thinks that’s quite rude, as it throws her off her game and invites ‘Tangent Hannah’ (TH) into the mix.
We’ve met TH before, so no need for more intros. But needless to say, TH has inspired comments such as ‘let’s wrap this up’ and ‘I’ve got to jump’ from fellow workday interactors. So we try to keep TH in her box during a workday.
Then perhaps there’s networking, a presentation or a podcast recording. I don’t consciously decide to switch between these modes, and until I understood more about my neurodivergence, I didn’t even realise how much switching I was doing. I just thought this was what everyone did when they went to work.
And to an extent, it is. We all behave differently depending on who we’re with and what we’re doing. I don’t talk to a new client in exactly the same way I talk to my husband on the sofa, and I suspect the client is extremely grateful for that. But I’ve started to realise there’s a difference between adapting naturally to a situation and spending an enormous amount of energy monitoring yourself within it.
Because none of these versions of me are fake. They’re all me. But when you’re constantly checking which version of yourself the room requires, being “professional” can start to feel surprisingly like performing. And some days, it feels as though the performance never ends.
I didn’t even know I was doing it
One of the strangest things about discovering I was neurodivergent later in life was realising how many things I’d been doing for decades without knowing why. I didn’t walk into meetings consciously thinking, Right, time to mask my autism, and yet I was aware that I had different ‘modes’ for different situations. I just assumed everyone was switching.
I’d spent years watching and learning what made interactions go more smoothly and implementing that into my own life. Sometimes that involved mimicking what others did, and other times it was a case of getting it wrong the first time around, licking my wounds and trying again.
I still have an inner monologue reminding me to:
Think what you’re going to say
Try not to interrupt
Don’t talk for too long
Look the ‘right’ amount of interested
Look relaxed, but not too much
Try not to look like you’re concentrating quite so hard on looking relaxed.
Can you imagine a world where you have to think about all this stuff, to this degree? To be fair, if you are reading this then it is more than likely your reality too.
Phone calls are a particularly good example. I’ve always liked knowing roughly what I’m going to say before I make one, and it’s pretty common for me to rehearse the conversation in my head first. Not just my part, obviously, as that would be amateur level. I prepare the other person’s responses too, which makes it particularly irritating when they decide to improvise.
Spoiler: They NEVER say what I had planned for them!
For years, I didn’t think any of this was unusual. I assumed everybody was doing roughly the same amount of preparation and monitoring underneath the surface, and perhaps some people are. The difference was that I couldn’t see what was happening inside anybody else’s head. I could only see how effortless they made it look. So, I learnt to make it look effortless too.
That’s the difficult thing about masking. It doesn’t always feel like putting on a disguise. Sometimes it’s simply a collection of tiny adjustments you’ve made over such a long period of time that you stop noticing you’re making them.
Professional Hannah has entered the building
Business gives us an impressive (AKA overwhelming!) number of opportunities to practise this. There are client meetings, sales conversations, networking events, presentations, phone calls and those unexpected encounters where somebody asks what you do for a living and you suddenly forget every job you’ve ever had.
Networking Hannah (NH) needs to be sociable and interested without trapping somebody beside the coffees for forty-five minutes. Presentation Hannah (PH) needs to sound confident even if part of her brain is wondering whether everyone can see that she’s forgotten how arms work. Sales Hannah (SH) needs to talk about what she does without either massively underselling herself or sounding like she’s about to launch a twelve-week mastermind from a Lamborghini. Then there’s Unexpected Phone Call Hannah (UPCH), who has been given absolutely no rehearsal time whatsoever and more often than not just doesn’t answer the phone.
Being able to adapt to different people and situations is useful, particularly when you’ve spent much of your career working with clients. I’m very good at reading people, understanding what they need and changing the way I communicate accordingly. The problem comes when adapting stops being something you’re doing alongside the interaction and starts becoming another entire layer of work underneath it. Because it’s so blooming exhausting!
Imagine the cognitive load of listening to what somebody is saying whilst running some sort of quality control program in the background. Scanning the conversation, monitoring whether the talking has morphed into a rabid squirrel and suddenly becoming acutely aware of where your hands are. And now I’m thinking about where my hands are, I have absolutely no idea what the person just said.
It’s essentially a second job called Managing How Everybody Experiences Me (MHEEM), and annoyingly the overtime is self-funded!
The meeting ends. The performance doesn’t
The really exhausting bit, though, isn’t necessarily what happens while you’re in the room. A meeting might only be an hour long, but the mental work surrounding it can take up considerably more space than the innocent little square in your calendar would suggest.
There can be preparation beforehand, particularly if it’s somebody I haven’t met before or the meeting feels important. I’ll think about what I need to say, what they might ask and how the conversation might go. Sometimes that’s just sensible preparation. Sometimes I’ve mentally attended the meeting three times before the other person has even joined Zoom.
Then there’s the meeting itself, with all the listening, processing, responding and monitoring going on at once. And when it’s finally finished, you’d think my brain might congratulate itself on a job well done and move on with its day. Absolutely not.
Now we begin the post-match analysis. Back to the ‘talking too much’ paranoia. Did I explain that properly? Why did they make that face when I said that thing? Should I have asked another question? Did I promise to send them something? And what exactly did that slightly raised eyebrow at 10.43am mean? Meanwhile, the owner of the eyebrow has probably forgotten the entire interaction and is standing in their kitchen deciding what to have for lunch.
This is the bit I understand much better now. The performance doesn’t necessarily finish when the meeting does. Sometimes you’re still mentally standing on the stage hours later, checking the reviews.
No wonder I came home exhausted
Before I understood any of this, there were plenty of days when I’d get to the end of a working day completely wiped out and wonder what on earth was wrong with me. I’d look back at what I’d done and think, But I haven’t even done that much. A couple of meetings. Some phone calls. Maybe a networking event or presentation. Hardly an expedition up Everest.
What I couldn’t see was all the invisible work happening alongside those things. Understanding that has changed the way I treat myself enormously. These days, if I’ve had a day full of people and my brain has decided it’s finished by 4pm, I’m much less likely to start lecturing myself about resilience, productivity or why I should be able to squeeze another couple of hours out of it. I have a much better understanding of what I’ve been asking it to do.
In fact, it’s fairer to say that these days I try not to have a day full of people or back-to-back work commitments in the first place. I know that doesn’t make for the best use of my brain. It needs room to breathe and decompress, and I know that goes against everything we are taught in the ‘be consistent’ work mantra. But when I work with my brain rather than setting it up for failure, life is much nicer, and my work is both more enjoyable and more productive.
And there’s another thing I’ve had to learn: enjoying something doesn’t mean it isn’t tiring. I love recording the podcast. I enjoy good client meetings. I can have a brilliant time at an event and genuinely love talking to the people there, then come home and want nobody to speak to me for several hours. Both things can be true.
For a long time, I think I assumed exhaustion meant something had gone badly. Now I understand that sometimes it simply means something took a lot of energy.
But which bit is actually me?
Discovering I’d been masking for years made me seriously question myself. If I’d spent so much of my life adjusting myself depending on the people around me, then which version is actually me? The ‘real’ Hannah. And I don’t think there is a definitive answer to that. In fact, I am increasingly suspicious of anyone who claims there is.
Because I don’t believe that there is a real Hannah hidden underneath all of these other versions, peeling away the layers like an emotionally complicated pass-the-parcel and stepping into the light in a ‘dada!’ moment.
Client Meeting Hannah is me. Podcast Hannah is me. Networking Hannah is me. The version of me sitting at home in comfy clothes who would strongly prefer not to answer the phone is also very much me.
We all have different sides to ourselves, and behaving differently in different situations doesn’t automatically mean we’re pretending. I don’t need to speak to a client exactly as I speak to my closest friends in order to prove I’m authentic. There are some conversations that would probably become considerably more interesting if I did, but I’m not sure it would be a sound business strategy.
So I’ve stopped worrying quite so much about which version is the “real” one. I’m more interested in noticing where I have to edit myself the least. Who are the people I don’t rehearse around? Which environments allow me to say I don’t understand something without worrying how it’ll be received? Where can I admit that I need time to think, move around if I need to, or get ridiculously enthusiastic about something without simultaneously monitoring whether I’m being Too Much?
Those are much more useful questions for me than trying to uncover one definitive authentic self.
I’m not about to start turning up to client meetings in my pyjamas
There’s a version of this conversation about unmasking that can make it sound as though the ultimate goal is to stop adapting altogether. Just say whatever you’re thinking! Reject all social expectations! Be completely yourself at all times! But I’m not sure that’s either realistic or particularly desirable.
Understanding masking hasn’t made me want to abandon professionalism, and I’m not about to start turning up to client meetings in my pyjamas in the name of authenticity. Although I work from home, so statistically speaking there’s a reasonable chance I’ve already attended meetings wearing something questionable below the camera line. What happens off Zoom stays off Zoom.
What has changed is that I’m much more interested in noticing where I’m performing unnecessarily. Do I really need to go to networking events that leave me wiped out when I build much better relationships one-to-one? Does that conversation genuinely need to be a phone call, or could we deal with it perfectly well over email? Do I need to produce an immediate answer, or can I just say, “I need to think about that and come back to you”?
I’ve also started questioning whether some of the things I spent years trying to edit out of myself were ever unprofessional in the first place. Being enthusiastic isn’t unprofessional. Needing time to process something isn’t unprofessional. Communicating clearly about what you need isn’t unprofessional. Neither is working in a way that allows you to do your best work rather than one that looks the way you’ve been taught work is supposed to look.
I still adapt. Of course I do. The difference is that these days I have much more choice about when that adaptation is useful and when I’m only doing it because I’ve spent most of my life believing that’s the price of fitting in.
When the curtain falls
I’ve grown rather fond of all these different versions of me. They’re not characters I’ve invented; they’re different parts of me that help me navigate different situations. And a few probably deserve a BAFTA for services to getting through networking breakfasts while appearing completely comfortable with the concept of making small talk over rubbish coffee and a pastry.
I don’t think the answer to years of masking is another set of rules about how we’re supposed to unmask correctly. That feels suspiciously like replacing one performance with another, and I think we’ve all got enough to be getting on with.
For me, it’s much simpler than that. It’s having more places, more people and more parts of my working life where I don’t have to think quite so hard about how I’m being perceived. Where I can use the energy I once spent managing everybody’s experience of me on actually experiencing my own life.
Perhaps the goal isn’t to work out who you are when the mask comes off. It’s to build a life where you don’t have to wear it quite so often.
You Don’t Get To Choose What Your Brain Finds Interesting
Apparently my brain has its own agenda when it comes to deadlines. I’ve always been aware that it’s not the sort that toes the line. Does it do what it’s told? Hell no! And I respect it for that… until I don’t.
Because having a rebellious creative brain can be magnificent, some of the time. Picture it steaming down the highway, its head out the sunroof, wind in its hair, screaming, “I’m alive!”
Then other times it’s that uncontrollable toddler that missed its afternoon nap. It’s overtired, trying to poke pointy things into the plug sockets, crying at everything, and howling “Nooooooo” at all attempts to placate it. The stage of parenting that has you thinking, “You know what? I’m good with one child.”
So…back to deadlines. I have learnt over the last 51 years that I can’t just thrust a deadline in front of my brain. Otherwise, it retreats back into its cave and mentally checks out of anything that isn’t watching Netflix (other streaming platforms are available!) I have to make sure I have the time, and all the conditions for productivity have been painstakingly assembled. Only then is there an outside chance that I can manipulate it into believing it’s doing what it wants to.
This can be a little arduous if my brain is in squirrel-chasing mode. As it keeps trying to wriggle free and disappear under the nearest clothing rail. And the particularly annoying bit is that while it may have absolutely no interest in the Important Thing I’m trying to get it to do, it can find an incredible amount of brainpower for something completely unrelated. One innocent Google search leads to an article, which leads to a video, which mentions something I’ve never heard of before and obviously now NEED to know everything about. Two hours later, I’m remarkably well-informed on a subject that has absolutely no practical application to my life, while the Important Thing is still where I left it.
The other option, as a last resort, is to apply enough pressure to back it into a corner where its only choice is to get on with it. This can be effective, but it also comes with a much higher chance that I’ll pay for it afterwards. So, I reserve it for when I can feel the deadline flames licking around my feet.
There’s also the PDA-shaped spanner in the works. The moment something becomes a must, there’s a risk my brain wants nothing to do with it. The task hasn’t changed, but the pressure around it has. Which is super unhelpful when the deadline is real and the work still needs doing.
That’s the irony. Hyperfocus is often talked about as though it’s some sort of neurodivergent superpower we can summon when required. Need to get six hours of work done in three? RELEASE THE HYPERFOCUS! Except nobody appears to have given my brain the controls.
If anything, I have to manufacture enough urgency to jump-start its interest in the thing I need to do. It will focus when it likes, and choose its own subject, thank you very much!
Hyperfocus is not a productivity hack
Hyperfocus gets some very good PR in the neurodivergent world, and to be fair, when it lands on the right thing it can be bloody brilliant. Give me a client problem I really want to solve, a piece of writing I’m completely absorbed in or a business idea that has got its claws into me, and I can get through a ridiculous amount of work without really noticing the time passing.
That’s the bit people see. The output, ideas, and connections. The hours disappearing while you’re completely in the zone. From the outside, it probably looks like the productivity dream. If somebody could package it into a twelve-week online course for £497, there would absolutely be a workbook, a bonus module and some bloke called Brad telling you to “lean into your focus potential” with promises of a 6 figure income.
One thing I’ve learnt about myself is that I can often keep my focus alive by switching concepts before my brain gets bored of one thing completely. So, I might move from writing to strategy, then into something visual, then back again. From the outside it can appear like I’m flitting about, but for me it can be the difference between staying engaged and grinding to a halt. The trick is that I’m still moving between useful things, rather than disappearing off into a completely unrelated rabbit hole.
The slight problem is that hyperfocus is a different beast. It doesn’t care what would actually be useful. It doesn’t look at my to-do list and sensibly choose the thing that most needs doing. It just points at whatever has caught its attention and goes, “That. We’re doing that now.” Sometimes, wonderfully, that happens to be the work I was meant to be doing anyway. When that happens, I try not to interfere. I’ve learnt not to frighten it away.
Other times, I’ve got something genuinely important sitting in front of me while my brain has become deeply invested in something that nobody asked for. A new idea. A bit of research that appears completely unnecessary from the outside, but hugely necessary for my brainium at the time. A problem that absolutely did not need solving today. And the problem is that none of this makes it particularly reliable.
Because the ability to focus that intensely can be brilliant. The ability to choose what gets that level of focus would be even better.
But I NEED to know
There’s a very specific feeling that comes with certain interests, and “Oh, that’s quite interesting” doesn’t really cover it. It’s more urgent than that. It’s like my brain has spotted a loose end somewhere and can’t settle until it knows where it goes. Not knowing becomes irritating in its own right, and before I know it that nagging question has turned into something I absolutely HAVE to understand.
The funny thing is, I love this bit too. My brain loves joining dots. It loves understanding how something works, where it came from, what connects to what and why nobody else seems to be nearly as bothered by the missing piece as I am. Every answer just throws up another question, so rather than feeling like I’m done, my brain decides we’re clearly nowhere near finished yet.
If anyone ever got hold of my search history, I’m not sure they’d know whether I was running a business, writing a dissertation or having some sort of very specific breakdown. Business strategy, autism, some obscure medical term, Canva fonts, an actor I vaguely remember from 1997, whether octopuses dream. Good luck making sense of any of that.
And this is where calling hyperfocus “being really focused” doesn’t quite cut it for me. Sometimes getting into it isn’t the problem at all. Getting back out again is. Once my brain has decided there’s still more to know, it really doesn’t want to move on, and if there’s one unanswered question still dangling in front of me, good luck getting me to care about anything else in that moment. Including whether I need to pee!
My body would like a word
By this point, my brain may be having the time of its life, but my body is starting to make its feelings known. Hyperfocus is remarkably good at turning bodily signals into background noise. Hunger becomes something I’ll deal with “in a minute”, the tea I made hours ago is still sitting untouched, and apparently sitting in exactly the same position for several hours is absolutely fine.
I know I should get up; I know I need food, and my body has been trying to get my attention for quite some time. But when the ideas are flowing and my brain is properly engaged, stopping feels much harder than carrying on.
And sometimes the real cost doesn’t arrive until afterwards. I can finish the day feeling pretty pleased with everything I’ve achieved, only to discover the next morning that I’ve completely emptied the tank. Suddenly yesterday’s glorious productivity looks slightly less impressive when today’s brain has put up the shutters and refused to take visitors.
That’s the bit I’m learning to factor in more now. A productive day isn’t automatically a good day just because I got loads done. If I’ve ignored every signal my body sent me and borrowed all of tomorrow’s energy to do it, that probably needs to go somewhere in the calculations too.
Not everything that grabs us is good for us
And this is where hyperfocus gets even more complicated, because it doesn’t only attach itself to things that are useful, creative or fun. My brain doesn’t seem to have any kind of vetting process for this. Something grabs it, and suddenly it’s all in.
Sometimes that’s a new hobby or business idea. Sometimes it’s a TV series, a game, a person, a problem I can’t leave alone or something I’ve already researched far beyond the point where any more information is actually useful. And sometimes it’s a worry. My brain can be every bit as determined to “solve” something upsetting as it is to understand something fascinating, which is much less enjoyable.
I think that’s worth saying because hyperfocus is often talked about as though it’s always attached to enthusiasm. It isn’t. Intense focus can land on things that drain us, upset us or keep us stuck just as easily as it can land on something brilliant.
I don’t want to make hyperfocus the villain either. Some of the things my brain has latched onto over the years have brought me enormous amounts of joy, knowledge and opportunity. But I’m learning that how strongly something has grabbed my attention isn’t the same thing as how much of my time or energy it deserves.
And, annoyingly, that means Adult Hannah occasionally has to step in and ruin everyone’s fun.
Do I follow it or do I drag myself away?
After all of that, you might assume I’ve decided I need to get much better at shutting these things down. Spot the tangent, resist the urge and march myself firmly back towards whatever sensible thing I was supposed to be doing. Except I don’t really want to do that either.
I’ve spent enough of my life trying to make my brain behave itself, and some of the best things I’ve done have come from letting it wander off and seeing where it goes. Businesses, ideas, friendships, opportunities and huge amounts of knowledge have started with a shiny thing catching my attention that wasn’t remotely part of the plan. My career makes more sense if you look at it as a series of things I found interesting rather than anything resembling a carefully thought-out career path.
I wrote about this in Following the Dopamine, because I’m actually learning to trust those instincts more these days. If something lights my brain up, I don’t automatically want to squash it because Outlook says I should be doing something else. Sometimes the squirrel is worth chasing! It might lead absolutely nowhere, obviously, but equally it might lead somewhere I would never have found by sticking to the safety of the path.
So I’m trying to get better at working out when to follow it and when to pull myself away. Do I need to know this now, or could I come back to it? Am I still enjoying myself, or have I reached the point where I don’t actually want to carry on but can’t seem to stop? And perhaps most importantly, what am I not doing while I’m doing this?
I don’t always get it right. Sometimes I write the thing down so I can come back to it later. Sometimes I give myself a bit longer because I’m enjoying myself and frankly the other stuff can wait. And sometimes Adult Hannah has to physically close the laptop and remind everyone involved that we haven’t eaten lunch yet.
It’s less about putting my brain on a lead and more about occasionally reminding it that there are other people on the walk.
Interesting isn’t the same as important
But trusting what interests me doesn’t mean I have to obey every single thing that catches my attention. My brain is perfectly entitled to become fascinated by something without me immediately clearing the rest of Tuesday for it.
And I think that’s the balance I’m getting better at. I’m probably never going to have complete control over what grabs my attention, and actually I’m not sure I’d want it. Part of the joy of my brain is that I genuinely don’t always know where it’s going to take me next.
What I do have a bit more control over is what happens once we get there.
I may not get to choose what my brain finds interesting. But I’m getting much better at choosing how much of myself I give to it.
Protecting Your Energy When the World Won’t Slow Down
Firstly, I just want to give a shout out to any readers who have mastered the art of understanding the unpredictable beast that is ND energy. A confusing little fecker that might give you a whiff of hope that there’s some petrol in the tank… and then you do the most mediocre of chores and feel like your brain has been turned into a smoothie.
If you haven’t mastered that, then… well, how the devil are you going to protect it if you don’t even know how it works? Just kidding. As you were. Keep reading.
So, let’s assume you’ve got at least some understanding of how your energy behaves, in all its unpredictable random sparkliness. The next step is protecting it. Because you’re living in a world that won’t slow down. Not even a teeny bit. Not even if you ask it really nicely.
And this is the bit no one wants to talk about. The world isn’t going to adjust itself around your capacity. Deadlines still exist, clients still want quick replies, and life in its many forms keeps moving at the same pace regardless of how you’re feeling. Which is why protecting your energy isn’t optional. It’s sanity maintenance.
And when you’re neurodivergent, then that’s double funzies, because your energy isn’t linear. It fluctuates. It spikes. It drops. It goes out for a pint of milk and comes back 3 days later. It’s that crazy unpredictable drunk uncle that you don’t want at your wedding.
So, this isn’t about escaping the world. It’s about learning how to stay in it without acquiring yourself a one way ticket to burnout town!
The world isn’t built for you. Accept it…and move on
Most systems are built on the assumption that energy is stable. That you wake up, work, produce, and repeat. Nice, neat, and predictable. Lovely for people whose brains behave like that. Big fan. Congratulations to them. Except that’s not how a lot of ND brains work.
Some days you can fly through work like you’ve unlocked a secret level of existence and suddenly you are unstoppable. Other days, opening your laptop feels like a hostage negotiation between your fingers and your brain. Same person. Same workload. Completely different capacity.
And yet… none of those changes how the world responds to you. You’re still expected to show up, deliver, reply, and keep things moving — even on the days where your brain has very much not signed off on that plan. No one pops up and says, “Ah, I see your brain has gone offline today, let’s circle back when it returns.”
The problem is that external demand stays consistent, while your capacity didn’t get the memo. So, when those two things collide, pressure builds. And when that pressure sits there long enough, it turns into stress, then exhaustion, and eventually burnout.
Which is why this whole “just push through” approach doesn’t really work for brains like ours. (It barely works for anyone, to be honest, but that’s a rant for another day.)
Urgency will eat your energy if you let it
One of the biggest drains on your energy isn’t actually the work itself — it’s urgency. Everything suddenly feels important. Everything feels like it needs doing now. Everything feels like it will fall apart if you don’t respond immediately.
But a lot of that urgency isn’t real. It’s artificial deadlines, other people’s poor planning, and those “quick favours” that somehow take half your day and leave you wondering why you opened your laptop in the first place.
If you’ve spent years being reliable, helpful, and responsive, you’re probably very good at jumping straight into action mode without even questioning it. It feels productive. It feels responsible. It also quietly sucks the life out of you.
The problem is that urgency pushes you into adrenaline. And adrenaline is great … in small, occasional bursts. As a lifestyle choice? Less ideal. You end up running on “just get through it” energy, which works, right up until it really, really doesn’t.
A small but surprisingly effective shift is asking yourself: “is this actually urgent?” Not “does it feel urgent” but is it genuinely time-critical. Because those two things are very different. Even if your brain insists they’re identical.
Energy boundaries are different from emotional ones
I’m the queen when it comes to chatting about boundaries. It’s like I discovered them, 51 years later in my life, and now they are my specialist subject. In fact, it pretty much is that! But most of those conversations are about emotional ones. Protecting your feelings, managing relationships, that sort of thing. Energy boundaries are slightly different. They’re about protecting your capacity.
Because you can technically have the time to do something, but not the energy. You might look at your calendar and think, “Well, I’ve got an hour free,” but your brain is already fried, your sensory load is maxed out, and you’ve made approximately 47,000 decisions already that day. That hour is not usable. It’s like a mirage hour.
This is where one of the most useful sentences you’ll ever learn comes in: “I don’t have capacity for that.” Not followed by your life story. Not turned into something apologetic, or a giant discussion. Just that.
It sounds simple, and it is. It’s also wildly uncomfortable if you’re used to over-explaining, over-justifying, and making sure everyone else is fine first. But it works. Quietly, efficiently, and without wringing out what little energy you had left.
Saying no without it being a 3-part drama
If you’re anything like me, saying no doesn’t just happen. It comes with a full internal production. You draft the explanation, rehearse the tone, anticipate their reaction, and try to make it sound reasonable, valid, and entirely non-offensive to anyone, ever.
The irony being that by the time you’ve finished explaining, you’ve used more energy than the original task would have taken. How’s that for efficiency…or lack of it!
The truth is most of that explanation is for us. It’s working hard to make the discomfort of setting a boundary feel safer. But “no” doesn’t require a backstory. It doesn’t require a breakdown of your week, your mental state, or your entire life context. As Stu taught me once, it’s an entire sentence. And the more you practise it, the less energy you leak trying to make your boundaries palatable for everyone involved. I promise you it starts to feel easier the more you try it on for size. In fact, it’s so incredibly freeing. Because it’s you having your own back.
Not everything is worth the cost anymore
One of the biggest shifts that comes with protecting our energy is realising that just because something is possible, it doesn’t mean it’s sustainable.
We ‘could’ say yes. We ‘could’ take it on. We ‘could’ push through.
But then we could also decide to deep clean our entire house at 11pm on a Tuesday night. Half of my teenage years were spent piling the entire contents of my bedroom floor onto my bed at about 10om, then crying and putting it all back onto the floor. The question is… should we?
Because every “yes” is stealing from a limited resource. And if you’re not consciously deciding where that energy goes, it gets spent by default. Usually on the loudest, most urgent, or most guilt-inducing thing in front of you.
Protecting your energy means getting honest about trade-offs. Letting go of “shoulds”, looking properly at commitments, and actively choosing long-term stability over the short-term approval that we can often crave. Sweet dopamine.
Sometimes that means making decisions that don’t look particularly impressive on paper but feel a lot safer in our body. Which, frankly, should be the only measure that really counts.
Recovery doesn’t protect itself
One of the sneakiest things about energy is how quickly we decide we’re “fine again”.
You have one good day. Maybe two if you’re feeling particularly wild. You wake up, your brain is cooperating, you answer a few emails without wanting to lie down afterwards, and suddenly you’re like, “Right. I’m back. Power Rangers…let’s go!.”
And off you go. Rebooking everything. Saying yes to things. Catching up on the 463 tasks you’ve been avoiding. Possibly reorganising a cupboard for emotional reasons. Fully convinced you’ve turned a corner.
Newsflash. You haven’t turned a corner. You’ve just found the exit of the car park.
Because early recovery energy is not a full tank. It’s not even half a tank. It’s more like your car has stopped making that alarming flashing noise and you’ve gone, “Great, let’s drive to Scotland.” You’re out of the danger zone. That’s it. But you’re not on the home straight yet.
And this is where we accidentally undo all the progress we’ve made. Not because we’re reckless (well, some of us can be!), but because it feels so good to have energy back that we immediately spend it. All of it. In one go. Like a toddler with birthday money.
Then we’re surprised when we crash again.
Protecting your energy at this stage means doing something deeply unnatural: not filling the space. It means leaving gaps. Building buffers. Resisting the urge to “catch up” on everything all at once. Saying no to your old pace, even when your brain is loudly insisting that this time will be different. (It won’t. Your brain is a liar when it’s excited.)
Recovery isn’t just about getting your energy back. It’s about not immediately burning through it the moment it returns.
When boundaries feel like a scratchy jumper (and they will)
Protecting your energy isn’t just practical — it’s deeply inconvenient on an emotional level. Because when you start doing it properly, things come up. Guilt. Fear. That slightly sick feeling that you’ve just disappointed someone. And sometimes actual pushback from people who were very happy with the old version of you. The one that was constantly nodding like their head wasn’t attached properly. Saying yes, staying available, and overextending herself. Funny that.
That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’ve stopped being as convenient. And yes, it does feel uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Like you’ve put on a jumper that technically fits but is somehow both itchy and judging you.
You’ll be tempted to soften it, to explain more, to just do the thing this once because it’s easier than holding the boundary. But every time you do that, you teach people (and yourself) that your limits are optional. The real work here isn’t setting the boundary. It’s holding it when it would be much easier not to. This is a huge part of my life story, so believe me when I say I get it. But I’m also now boundaries number one fan!
You don’t have to live at the pace of everything around you
The world might not slow down. That’s true. Deeply annoying, but true. But that doesn’t mean you have to speed up to match it, because that’s how you ended up here in the first place. Remember?
Protecting your energy long-term often means your life looks a bit different. Less stuff, more intention. Not churning your output like a sausage factory. Which, depending on your previous operating style, can feel suspiciously like you’re “not doing enough”. But you are. You’re just not doing everything, thank god.
And yes, sometimes it can feel like you’re not keeping up with everyone else. Like you’re dawdling while the rest of the world is power-walking past you in Lycra, with a podcast on 3x speed. But I can promise you this: they’re exhausted too. They’re just better at pretending they’re not.
What you gain instead is something far more useful: stability, sustainability, and the ability to keep going without repeatedly crashing and having to rebuild yourself from scratch every few months. This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about doing what actually works for your brain, your body, and your life in the long term.
Because if it only works when your brain’s on fire and your nervous system is halfway out the window, it doesn’t actually work.
After Burnout: What Real Recovery Looks like for NDs
ROLL UP, ROLL UP. THE WILDEST SHOW IN TOWN HAS ARRIVED! YOU’VE GOT A VIP, FRONT ROW SEAT TO SEE CRASH & THE BURNOUT BLUES BAND, featuring songs from their greatest hits album, like “Marshmallow Brain” and who could forget “ANGRY FOR NO DISCERNABLE REASON!” plus that all-time classic “Zero spoons & fucks to give.”
I know, I paint a very rosy picture of the old ND “Burnout”, funtimes, shitz ‘n’ gigz… but until you understand exactly how your energy arrives and how you need to manage it, you will repeat the same pattern of burnout, over and over and over…
Ask me how I know? Yes! ::ding ding ding:: correct answer, I know, because I’ve been there several times, full send to destination fucked (said in “Matt Rose Aussie Guy Voice”).
I’ve been through the fully immersive “Life Hurricane” simulator on several occasions, from humble dust devil, to full on Cat5 Katrina and every time I reflect on how we got here and clearly see all the warning signs. From the first roof tile rattling all the way to “Oh no, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore…” in what seems like a blink of an eye.
But the real kicker is yet to land, when you inevitably crash-n-burn harder than a cut-price electric car using auto-steer, and you are absolutely wiped emotionally, physically, spiritually. You surface, as addicts might identify, with “a moment of clarity” (I know I did), as you realise that it all has to change, everything, what came before was unsustainable. The way you found that out was to Live-Action Role Play* using a strategy that required an ill-advised amount of energy burnt in an unreasonably short time-frame. (*hat tips to the LARPers!)
It’s called BURNout for a reason… You have literally burnt through your entire stock of “coping” and now have to rethink the overall game play, whilst attempting to continue living, earning and remaining sane.
And, as you lie there in that fragile state, where breakfast is a life goal, and “dressed before noon” is about as likely as winning a national lottery every day for a year, you realise a horrible truth.
The burnout is not done with you yet, oh no buster… it’s taken you everything you have, maybe even more than you had, to get here. The real challenge begins once you hit the eye of the storm. This calm center allows you to reflect from a vantage point, and assess the size of the storm, and you realise, whatever the magnitude there’s only one route to recovery… The way back is through the other side…
Staring at a blurred wall of thought and vortex of emotions, you’re not wrong to flinch away. Whatever your route to burnout there’s going to be a fair amount of shame and inward blame stacked up ready for you to process and no-one claps their hands together and exclaims “Goody gum-drops, lets play the blame and shame game!“. Here definitely be dragons, and in fact probably these dragons are mere dragonlets of the massive monstrous demon dragons locked behind the door marked “Childhood”. Those deep, ominous rumbling sounds are the bass-notes echoing through your head. Pulsing as your heart beats, an energy hungry beast that gives your enemies a 2X damage for every one hit and wakes you at 2am. Sweating.
It’s natural to want to shrink away. Your bed is safety, the duvet will protect you from the hooded claw, and, who knows, even keep some vampires from your door. But, that’s a lot to ask of bed linen, even if it is from M&S. Lying, passively and waiting for the pressure to release is not progress, that’s stagnation, rotting away in the depressed, comatose lethargy that burnout brings.
It is such a warm and tempting place to remain, forever at the eye of it all, life moving around you, whatever little routine or safety net you draw around you is “enough”. It is… for now. But do not get stuck there, that way victimhood lies, and that is living hell. A learned helplessness, of being coddled and cossetted. It’s tempting.
But you need to know, and fully accept that no one’s coming to help you.
That was my huge revelation from my first round of therapy, after my first major burnout, when my Dr’s were calling my absolute lethargy “depression”, and my all-gas, no brakes bouts of “mania”, were “Nothing to worry about. Drink less caffeine and get more sleep.” (what a Dr. actually said to me).
Oh, and there’s also the insomnia, yeah, “get more sleep“… good one.
At some point you have to make the effort, it’s you and only you. Not your partner, not your family, kids or friends. YOU.
You have to get yourself “well”, what that looks like is unknowable at this point, just accepting that this is on you is enough. When you have hit rock-bottom and the only way is up** an uphill struggle, right when you are at a point when you have no capacity for creating a rational strategy to make your way back is going to look like the least “do-able” decision.
This is why you have a plan before you go in, creating a disaster recovery plan in the middle of a disaster will give you a grab bag of dumb decisions and half-assed ideas. All the while depleting what little energy you already have. Again, hello, been there, done that. 1 star, do not recommend.
The acceptance of that truth will unlock everything else, being kind to yourself throughout will speed up the recovery. Word of warning, there’s “being kind” i.e. nope-ing the family reunion, or skipping the friend’s brunch and then there’s “slacking off on the road to recovery” with behaviours such as “one more hour of doomscrolling AuDHD memes before bed” and “Like my pants, this shirt will do another three days before it needs washing“.
I find that a strict routine prevents slippage of progress. My plan when I fought back the first time was to regain all I had lost, the focus, the 18 hour days for 12 weeks straight. I was a machine, I just forgot to get an oil change, now I am back I am BACK! No, do not do that – it leads to some very fun prescription narcotics that “mellow you the fuck out” as my mate once said. When you recover, do not build the same bonfire just to burn it all down again…
** Never got why that song got the airtime it did, if the only way is indeed “up”, then you must be at rock-bottom, right? Why then are they so cheerfully singing about it?
My guidance would be; bed by 10pm, up by 6am, or 7am on weekends. Bed has to be made, bed clothes folded. 1pt of water, with pink rock salt (for the sodium and trace iron) and lemon juice (helps regulate bowel!), coffee and breakfast. Then get dressed.
That’s my morning and as long as I am in my office by 10am the morning is won! I am often in by 9am, but even though I am more regulated now than I have ever been, I do not chastise a slow morning, these are the perks of the self-employed life. As long as I am not letting anyone down, I can get in at 10 if I want. A “luxury” I afford myself, which is more a need at times.
I won’t detail my entire routine, but that’s my morning and it is part of keeping my life consistent and regulated. Consistency for me is more; accelerate, then coast, accelerate then coast. I cannot just be foot flat to the floor, that way insanity lies. Plus my routine may not work for you; you find the routine that helps, but I know that too many mornings without this simple strategy and things are going to get blustery and likely be headed towards tornado season.
My crawl back to sanity and return to a new-normal was not easy, and had all sorts of consequences. Lost relationships, changing social connections, finding love. But when I returned to a more regulated life, I was different, slightly less angry, slightly more wary of people. A decade of daily othering, and bullying will do that.
The way back is to re-evaluate what your energy budget will get spent on and accept it
You have to realise you have finite “spoons” and so have to ration how they get used. Arguing over a parking ticket? Yeah, I have done that, was it worth it? Yeah, in the moment, but actually that’s 4 or 5 high energy interactions where you spend your precious energy for little to no positive return to your life. Learning to “let it go” can be hard with an innate sense of right and wrong. Some things are simply “not worth it”, as a spend from the finite energy budget. Here’s a list of things that never made the cut after various burnouts…
- Work – I gave up having a job, seemed the same shit whatever building I went to.
- Energy hoovers – people or situations that zap your mood and cost time & energy.
- Worrying what other people think/say about me – I’m odd, deal with it.
- Meeting other’s expectations – you do you, I’ll continue being my sweet awesome self.
- Quid-pro-quo relationships – yeah, that’s not how the universe works, karma is paid forward and I am not one to argue with the universe.
- No longer policing the world – adding to the karmic flow is the notion that some problems are going to be solved by the universe and I do not have to keep score. See someone weaving in and out of traffic? That’s a situation where the universe will come a-calling sooner or later… Someone being an a-hole? Knock. Knock. Muthafuqur… UNIVERSE CALLING.
- Red rope – the red-rope around my time is sacrosanct, I choose where I spend it, you do not get to jump the queue by waiving money at me. Take a ticket, sit down, be patient. I will get to you in due course.
- Firebreaks – whether I am due a break, or not, I will take days off after an intense project or working for a deadline. Allows my brain the time to transition from the project to new stuff and gives me energy recharge and prep time. I try to take Fridays off, definitely in the afternoon, and if I put in a firebreak then it’ll usually be a Monday and Tuesday, giving a longer weekend, and less impact to any ongoing projects.
If I do not respect these life rules I will burn out.
I know.
I have tried not doing these things.
I have burnouts 2, 3 and 4 to remind me of this. So, by a process of elimination I have curated my life to be as respectful of my time and energy as I can be, and ensure others respect these precious things too. No project, or person is worth my life on hold for months whilst I try and extinguish the flaming rubble my life becomes if I let others trample all over my own rules.
There’s no easy way back, and when you do emerge from the maelstrom and the destruction is apparent and everywhere and it can seem hopeless even trying to pick up and start again. But here’s the thing you have to cling to, you get to build it back the way you want. Fresh start, blank canvas, share your insights with those you love and who wish only good outcomes for you. Tell them what you have to do, or stop doing, if they truly love you , they will not only get it, they will advocate for you too.
Do not be shy about stating what you can and can no longer be expected to do. If you keep the household clean, fed and safe and it feels like a one-person crusade then delegate some of it or accept it will not get done anymore. This is not about alienating your loved ones, and those you live with, but more sharing with them the additional burden of the cognitive load and the overall weight of carrying it for the family. Teenagers and adult children living at home are quite capable of doing a load of washing. If they can work out playing a game on an X Box, they can figure out the right washing machine program.
Harder to do this at work, but if you are valued then you should have a conversation which shares the dangers of you shouldering certain loads. An explanation of burnout and paid time off might help them see the economic sense in making the accommodations?
Or think about job sharing, or adjusting your hours, which you should be legally allowed to do, we are in the UK, check local labour laws where you are before flicking the bird to your boss and saying “two days a week or imma be suing your azz”. Maybe not do that wherever you are employed.
After burnout your life is going to change, your capacity to do and cope may change, your tolerance to certain stimuli or situations may be different, and thousands of other minute but highly personal things may alter, but you have to give yourself permission to accept that these are things you have to let go. BE KIND TO YOURSELF. It’s handy to think “would I talk to my best friend/partner/kids like that?” and chances are you’re in an abusive relationship with your internal monologue.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF!
We’ve argued from Ep 01 that self employment is the perfect role for you if you have variable energy, focus and struggle with all the things that neurodivergent folk deal with on the daily. You get to show up as/when you can, and with the flexibility of letting you do what you can at a time that suits you. It’s not for everyone, but if you have a skill that you can monetise, then self-employment may just be the way out that you need.
A final bit of maths before I sign off.
If you work for the national minimum wage, for over 21s that’s £12.21 (time of writing 22 Feb 2026). A 38 hour week gives you £463.98.
Lets say you work in an office doing basic PA stuff, if you were self employed PA you’d charge a commercial rate of circa £30 an hour, and you only have to work 15.5 hrs to exceed your earnings at the full-time job. Work a 30 hour week and you earn £900, less tax and savings etc. and you will take home more than the PAYE position. With the right clients and projects you’d work 8 hours fewer a week and earn more, delivering at your own pace and timescale. It’s not for everyone, but for the right people, probably burnt out from attempting to scale the corporate ladder, then it could literally save your health and wellbeing.
It worked for me and whilst I still managed to burnout a few more times since the first, and biggest time, at least I didn’t have to explain to my boss why Fridays were “not doable” for the foreseeable future. Or playing the shame game, as you lie there on the sofa, feeling like you are letting everyone down, but unable to move.
With the right approach, right proposition to your local business community and a few local networking meetings you can earn a decent enough income without living a shadow life. Burnt out beyond recognition and probably self-medicating in the evening and twice at weekends. A story for another day I feel…
Be kind to YOURSELF and others.
Delegation for Control Freaks (and the Overwhelmed)
There’s a very specific kind of ‘tired’ that shows up for me, long before burnout does. It’s not dramatic. I’m still functioning. Still replying. Still getting things done. But everything feels… loud. Overwhelming, where nothing is technically wrong, but my brain feels like it’s got too many tabs open. And if one more thing demands my attention, I might just climb into my wardrobe, nestle myself between some comfy jumpers, and wait until the search party find me. Or better still, don’t. (It’s ok, I’ll take snacks!)
When I reluctantly venture back out into civilisation, no doubt for a wee break, it won’t be long before someone has given me the delegation lecture. I say ‘lecture’ because this is not my first delegation rodeo. Oh no. Many people have gone before this latest one, promising me a world where I don’t have to do everything.
“Just hand a few things over”, they say…. in the same overly zealous way that people say, “Have you tried yoga?”, which immediately makes me want to lie down on the floor and stare at the ceiling!
They think they are being helpful, but all I can hear is my RSD singing “they think you are rubbish” to a creepy nursery rhyme tune. Don’t get me wrong, delegation sounds sensible in theory.
I mean, who wouldn’t want a bit of help once in a while? You’d think. In theory.
But in practice
In practice, the idea that I can easily hand over a thing to an ‘eager to help’ person without giving them the sense that they might end up having to prise it from my dead hands is unrealistic at best.
Because the ‘after haunting’ that accompanies someone else doing ‘a thing’ (one of my things) on my behalf can be brutal. My brain doesn’t hand over said thing, go get a cuppa and never think about it again. Oh no. It obsesses over the multiple ways that person might well, in fact, most probably will mess it up irreparably.
It might be fair to assume, at this stage, that I’m talking about what gen pop would refer to as important stuff. E.g. keeping my children alive. But no. EVERYTHING in my world is filed under ‘important’, when it comes to how it needs to be done.
Stacking the dishwasher, making the bed, editing a piece of my work……all need to follow the Hannah method ™. I have lived proof that even the smartest of husbands can mess up a spaghetti bolognese if not guided on how big to cut the onions and when to put the tomatoes in. He put ketchup in it, ffs. I know, right!
Don’t get me wrong, I am smart enough to understand the concept of the rest that could be had if someone else lightened the load. But, for me, the overthinking surrounding that process makes it more labour-intensive than just doing it myself. At this point, I want to remind anyone reading this that you have permission to throat punch anyone who says “just don’t think about it” to you. Maybe not an elderly relative, though. Even I have limits!
(Disclaimer – Oddcast, specifically Hannah, takes no responsibility for anyone who gets inspired to throat punch a relative!)
The redoing-it-quietly bit
So, let’s assume that someone got you into a semi-nelson, and you’ve agreed to let them do something for you. Although it kinda feels, at this point, like it’s more for them, really….But I digress.
Anyway, you’ve said thank you and made a promise to yourself to hand it over mentally. And you’re busying yourself not overthinking what they’ve done wrong, and what you’ll have to do to put it right. And before you know it, a ‘sneak peek’ at how they have stacked the dishwasher becomes a full ninja-style restack. All the time hoping they won’t notice.
Control isn’t a personality trait
So, I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t been labelled ‘controlling’ over the years. My stepbrothers used to call me ‘Queenie’ when they came to stay, as I liked to boss them around from a young age. But control can get labelled as a quirk or a flaw, when for many of us it’s more of a safety mechanism we built very early in our lives.
Doing it ourselves reduced the number of variables. It meant fewer explanations, fewer misunderstandings, fewer moments where we had to decide whether to speak up and risk judgment or swallow the discomfort. And that becomes hardwired in us. So, for me, control isn’t about ego. It’s not that I think I am the only one who knows the best way to do things. It’s about getting through the day without feeling exposed or overwhelmed.
So, when someone suggests delegation, they are actually asking us to loosen a system that’s been keeping things stable for a long time. Even if that system is exhausting, and not always in our best interests.
Perfectionism as volume control
But we can’t have control without her perfectly manicured sister ‘perfectionism’ rocking up. And perfectionism often gets a tough rap. The villain of the hour, with her precise requirements and “redo it” attitude. But it looks different from where she resides in my brain. She’s not trying to chase excellence. She’s trying to manage consequences.
Because there is so much reassurance to be had in knowing that it’s been done in the way you need it to be done. If something is slightly off, a cascade of decisions can follow. But when I do it myself, follow my own standard/routines, then I avoid worrying about whether I’ll end up having to say something. And will I sound ungrateful if I do? If I can’t cope, and I have to ‘fix’ it, then will that create a thing?
You getting the gist now? Can you see how much easier it feels to do it myself?
The cost of holding everything
But I’m smart enough to know that ‘doing it all myself’ is not a long-term strategy that ends well. Not for myself, or for the chap that messed up my spaghetti!
Because it’s a way of operating that only works whilst my capacity holds. And capacity is a finite resource, even if you’ve got the skills to stretch it to the max! (I wouldn’t recommend that, btw – hello burnout!)
And most of the time, the real weight that we feel is not the tasks themselves, but the cognitive load of remembering and prioritising everything. And the constant low-level vigilance of holding it all together. The remembering. The monitoring. The mental list that never quite switches off.
At that point, burnout can usually be seen standing in the corner looking over at you, like the creepy dude at the school disco!
Delegation isn’t abdication
Delegation is supposed to help, and if I am pretending not to be me for a moment, then I know that it really does. BUT there is still that initial awkward stage where it feels worse before it feels better. It’s like that party you went to as a kid, where you had a Barbie that you really wanted yourself, wrapped up in the prettiest paper for your friend. As you handed it over, there was that weird moment when you weren’t really ready to let it go, and so a slight tug of war ensued before you came to your senses and released your grip. That’s me in the rare moments that I delegate.
Then there is that “ I should be able to do it myself ‘self-doubt’ moment. Because, let’s face it, we’re not strangers to being made to feel like we should be able to do something. And sometimes this stage can make us want to go directly to “I tried this delegation stuff. It was rubbish. The end”. But please, dear reader, do not do this. Spoiler, it gets better!
Remember that delegation isn’t an all-or-nothing thing, and it isn’t dumping either. Handing something over doesn’t mean we’re incapable or we’ve stopped caring. Or worse still, that we’re relinquishing all control. It just means that we don’t have to march round the house like a martyr ranting, “don’t worry, I’ll do it” to ourselves. Or is that just me?
We get to decide which bits really need to be exactly the way we need them to be, and which bits don’t. That distinction can feel uncomfortable, especially when caring deeply has been part of how we have stayed safe and capable in the world. But knowing we have that choice is integral to letting things go.
Why this shows up so strongly in self-employment
By the time delegation becomes a work problem, it’s almost certainly already a fully immersed life pattern that we’ve been defending for years. Household decisions, emotional labour, remembering birthdays, managing logistics. If we’re used to being the quiet backbone of everything, then self-employment just amplifies that.
Suddenly, we’re not only the ones who notice things; we’re also the system. Don’t get me wrong, I still truly believe that self-employment is our get-out-of-jail card. Because it is genuinely freeing for neurodivergent people. Or indeed any neurotype, to be fair. But the friction comes when we try to hold every role indefinitely, because that’s what we’ve always done. And that is where we discover that delegation is not the enemy.
Sure, if we’re smart, then we have built ourselves a support network of other like-minded business owners around us. To compare notes with and bounce ideas. Having this network is integral to doing business without spending a lot of time crying into your tea. But we still need to accept that we can’t do everything. Regardless of how our brain is often telling us we need to.
A quieter measure of success
Delegation in business isn’t about growth hacks or scaling. It’s about sustainability. About not being the only thing keeping the wheels on. As I said before, letting go doesn’t have to mean letting everything go. Sometimes it just means noticing when the effort of holding on has become louder than the discomfort of sharing the load.
Success isn’t measured by ‘doing less’. It’s having enough left to keep going without constantly managing our own nervous systems in the background. That’s not giving up control. It’s about choosing a version that actually lasts.
Thriving Without a 5-Year Plan: Short-Term Wins, Long-Term Awesome
There are two types of people in the world: the ones with colour-coded five-year plans, laminated vision boards, and a spreadsheet that could probably file their taxes — and then there’s me. And if you’re reading this, there’s a decent chance you’re also in the “I’m just trying to get through the next five minutes without accidentally starting a new career as a candle-maker” camp.
The five-year plan is one of those culturally approved things we’re all supposed to have, like a skincare routine, a pension, or a consistent personality. And sure — for some brains, a five-year plan is motivating and grounding, a helpful lighthouse guiding you through the fog. For other brains (hi), it’s a pressure cooker. A shame-generator. A glittery trap disguised as “success”.
So let’s talk about what happens when you don’t have a five-year plan — and how you can still thrive, grow, and build long-term awesomeness without setting fire to your nervous system.
The problem with the five-year plan (for those with brains like mine)
A five-year plan assumes you can reliably do two things: predict the future, and be the same version of yourself every day for five years. If companies packed full of mega brain analysts can’t predict this stuff accurately, then what sort of hope (none… the answer’s none) does a small business owner with a spoon deficit and a squirrel chasing brain have of being able to map out the rest of the month, let alone 5 long years.
If a five-year plan genuinely works for you, I mean this sincerely: I love that for you. But if it fills you with fear, and makes you feel like you’re failing before you’ve even started, you’re not broken. It’s just not a tool that’s built for your brain.
Direction beats detail: you don’t need a plan, you need a hill
I’d be lying if I said I had ever truly understood the concept of a five-year plan in life or business. I understand direction. I understand having something vaguely on a hill that you’re aiming for — a general “over there”. What I don’t understand is the rigid, milestone-heavy version where by Year Two you’re meant to have achieved X, become Y, and be emotionally stable by Year Four (I’m not emotionally stable by year 51!). That’s not planning. That’s inviting your inner perfectionist to move in permanently and redecorate using paint shade ‘shame’.
What actually helps is a looser kind of vision that gives you direction without demanding you predict every step. For me, my goals tend to sound less like “I will triple my revenue and expand into three new markets” and more like wanting to work less, enjoy my client base, feel calmer about my work, and earn enough that I’m not living ten days from payday in a constant state of dread. That’s not a five-year plan. That’s an anti-meltdown, sustainable lifestyle..
Short-term wins: building the future without suffocating yourself
If you want long-term awesome without the five-year straight jacket, the trick is to stop trying to build the whole staircase and just focus on the next step. Short-term goals work well for neurodivergent brains because they’re visible, achievable, motivating, and adjustable. They give you something solid to aim for without locking you into a version of the future you might outgrow
This is why I love working in short sprints. Well, I have since Stu introduced me to the concept. Before that I was just bumbling along with no plans on adulting when it came to business at all. I miss those days! No, focus Hannah, focus!
Ninety days, thirty days, a season, whatever chunk doesn’t make you want to crawl under a table. You pick something specific, give it a defined window of time, and treat it like an experiment. Does it work? Does it pay? Does it drain you? Do you enjoy it? Is it sustainable? Is it moving you vaguely toward the hill? At the end of the sprint, you reassess. No drama, no shame, no “I’ve ruined my entire future”. Just interesting data and a chance to pivot.
Pivoting isn’t failure. It’s business. (And also survival.)
One of the biggest lies hustle culture tells us is that success means sticking with one idea forever, even when it’s clearly not working. But self-employment is messy and stop-start. Some months are great; other months you’re wondering if you should become a barista purely for the predictable schedule and the free pastries.
If something isn’t working — financially, emotionally, practically — pivoting isn’t weak. It’s smart. And honestly, who are these imaginary people we’re trying to impress? What committee is meeting weekly to review your career choices and announce that you’ve pivoted again and they disapprove? There isn’t one. And even if there was: fuck em.
Your energy budget is the real business plan
This might be the most important part, so I’ll say it slowly: if you don’t plan around your energy, your business will plan your burnout for you. Neurodivergent energy isn’t linear. It doesn’t show up like a tidy nine-to-five battery bar. Some days you’re focused and flying; other days you’re technically present but running on fumes and a slightly haunted vibe.
So instead of demanding consistency from yourself, you build systems that support variability. That might mean time-blocking, protecting recovery time, pushing “urgent” work to next week, or recognising that doing more now usually means borrowing from future-you. As we’ve said repeatedly in past blogs and episodes, rest isn’t a reward for getting everything done — it’s preparation for the work ahead.
Consistency is overrated (at least the way people think about it)
I don’t think consistency itself is the enemy. What is unhelpful is the idea that consistency means showing up as the same version of yourself every single day. When we have already established that that is not going to happen for a lot of us! What actually matters, especially in business, is consistency of outcome rather than consistency of energy.
My clients don’t need me to be the same Hannah every day. They need good work, delivered when it’s promised — reliability in results, not access to my internal battery levels. So I do focus-heavy work on days when focus exists, I protect recovery so future-me doesn’t suffer, and I design systems that absorb variability instead of pretending it isn’t happening. From the outside, it looks consistent; from the inside, it’s flexible, responsive, and intentional. That distinction matters, because forcing “perfect consistency” is often what breaks people, whereas systems that expect variability are what keep things moving.
And yes, the squirrels still exist
The ideas. The sudden obsessions. The “maybe I should retrain as something wildly unrelated” moments. Curiosity isn’t the enemy, and learning things isn’t wasted. Sometimes finishing isn’t even the point — the learning is. But not every idea needs to hijack the entire business.
Having an idea bank helps. Write it down, capture the dopamine, park it. If it keeps coming back and aligns with the hill, you can revisit it later. Not everything needs to become a full identity.
Your to-do list might actually be a shame list
If you’ve got tasks that have been sitting on your list for months, chatting shit about you, it’s probably time to be honest. Delete them, outsource them, or accept they’re not realistic right now. A to-do list that makes you feel permanently behind isn’t a productivity tool — it’s a stress list.
So what does “long-term awesome” actually look like?
It might look like earning enough to cover your bills without panic, doing work that doesn’t destroy your nervous system, and setting goals that flex as your life changes. It might look like a business that evolves with you instead of demanding you stay the same.
And maybe — just maybe — thriving without a five-year plan isn’t chaotic. Maybe it’s wise. Maybe it’s the most neurodivergent thing in the world to say: “I don’t know exactly where I’ll be in five years, but I know what matters to me. I know what drains me. I know what brings me joy. And I’m going to build from there.”
Short-term wins. Long-term awesome. No pretending to be someone you’re not.
New Year’s Resolutions & Goal Setting 2026
I have a complicated relationship with New Year.
On the one hand, my inner golden-retriever loves the idea of a fresh start. New calendar, new notebook, new chance to believe that this year I’ll drink water like a functional adult and not live on caffeine and Netflix. Especially if the previous year has been a bit of a car crash, there’s something comforting about drawing a line under it and going, “Redo”
But then the rest of me remembers what New Year actually comes with. One of my biggest kryptonites: pressure. “What are your resolutions?” “How are you going to improve?” “What horribly unachievable goals have you set yourself?” Apparently “continuing to exist and not murdering anyone who chews loudly” is not an acceptable answer. Who knew!
There’s this unspoken expectation that we must want to be fitter, more productive, more disciplined, more something. And once you say a resolution out loud, it suddenly feels like the whole world’s watching. “Oh, I thought you were cutting down on biscuits?” “Didn’t you say you were going to the gym?” No, Carol, I said it once in a burst of delusional optimism. That doesn’t mean I consented to being put under lifestyle surveillance for the next twelve months. Get back in your box.
Resolutions, perfectionism & the ND shame spiral
For my neurodivergent brain, New Year’s resolutions tend to go in one of two directions: either I go rogue and make a grand announcement that I am the boss of me and don’t have to conform to such bullshit… or I get boss-level FOMO and make a list long enough to qualify as a cry for help.
This can look something like:
“This year I will drink more water, stop eating biscuits, exercise three times a week, have a weekly rest day, be more organised, reply to messages like a real grown-up, and definitely, definitely not work late every night.”
Cut to mid-January and I’ve already “failed” half of them, promptly launching myself into a shame spiral because apparently I can’t even keep a promise to myself for more than eleven days.
The annoying thing is: it’s never due to laziness. I just… forget I even set the resolution. A few months ago, I bought vitamins after some very predictable blood tests (vitamin D? Low. Shocking). I bought one of those little pill organisers – Monday to Sunday – and for two months I was religious about taking them. Felt better for it too. Then one day I missed them. Then another. And then my brain quietly decided, “We don’t do supplements anymore,” and that was that. The box is still in the cupboard, full, quietly judging me every time I reach for the tea bags.So, it’s not that we can’t be consistent with anything. I’ve been with my husband for 21 years – clearly I can stick at some stuff (yay me!). But standard resolution culture assumes a brain that remembers what it decided, experiences time in a straight line, and doesn’t regularly drop whole habits down the back of the sofa of consciousness. Mine does not.
You didn’t fail the plan. The plan wasn’t designed for you.
One line I heard recently really stuck with me: “You didn’t fail the plan. The plan wasn’t designed for you.”
That hit me right in the executive function.
Because even when we design the plan, we’re often doing it based on bad information. We’re designing for the fantasy version of ourselves — the one who always has energy, never gets overwhelmed, and apparently turns into a completely different person the moment Jools Holland starts getting overexcited.
Tangent time: were you aware, dear reader, that Jools Holland’s Hootenanny is not live? It’s pre-recorded. I learned this at the grand old age of 50 and it destroyed the joy completely. And yet I still watch it so I can check how convincing the guests are. That’s how dedicated my tism is.
Right, back to the point.
For a lot of us, real us has things like ADHD time-blindness, autistic sensory overload, rejection sensitivity, chronic fatigue, pain, anxiety, depression, and a nervous system already working overtime just to exist in the world. The care label on a neurodivergent person should probably read something like:
“Before committing to anything, check: current energy budget, sensory load, existing obligations, and the likelihood of forgetting this even exists by February.”
So instead of asking, “What should I do next year?”, I’ve started asking, “What should I do given the life I actually have?” Then I can pass it through the realism filter: where would this shiny new idea fit with work, relationships, downtime, health? What has to be reduced or removed to make space for it? And crucially: what will my actual brain and energy allow me to do? Not fantasy-me who rides around on her unicorn — the real me, who is pretty awesome but has her limits.
Consistency is overrated (especially the way it’s sold)
Neurotypical hustle culture loves consistency. “Show up every day.” “Discipline over motivation.” “You just have to want it enough.” My ADHD brain hears that and laughs in 17 open browser tabs.
For a lot of us, consistency in the traditional sense is a myth. Our capacity fluctuates. Our focus fluctuates. Our executive function fluctuates. Sleep, hormones, sensory input, other people’s drama — it all messes with what we can realistically do on any given day.
So if we latch onto “New Year, new me” and set ambitious (read: unrealistic) resolutions that rely on perfect consistency, we are setting ourselves up to fail. Why would we want to do that?
Stuart introduced me to a fabulous term: minimum viable progress — asking “What’s the smallest version of this that still counts?” What would “good enough” look like, not “ideal Hannah on a TED stage”? If everything went sideways, what’s the baseline I’d still be proud of?
And this really works. I urge you to try it yourself — if you’re silly enough to welcome New Year’s resolutions into your life.
The anti-resolution resolution
The more I think about it, the more I realise I don’t actually want more goals next year. I want fewer.
Neurodivergent life already comes with a ridiculous amount of invisible work: managing sensory input, masking, unmasking, scripting social interactions, tracking everyone’s emotional state, battling executive dysfunction and decision fatigue before we’ve even opened our laptops. Slapping ten extra “improvement projects” on top of that isn’t self-development. It’s self-sabotage on roids!
So my New Year’s resolutions for 2026 are looking less like, “I will become a totally upgraded, sleek, consistent, disciplined version of myself,” and more like, “I will stop doing things that drain my energy for no good reason.”
That might look like saying yes to fewer things I already know I’ll resent, taking on fewer “little favours” that come with large emotional price tags, and stopping agreeing to projects that require a personality I simply do not have. It absolutely looks like treating rest as something I’m entitled to and need, not as a reward I have to earn by grinding myself into the floor first.
It’s less “What will you add?” and more “What will you gently but firmly remove?” Consider it an anti-resolution resolution — a boundary-setting exercise in disguise.
Stuart taught me (think Karate Kid but with less waxing) that rest isn’t a reward you get for being productive enough. It’s preparation for everything that’s coming. That’s true whether you’re training for a marathon, running a business, raising kids, or simply surviving late-stage capitalism with a frazzled brain.
So for 2026, I’m far more interested in building in rest on purpose, not only when I’m already in pieces. I’m more interested in choosing tiny habits that work with my rhythms, not against them. I’m much keener on letting go of goals that only exist because they sound good on LinkedIn, and treating my energy like the finite resource it is — not like some infinite well I can plunder because I’ve bought a fancy planner.
You don’t need a “new you”
Here’s where I’ve landed with New Year, resolutions and goal setting: You don’t need a “new you”. You need more support for the you that already exists.
The you who loses track of supplements but shows up for friends.
The you who forgets resolutions but remembers everyone’s emotional temperature at a party.
The you who can’t stick to habit trackers but can hyperfocus for 14 hours on something you care about.
The you who gets overwhelmed by change but has probably survived more of it than most people will ever understand.
That version of you doesn’t need to be replaced. She needs to be listened to, accommodated, and designed around. So if you’re staring down another January thinking, “I cannot face another round of ‘New Year, new me’ nonsense,” consider this your official permission slip to opt out.
You are allowed to have no resolutions at all.
You are allowed to pick one tiny, kind goal and let that be enough.
You are allowed to focus on what you’ll stop doing, not what you’ll cram in.
You are absolutely allowed to decide that your main achievement next year will be: “stayed vaguely functional and didn’t combust.”
You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re not failing because you can’t reinvent yourself every January. You are a neurodivergent human doing your best with a brain that was never invited to the planning meeting for “how life is supposed to work.” Designing your year around that reality isn’t failure. It’s self-respect.
And if anyone asks you what your New Year’s resolution is, you can smile and say:
“Supporting the current me a bit better, thanks. As I’m already doing enough.”
Reunions – Life’s Unwanted Performance Review
Let’s just start with the dictionary definition of a “Reunion.”
Reunion; noun — a social event for a group of people who have not seen each other for a long time, or a situation when people meet again after they have not seen each other for a long time.
You lost me at “social event.” Now, I am not the Grinch, and I certainly have been known to part-tay with the best of them; those youngsters got nothing on me. Well, except non-arthritic knees, a later bedtime and a better tolerance for bad music. Fuck me, stop being a cliché and get on with the blog post Morrison. Sorry, I digress.
Social gatherings present many challenges for the Neurodivergent. Reunions are top tier, premier-league when it comes to a social gathering. The timeline of pressure goes something like this:
Somewhere around your thirties you hit a little patch of melancholia. Ageing is life’s “black ice”, you come a-cropper when you least expect it, but the arc of age has waypoints and this is one. As your youth recedes common thoughts pervade and you ruminate on your mortality, achievements, success (whatever the fuck that is!). All the things we were overtly or benignly pointed at and corralled towards are suddenly up for grabs.
There’s a wistful nostalgia, pining for a simpler time, a heady scent from your youth wafts on the cognitive breeze; it’s full of heightened colours, distorted perceptions, grander adventures and energetic, forbidden discoveries. To badly paraphrase the mighty Stephen King, it’s comfortable down there, they all float down there… Nostalgia is a powerful drug. Kids, just say no!
But in a weak moment, Friday, after two glasses of vino-de-plonko, you get tagged in a post on social media. A few names get mentioned, a nickname or two, stories about escapades that you had not thought about in a long, long time. One more glass of wine and bingo, bango, FFW 3 weeks and you’re sharing messages with Carol, the bratty class tattle-tale, arguing about the venue for the “RIDE OR DIE BITCHES REUNION TOUR” (partners, significant others and life mates also welcome).
FFW 3 weeks and you’re sharing messages with Carol, the bratty class tattle-tale, arguing about the venue for the “RIDE OR DIE BITCHES REUNION TOUR” (partners, significant others and life mates also welcome).
You wake in the night screaming, “This is not my beautiful life,” and you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?” And I can answer that.
The reason for your involvement in the construction of a gateway to hell is one of social obligation, a pull towards familiar bonds, even if those are built on the mask you once had or maybe still do. Old mental subroutines, canyons of the mind, suddenly flooded with the mental backwash of years gone by.
But as you age, the energy to shore up the façade requires more and more effort. However, we tend to default to our old roles, and of course as the lowest in the school, work or other social org. the default pecking order returns and you not only get the stuff to do that no one else wants to do, you’re kind of happy that you have some sort of involvement, the other kids do want you around. Although being the “doer”, that does mean that when you’re on a committee you’re never the Chair, but are the one whose name is always against an “action item,” giving you all of the stress and none of the glory.
Even if none of this nightmare is your particular experience, just the word “reunion” is going to make your neck hairs stand up and the predator alert go off in your brain. The emotional river runs deep, the water is always freezing, and the current is fast flowing and tempestuous.
My own emotional landscape is littered with burnt-out hulks of past social gatherings positioned as “Reunions,” when they were more re-enactments of former social ostracism and, frankly, I would need a lifetime of spoons to enter into that level of combat ever again.
Obv. school reunions will feature at some point in your life. Whether invited or even if you go doesn’t matter; you’ll still experience the heart-dropping, knotted, gnawing feelings that were your daily internal struggle in class, returning all at once, with considerable compound interest.
I haven’t met everyone on the planet yet, but I have yet to meet someone who is clearly ND that had a happy time at school. I’ve met a lot of damaged people though, who have first-hand horror stories of bullying, abuse and systemic failings, all for being a “bit different.” I’ll save my own for your personal delight and edification another time, but believe me it takes a LOT of time, and considerable growth and clarity, to drop the sack of rocks weighing you down every day and no longer live under the dragweight of those specific incidents.
Here’s another point I wish to cover: Neurodivergent friendship. If you are not in my life, then that is for a reason; mostly because other people cease contact, and at some point you realise that you are the one making all the overtures, or that there are no more DMs being DMed. You get used to the “let’s meet for coffee, soon” moments and start to hear them as “I feel awkward about not being in touch, so I will suggest a vague future meet up and hope we’ll never meet again.”, it’s the “soon“, the indefinite article, making it so very real.
Friendship for a lot of NDs, esp. Autists, is all or nothing, that “Caesar or Death” mindset. I’ve got friends in my life that I have known for 40+ years, and we may not speak for weeks, maybe months. When we do it’s like no time has passed. If you are neurotypical and you have a friend like that, one of you at least is probably ND. Can’t be 100%, but of the few good friends in my life who remain, they’re the ones who will be in touch, out of the blue, and we pick up right where we left off. Right off the high board into the deep end.
But here’s the thing, that’s a one-on-one experience, a very manageable slice of people, in a dose that one can tolerate. A reuni-one, a reunion of one?! Or maybe a re-two-nion, as there are only two people present? Whatever, intermittent peopling in small bursts is doable, with enough notification and crucially, the right.fucking.venue. CAROL!
…intermittent peopling in small bursts is doable, with enough notification and crucially, the right.fucking.venue. CAROL!
As they say, you meet one ND you’ve met one ND. None of us are the same. My sensory hell may well be tolerable for others, and you may have had much gentler and kinder people around you than I did at times, when growing up, so I absolutely assume that all the above is going to be different for you. However, whenever I speak to other NDs who are aware of their own energy and peopling ability, they rarely relish a reunion.
Why rehash the past? Most of the time my earliest memories revolve around trying to fit in, not be seen, avoid the emotional turmoil and mental gymnastics of trying to figure out if it was sarcasm, idiom, analogy or direct instruction. Laid on top of auditory and visual overwhelm, plus hormones, and fluctuating energy due to being hungry or dysregulated because my uniform was hell, the classroom was too hot or cold, and a mind that would wander when bored, which was most of the time. Add all that up and then suggest I want to revisit it, and I am Nopey McNopeface.
The work reunion is no better. Let me preface this by saying: this is not a few drinks with old, familiar colleagues, that’s acceptable. As long as there’s no compulsory “fun,” and we all get to leave when we want without rancour or bantery “negging” next time we meet. That’s fine. Enjoyable even.
What I am talking about is when a company decides to have some kind of get-together of current and/or old workforce and throws a party. Usually around some foundational milestone or other “historic” moment in the company’s past. Maybe even a retirement for a long-standing member of the team.
These can be cringefests, and totally worth playing the “grandparent’s death” card to avoid. An event where there are some absolute guarantees:
A carpet of beige food lines the tables against one wall, none is marked for allergens, so that’s you not eating all night. A DJ plays a mix of Ibiza bangers and childcare nursery rhymes set to a disco beat, weirdly they sound essentially the same, all the while people whose limbs do not coordinate when walking try to recreate the coordinated dance troupe from the Thriller video. With about as much success as you would have with real-life corpses. Plus some kind of speech or announcement from someone who has zero oratory or microphone skills. Somehow they are both too loud and inaudible.
All the while Alan from “Technical Department” ignores the speechifying and rattles on about that time you did that thing and luckily (for you) he spotted that it was wrong, and you had to then get this signed off by this other department manager… all the while standing too close for the toxic level of deodorant deployed that’s still failing to overcome his noxious body odour and coffee-breath, a one-two knockout combo.
We’re now back to the “entertainment,” and everyone is whispering despite the full Glasto main-stage volume level of the DJ’s kit, and yet no one can make out what he says when he speaks into the mic, which is frequently, and seemingly at random. “Heeeess warn fur thaaa layydeees, gert ahn that darnssssssflawwww…” Ace of Spades by Motörhead blares out… WT actual effing effington. Fuck.
Now, I know I paint a rosy picture, but don’t be sucked in. You will hate yourself if you go and try to scratch a nostalgic itch. It won’t work. It’s like taking an industrial sander with 80-grit discs to soothe some mild sunburn, about as enjoyable as a cactus dildo, similar amount of pricks to deal with though. There will be screaming and running for the exits if/as/when it goes wrong.
Recently I was invited to an old friends’ reunion. This was organised pre-official diagnosis, but the event was scheduled just after. I was asked by the organiser to attend, and I agreed. But the closer we got, the more I felt internal resistance, and then after the diagnosis I was off-kilter. I knew what the result of the assessments would be, because when you know, you know, right? And yet some small part of you thinks, “No, not me, surely, I am just a bit odd.”
Anyway, to then have to go and navigate a social landscape that expects me to be “old” me when I am not even sure who that person was back then. Certainly a lot younger, but also very dysregulated at a very unhappy part of my life, combined with expectations, assumptions, and a genuine 24-carat arsehole I’ve no wish to spend any time with ever again, who offends my DNA with his presence and for whom I would happily undergo amnesia therapy to erase from my brain. Yeah. The resistance is strong…
So, although I said I would go, I didn’t. Spent the entire evening feeling guilt, shame, and avoiding social media. Then add a few days spiralling around the well of despair that I had let people down. And yet, no one got in touch after, apart from the host with a “where were you?” cue more shame and guilt, even though they graciously and fully understood.
Not that friendship is a test, but if anyone had truly missed my presence then a “missed you, hope you’re well” from others attending is the least you might expect? There may have been major relief at the weirdo not coming, or I may be reading waaaaaaaay too much into all of this and after all “it’s just a reunion Stuart.”
But here’s the thing for NDs: there’s no “just” about it. If the above jumble of metaphors, analogies and scenarios resonates then I am sure that no apology to you is required. You can feel the emotional vibration, the level of overthinking, and the ball of frayed knots in yer innards for days before and after.
And then there’s the “Family Reunion”, the smackdown, title fight of Reunions… let’s not go there… We’ll save that for another blog.
Here’s the thing: we’re all different. Don’t let my experience cloud your own enjoyment of anything which gives you a smile and a lift. Go do it and ignore this old curmudgeon with no new friends!
IMPORTANT MESSAGE
If you’re struggling there is help. If you need to speak to someone, bigmoosecharity.co — this is free, emergency mental health support. If you need them, click the link and send them a message. They reply within 24 hrs and you will be speaking to someone within 7 days.