How Miscommunication Leads to Conflict
Growing up as a boy in the 70s and 80s, there was not the mental health awareness that we have today. There was also no understanding of the needs of the neurodivergent. Sure, we had a few odd kids, but they were labelled “slow” or “learning challenged” by the schools and authorities. The playground was somewhat harsher, “spazz”, “ ’tard”, and “mong” being choice variations on the same theme. If you were different, weird, odd, or strange, you needed to know it, and there was no shortage of inventive ways your bullies would find to let you know.
Violence was treated as part of growing up;
Violence was treated as part of growing up; a right of passage, you took your licks, everyone did. Except some of us took them with a little more frequency than others. It was how I got so good at masking (hahaha, yeah right Morrison).
When the punishment for showing up as yourself is physical violence, social exclusion, and mind games, you get good at blending in (hah!) or get used to being alone. Now, let me just square that; I like being alone, I LOVE being alone and doing my own thing and being left to do it. I am the opposite of a team player. I am better at being the conductor than in the orchestra, and, tbh, I am good with it and happy that my skillset fits that desire to work focused and by myself. However, I am human, I like to meet others from time to time. So you try to fit in, make accommodations that mean people accept you.
But even so, bullying was overt in my life, and daily from mid teens through to my mid twenties, and in that time it transitioned from physical to mental bullying, and was even present in the workplace. There was nowhere I could go without being somehow “wrong”. You don’t fit in wherever there are people. Think about that. People would rather you were not there, or if you are there you have some function to perform or other social benefit to them. Looking back, it plays on your mind; were they really your friends? Where are they now? Hmmmm…
One of the things you do keep tally of is the physical violence meted out, and due to the emotional impact (pun intended), it resonates. You ruminate on it, the details being thrown into sharper and sharper relief as you age. The pain fades; the emotional resonance does not. Imprinted with force in your psyche, and I am thankful that, relatively speaking, the experiences I can never forget are fleeting and sporadic. If you are facing any sort of emotional or physical violence, seek help and get out. Your physical safety is paramount.
As I recall I’ve been punched in the face five times in my life so far, fingers crossed that number remains at five but there’s still time. My Grandfather confronted bullies his whole life starting with the Nazis and even faced down a bully on a train aged 86, so we’re a sparky lot us Morrison’s
Punch in the face no. 1 — Little Stu was five years old. In fact, it is one of my earliest memories. A young boy lashed out at me, for reasons I am unable to recall, and caught me squarely on the mouth. More by luck than any actual skill, the blow landed fully and rocked my world. Blood then tears welling almost immediately, followed by the laughter of my peers who had gathered at the sight of two children squaring off.
I ran home, in floods, to my parents, and my mother soothed me, whilst my father suggested that the only way to deal with it was to go back and give the “bully” the same treatment in return, thus making future-you bully-proof. “They’ll think twice before doing it again” was, I believe, the parental advice.
Having heard what had to be done, bolstered by my borrowed bravado, I braced myself and cycled back to where the “bully” was, tears still wet on my cheeks, the tang of coppery blood still on my palate, but a burning desire to ensure justice was served.
STAND BACK CITIZEN…
A minute later, I was back home crying harder than I had cried when hit. Through my sobs I tried to explain that I’d taken on board my father’s advice and re-engaged with the bully whom I was going to firmly put in their place. My tears were not from any physical altercation but at my frustration that when told to stand still and let me hit them, they’d laughed and run away. They had ignored my instruction and defied my attempts at exacting revenge/justice.
My further encounters were similarly frustrating.
Punch in the face no. 2 — circa 1983/84, David E, in the school’s ‘A Block’. I walked into the class and BLAMMO. The explanation, I think I found out later, was someone had dared him to punch me, so he did. Again, I just froze, turned, and walked away. There was little damage, the punch being thrown without any commitment or intent — more a bop on the schnoz than a roundhouse. The social cost hurt more than the physical pain, as I refused to fight and was seen as “weak”. I’m now “friends “ with him on Facebook, wonder if he even remembers that incident?
Punch in the face no. 3 — Adam, RAE apprenticeship, Farnborough. He didn’t like me; I was ambivalent about him. End of year clean-up, I had somehow sprayed cleaning spray in his direction. He claimed it had gone in his eyes. OK, so I did not react maturely to him shouting at me and threatening to hit me. I threw my broom in his general direction and turned my back on him, which was a tactical mistake in hindsight.
Next thing I knew he was behind me, and as I turned he gave me his all. I basically walked into the punch, and it landed squarely on my jaw, rocking my head back. SNAP! He’d hit the bingo button and rang my bell, but to everyone’s surprise he didn’t win a prize. The look of rage-induced glee to panicked “oh no, he’s not gone down” is backed up on tape in my brain and I have replayed it a few times over the years. From triumph to “oh shit” in a second. Ooooh, that’s the really good stuff, sweet, sweet 40 year old vintage schadenfreude.
As I stood there, thinking about my options, I was thankful he’d not followed up as it gave me a moment. I scrolled through my choices: if I responded I might win the battle, but would be expelled from the course for fighting, thus losing the war and my job.
I was also not 100% innocent in the escalation of the event. The balance tipped in favour of remaining calm and doing nothing. Sure, I might lose some social cred, but no one on the course really liked me anyway. As in a lot of situations, I was “tolerated” or ignored. He couldn’t take me down a peg, let alone two, as I was on the lowest rung of the social ladder there was. Also, my lack of instant emotional response allows this calm reflection, it’s why I am good in a crisis. However the reaction later is brutal.
I took a deep breath and calmly stated, “Is that the best you can do?” and raised an eyebrow, if I recall, to throw in a little bit of my fave Star Trek character, Spock.
Quickly turning away, playing a game of social poker as I did the sums and bet that he’d lose way more ‘street cred’ attacking someone whose back was to him than winning approval of his peers for pursuing the fight and I was already below him socially. He stalked off, and if nothing else I had shown that a smack on the chin wouldn’t take me down and hoped others took note and would infer I was made of granite.
I cried a lot that night when I got in.
Punch in the face no. 4 — circa 1991, Yateley kebab van. The lovely Egyptian kebab van owner and I had exchanged pleasantries a few times when I was buying my weekly kebab. He’d come to the UK to seek a better future, starting his kebab van from scratch, and sharing a house with four relatives who were all similarly motivated to build better lives. He had a wife and two kids and was eager to send for them and set up home in the UK, which was safer and had more opportunities.
This particular Friday I was out with a friend, Janey celebrating her birthday. She was driving as she rarely drank and so offered me a lift, which I accepted. After the pub we were heading back to a mutual friend’s for further drinks, but I suggested we stop for a kebab, huzzah!
On arriving, the scene was a little chaotic, with several large men milling about in football shirts in front of the kebab van. It was unruly, and I had not judged the mood of those there. I was hungry and keen to get a kebab, and there seemed to be a lot of shouting at the kebab van man. I suddenly realised that the “mob” was shouting “Iraqis out”, and other such epithets. I also noticed that they were reaching over the counter and grabbing the lettuce and other salad items and throwing them about.
Not really thinking, hungry and wishing to quell any nascent violence, I simply said, quite loudly, “C’mon, we’re only here for a kebab,” and the mob turned their attention from the kebab van owner to me. Shouts of “Iraqi sympathiser” and other similar statements were made.
Now two things you need to know at this point:
It was at the time of Gulf War 1 — tensions were high and citizens with brown skin were rightly nervous. So I was trying to calm the situation, and also they were wrong, he was not Iraqi and even if he was, what did it matter?
I had a 1ft postbox red Mohican, wearing a tasseled black leather jacket covered in silver studs, and looked like a member of Sigue Sigue Sputnik (go Google, I’ll wait). Yeah. I “stood out”
So, if you know anything about UK society, our football hooligan species of bully doesn’t like people who are “a bit different”. It angers them if you don’t have visible neck tattoos, prison time, and intolerance of others who look different. Plus, I looked like I probably had paid attention at school and might know “words” and could therefore probably do “sums”, and thus the crowd ‘took agin me’ instantly.
I was quickly grabbed and surrounded. The jostling was bad. As I tried to wrestle myself away, someone tried to break a bottle on my head. Spoiler alert: they do not break like they do in the movies. Also, given the status of my hair — standing up and shaved from the circumference of my head down — the blood flowed quite spectacularly, which did give me a blood-soaked, Mad Max appearance. That helped, also the guttural animal barking I was doing as I tried to apply some of my brown belt martial arts to the situation, allowed me a little space to get my back to the kebab van. “Back to a wall, don’t go down”, was the mantra in my head. It was then a blur of fists and saliva.
The kebab van owner then arrived on the scene with his BIG carving knife, waved the yobs away, and managed to bundle me into my friend’s car. She had seen the situation, but what could she really do? Lone female, about 5’5″ and less than 100lbs, “dainty” was the word to describe her. She saw what was happening though and got the car positioned so I could make a relatively speedy exit.
All resulted in a night in hospital, bit of concussion, broken nose, and looked like a panda for a couple of weeks. Police interviewed me, apparently it was Reading Football supporters, and no one knew who they were. The scene was a ghost town by the time the cops arrived. Would I do it again? Absolutely, 100%. I will stare down bullies and fascists; not on my watch, not today, not ever.
Which brings us to punch no. 5, which, given the very dramatic nature of punches 1 to 4, is rather an anti-climax. A northern nightclub, circa 2005/06. I am onstage doing a bit as the Little Britain character Emily Howard. Having done gigs all over, in many different venues of different standards and clientele, this one was one of the higher-end nightclubs we worked. There was a bit where I ask for an audience member to join me on stage, and before I had a chance to hand-pick one of the more sober customers, onto the stage strode “Baz”. Full of spit and vinegar over something I had said. Some slight, imagined or direct, was not taken in the spirit of the character and he took this opportunity to get close.
Waved onto the stage by security, Baz shuffled over to me, and I could tell two things immediately from his demeanour and gait:
Thing 1) Baz was angry. The furrowed brow, hunched shoulders, and attempted swagger told me that as he approached me, he meant business. I’ve been punched by people before, so I knew what to expect…
Thing 2) Baz was loaded. The local team United/City/Town had won/drawn/lost and he had been day drinking since breakfast/last night/a week ago. He was steaming, ruddy, sweaty, weaving, and was unbuttoning his stained, rather damp and clingy shirt, ready to whip it off and go full Rambo… if only the pesky buttons would respond to his soused sausage fingers.
He finally got within swinging distance and threw a haymaker at me, which he may as well have sent a text about a week previously. He was also clearly aiming at the Emily Howard standing two feet to my left; his eyes were not focused on my face. The swing whistled past me and landed on the double-vision version of my presence, and before he could recover his balance the security guards grabbed him and hauled him out the club.
Whilst the physical contact was nothing more than air molecules, the intent shook me. I was in my safe space, on stage, where I was in control. This was MY room, MY audience, and he had tried to harm me there. All of the previous occasions flashed through my head; the guilt, the shame, all the other physical altercations and being roughed up “just for a laugh”. All the times you complained to an adult and were told “boys will be boys”. The hot, sickly feeling of being belittled and dragged down, the othering, the outcasting. That lands with the intent, whether the blow physically connects or not.
Now I do not know the neurotypes of the people mentioned above, but I do know that physical violence never solves anything. I didn’t need to be hit to know that; it just seems reasonable to never put your hands on another, whatever justification you may have in your mind. Unless they ask you too of course, in which case, have at it. What you do in the privacy of your own dungeon is your prerogative.
Masking is a survival skill and can be a way to try and hide and stay safe, but you cannot mask 100% of the time, every time. It’s a skill, and with low energy it can fail us, and that can be a problem if it happens in the wrong company. Thankfully I am now safe, have people who love me and can truly say that if you don’t like me then I do not care. Just don’t start, I will walk away, I have nothing I need to prove to anyone.
Whilst there’s no 100% magic spell that will make you accepted into wider society, education and open communication will change things. Society has massively changed in my lifetime. Let’s be more kind and accepting of “others” no matter how “other” they may be or where they are from. Let’s keep pushing and pushing for wider acceptance of divergent neurotypes, whatever the traits or behaviours. We owe it to the generations to come that we share our needs plainly, remain resilient in the face of ignorance, and change hearts and minds where we can.
Take it easy and be kind to yourself and others.
NEED HELP WITH BULLYING OR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE?
If you’re facing bullying in the UK, resources like Childline (0800 1111) and Shout (text SHOUT to 85258) offer 24/7 confidential support for young people, while the NSPCC (0808 800 5000) and Family Lives (0808 800 2222) provide help for parents and carers dealing with bullying issues at home or school, with options for phone, online chat, and forums for advice on all types of bullying, from playground to cyberbullying.
Information and advice for anyone dealing with bullying
https://www.nationalbullyinghelpline.co.uk/
https://www.youngminds.org.uk/young-person/coping-with-life/bullying/
Women Facing Domestic Abuse – National Domestic Abuse Helpline
https://womensaid.org.uk/information-support/
A fast, free emergency injunction service for domestic abuse
https://www.ncdv.org.uk/
Boredom, Dopamine and the Neurodivergent Brain
Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, bored, BORED, bored. B.o.r.e.d…
A phrase that strikes fear into the heart of any parent, but if you are neurodivergent, then that feeling can wash over you without any prompting.
From a dull conversational small-talk social interaction, where your brain just refuses to stay tuned into what’s being said and instead decides to mull over the latest exciting special interest obsession you currently have. Or, your customer, boss, wife is giving you something very important to understand and you are engaged with the conversation and then suddenly your brain latches onto some outlying idea and it’s like being on a runaway horse. You suddenly realise you’ve “zoned out”, and are three fields away from the main points of the conversation and have a blank “no sale” expression on your face. This lack of interest, absence of minimal encouragers and general vagueness is a clue that your brain got bored and noped out of there faster than your tight mate makes for the loos the moment you enter the pub to avoid it being “their round”…
Boredom is not just a lack of ideas for me, boredom is a straitjacket of having to do the very things you don’t want to do. You may be “productive” but at what cost? The cost of your soul slowly dying from this lack of excitement, and there’s a reason.
DOPAMINE.
Sweet, sweet nectar of the gods, mmmm, it’s so, erm… dopaminey.
Neurodivergent brains often have lower levels of dopamine, the neurotransmitter crucial for motivation, focus, and pleasure.
So, to reach a level of stimulation that others can cope with and find acceptable day to day, our brains constantly seek more input, new, newer, NEWEST! ALL OF THE TIME. Stimulation, novelty, newness, we find mundane activities unbearable.
One of the worst “features” is that something you enjoy doing, that has previously been your go-to stim, special interest or other such brain itch, can suddenly stop having the desired effect.
Even if we have done these things before, our brains can suddenly go, nah… not enough dopamine payoff now. NEXT! And we’re onto the next thing…
Is it any wonder the incidence of addiction is so very high within the neurodivergent community?
ADHDers have higher rates of addiction when compared to Gen Pop, with some research suggesting up to 43% develop alcohol use disorder and a significantly increased risk for substance abuse disorders overall.
Autism addiction rates vary; some studies show higher substance use problems (19–30%), while others find lower abuse levels than the Gen Pop, but much higher self-medication with recreational drugs (like marijuana) to manage symptoms.
The risk is highest for those with both ASD and ADHD, say Delamere Health and Attwood & Garnett, and the picture across the board of ND substance abuse and addiction is clearly widespread. See here for more
Autistic adolescents and adults were cited as being “over three times more likely than others to report using substances to manage mental health symptoms, including anxiety, depression, and suicidal thoughts.” See here for more
A Swedish study found that a neurodivergent person with average or above-average intelligence may be twice as likely to develop substance dependency than a neurotypical person. People with an IQ of 100+ may also be at a higher risk of addiction, especially among those with ADHD and autism. Help with addiction here.
The picture is clear: the ND brain is looking for stimulation and a release from some of the more obsessive and enduring traits we share.
The dopamine reward system can be a tricky thing, especially when tasks don’t offer enough reward or novelty. Our brains don’t get the necessary chemical signals to stay engaged, leading to restlessness or disinterest. Attention wanders and it becomes difficult focusing on “uninteresting” tasks, a core feature of ADHD, makes it hard to tolerate boredom. So, what is an “uninteresting” task?
Well that would depend on many factors, not only what your own special interests are, but also the context of the situation, hunger, tiredness, fatigue in general. I am a runner, I like running, have run half and full marathons (not fast, but got them done), however, when running the marathon I got sooooooo bored. My headphones died, and then it was just, left foot, right foot… over and over. I stopped at one point, not because I was exhausted, just because my brain said, that’s enough of that. Let’s walk to make things a little different… I had stopped and was walking for a good few minutes before I sort of “woke up” and thought, hang on… and started running again. Maybe I should take up a shorter, less boring sport? Top fuel drag racing, 0–60 in 1.2s, standing quarter mile in circa 3.6s, that sounds more like my kinda attention span.
It’s not the activity though, it’s everything. Even if I was to take up drag racing, my brain might get bored as we prep and I’d wander off for a look at other cars… people… food… food… food…
What was I doing?
DANG IT!
Flip this though, I have also hyperfocused on “boring” tasks and been told, “You like doing that? You’re weird.”
As an engineer, I was once given the task to make short aluminium cylinders for tent pole corner castings. It was a horrible job, 10,000 cylinders, all about an inch in diameter, had to be radiused and cut to length on a lathe. Then flipped round and the other end radiused. It was the absolute hell of repetitiveness, a job no one wanted, and I was given it being the youngest and newest employee and also odd, and not well liked by the crew.
However, they were not reckoning on my spicy mindset, and I started to baseline how many I could do in an hour, then the next hour, can I do more? I worked out how to speed things up, fixed part of the lathe so I could use the turret (no one else knew how to use it). I optimised the process, and dang it, I could fly through them. Still took me the best part of a month or so to smash it out. Never got bored. I had a chart and on it would record my progress.
Pissed the lead chargehand off, as I am sure he’d given me the job to try and get to me, to punish me for an earlier incident where I stood up for myself after being treated like an idiot/outsider due to his unclear instructions that lacked detail.
That can also switch my brain off, the lack of detail, where I have to guess at the meaning. Just reading a badly written email can have my brain sliding away to other things quicker than a curling stone hurtling over the ice.
As always, it is context, detail, and timing that makes a big difference. I’ve done a lot of boring tasks, but because I made it a game I was able to cope. Doesn’t work every time, esp. when it comes to dull conversations. These can make me so bored I want to peel my face off. I DO NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR “CUTE DOG”, JANET! NO. NO, I DO NOT WANT TO SEE A RECENT PHOTO. And you can swap “dog” for car/holiday/child, I wish them no ill harm, just let’s avoid Yawnsville as you tell me about some “fascinating” recent anecdote.
Again, it’s not you, it’s me, always me, unfortunately. I wish that it were not, I wish I had the appetite to be engaged and interested at all times.
I also wish I could train my face to be more “present” even if my brain is off doing cartwheels in the car park.
Conversations can become nightmare fuel, as your brain refuses to pay attention. Put that in a classroom where there’s no way out, but you are stuck there. Just listening. Having to take the sounds and make mind pictures to try and take the info and engage your brain, when it would rather be staring at the clouds or the cars passing straining to read the number plates and see if any made words…
My entire childhood was made up of “pay attention”, ““if only Stuart applied himself” or the classic “I’m sorry Mr. Morrison, am I boring you?”. Asked by one of my teachers at school and as a fresh faced newbie I was not really familiar with sarcasm, and this was an authority figure so I couldn’t lie. “Yes sir.” I thought that was a genuine request for an answer and gave it, hoping it meant we might change the topic or, I dunno, he might break out into a song and dance number? Nope. Headmaster office…
Do not pass Go, do not collect £200. BUT HE ASKED… Are you encouraging school kids to lie? Ity was, and still is a nightmare. Tired, hungry me may well walk right past the social cues, the sarcasm and anything others may instinctivbely pick up on. Not me… Ask me a question, sarcastic or rhetorical and I might not hear it as such.
There’s no end to the distractions as well. Go into work and you want to focus on X but an email/message or other interruption flags itself and you careen off in a new direction much like a billiard ball being struck by the cue ball. Thwack… off towards the new shiny.
It’s a constant round of distractions and trying to drag your brain back to the thing you KNOW you have to do. Adulting itself is so boring. Bills are boring. Forms are so boring that I have to have help to fill them in. My brain goes off at a tangent and before you know it I have a list of questions because the SPECIFIC way they want the form filled out seems opaque at best.
If you EVER want to test a logical flow, like a sign-up sequence or other step-by-step process, then ask me. I will do all the dumb things and find all the points your system breaks. I have done this in the past only to be told, “Well that’s just you”… like being an outlier is my problem and not the problem of public infrastructure that I HAVE to use. I’m hard Paddington Bear staring at HMRC right now and my Doctor’s Surgery phones… two labyrinthine systems to frustrate and confuse, and I have yet to find anything to match them for conflicting or partial info and then leaving you guessing.
Over the years my coping strategy has changed over time.
First I would force myself to do it, now I realise the toll to my overall motivation and energy and outsourced it. Outsourcing is not abdicating my responsibilities, it’s paying someone to do something in 4 hours that would take me two days, and I am not even joking. Receipts. Do one.
I’ll embrace a hyperfocus, and try to batch certain jobs; Monday is Money Day. I like money but accounts and bookkeeping is a torture dreamed up by sadists. Also gamifying certain tasks, and leaning into the fun side of the work I do. Not always possible, but whacking on the tunes and ploughing through a dull task can make life more bearable.
You do you though.
I also embrace boredom, I think it is useful. It shows me that I need a break, that I should “stock the warehouse” with some new ideas, get the creative juices flowing and build something even if it is not a commercial project. It can help the brain remain calm and regulated when it is allowed off the lead and let run free. Like a cognitive greyhound going for a sprint.
Self-employment gave me the opportunity to be me, and embrace my process. You can’t be all gas and no brakes though, and discipline is still a core part of the work I do. Get into my studio for 9:30 latest. Stick at it until 12. Lunch for an hour and then do as much as I can with the energy I have. Some days it’s 4pm, other days and a hyperfocus it could be 8–9pm before I surface. Take writing this blog, it landed in my brain at 6pm as I was closing for the day, already a late one, then I bash out 2000+ words because BRAIN SAYS WRITE… write here, write now, I am Fatboy Stim.
Boredom is not a linear scale and it’s not a predictable system. The ND brain is constantly in motion and needs constant stimulation. Which can be boring just because it’s a non-stop, never-ending to-do list of things which need your attention…
Anyway, interest has now waned and I’m bored of writing this blog post, so here it ends. Now go away and let me get done for the day and out of office, before I HAD to write this blog.
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Toodle pip for now!
Business Plans That Don’t Suck – Because We’re Allergic To Boring
“No plan survives contact with the enemy” has been attributed to various military leaders over the years but the phrase was first coined by Helmuth von Moltke, a Field Marshal and well considered 19th c. war strategist.
Actually, what he wrote was:
“Kein Operationsplan reicht mit einiger Sicherheit über das erste Zusammentreffen mit der feindlichen Hauptmacht hinaus.”
Which, interestingly, actually translates to:
“No operational plan can extend with any degree of certainty beyond the initial encounter with the main enemy force.”
This is often quoted as some kind of sage and wise insight into the business start-up world, but it could be applied at any stage of a business. However, what a lot of the ‘gooroos’ miss is the second half of Field Marshal von Moltke’s statement:
“Nur der Laie glaubt in dem Verlauf eines Feldzuges die konsequente Durchführung eines im voraus gefaßten, in allen Einzelheiten überlegten und bis ans Ende festgehaltenen, ursprünglichen Gedankens zu erblicken.”
For those without a working knowledge of German (like myself), Google translates as:
“Only a layman believes that the course of a military campaign represents the consistent implementation of an original idea conceived in advance, considered in every detail, and adhered to until the end.”
This is the oft-missed bit of his wisdom that clarifies that initial assertion: that whilst you can have a plan, just sticking to it no matter what is not a good strategy. You need something more adept, something that responds to local conditions. The much more abbreviated and visceral version I prefer is: adapt or die.
And we’re the living embodiment of that, right? If humans are (due to evolution) the species who adapted to change and survived, then neurodivergence is in there too. Because if we were a cognitive evolutionary “dead end,” then surely there wouldn’t be as many people with a neurodivergence, if any?
I contend that not only are we adaptable: err, hello, masking? We’re also ultimate survivalists, and I would even go so far as to theorise that without neurodivergence, Grok and Lek would still not have figured out they gotta “bang the rocks together, guys.” (50 sparkles to anyone who knows where that quote is from?)
The ND brain is a brain in motion: thinking, processing, listing, asking, reviewing, ruminating, digesting, ingesting, vibrating, seeking. Meditation? Really? Me, in a darkened room with a candle, trying to turn off the gushing torrent of raw thoughts? It’s like being jacked into the full internet experience, mainlining fibre optic arrays. It’s a full-time job just keeping up, and you’re never keeping up with it all. Something has gotta be forgotten, now where did I put tha…
…You shut down one fire hydrant and the next four appear; the hydrants are like hydra — they never stop looking at you and pointing in your direction 24/7, full-on, non-stop. It’s like a game of Bop It where you can never put it down, never turn it off, never hand it to another person: “THINK IT,” “DO IT,” “SEE IT,” “STOP IT,” “NOOOOO!” Endless cycles, running round, sometimes accompanied by a looping brainworm of a song, or a quote, or a stupid jingle.
Which are the worst, some cuntpany with shit ethics and a shittier product but somehow they’re managing viral brainworm CIA level jingles that once you pop it, you can’t stop it… over and over and over, looping endlessly, like running downhill too fast, your brain just about keeping your legs under you, but one stumble and the jig will be up. But never fear, another ‘jig’ will just replace it, at some point. Or a ballad. Or worse still, a fecking Oasis song. At the time of writing it’s a Sabrina Carpenter song, Please, Please, Please that is ruining my sanity, just that bit of it where she swears…. and the chorus… over, and over, three days now… Please, PLEASE, PERLEEZE FUCK THE FUCK OFF! It’s like being held in a dark site prison torture cell where the music nevers stops, this one, ruddy song…
Another Example: Raye’s Where Is My Husband? A tour de force of songwriting, performance and skill. Each time I listen, sublime. But it’s like musical mould: it spreads into every waking corner of my head. Sitting on the loo, humming tunelessly, and suddenly realising it’s not as tuneless as I had first thought. Trouble is, I am no songsmith, so I have this generic, off-brand, budget Temu version of said song rambling on round my brainium, crashing into every other thought and destabilising the entire lot.
So you’re constantly rushing round behind this train of carnage like a parent chasing a toddler in a department store’s chinaware section.
SIDEBAR: Are they still a thing? China departments, not children. Do department stores exist anymore? Do I go out, ever, anymore? I think that metaphor is the writer’s metaphorical equivalent of a “candelabra”. Something from a bygone era, a quirk of time and place. If you don’t know what a candelabra is, stop here…
Sod it, lets try: Teasmade, hostess trolley and The Generation Game – if you’re currently “no sale”, blank staring at those words, cursor spinning endlessly, failure to boot necessary images, then stop, go back intrepid traveller.
My entire lexicon of social touchpoints are anchored in pre-revolutionary Britain in the 1970s, and my writing style is more bloody reportage from the field. I’m like an Eye Spy with swearing. Your correspondant de guerre, writing from the front lines and the mean streets of the Bordogne, Mid-Gammonshire.
This tangent was a bit of an epic detour to get to my point… (and somehow my ADHD was never noticed as a kid… go figure).
SFX ::record scratch::
“AND THE POINT OF ALL THIS IS, STUART?”
Thank you, yes; … and like battle plans, business plans need flexibility.
THE CROWD GOES WILD. HE GOT TO THE POINT…
But it is not only flexibility, your strategic thinking needs flexibility and adaptability; best summed up: What got you here, won’t get you there.
THE CROWD STANDS: APPLAUDS WILDLY; roses are thrown, and Stuart is cheered out of the building on the shoulders of his fellow humans, all pleased and thankful that he returned to the main thread of this weird blog on business plans for neurodivergent brains.
Often when I am looking at businesses it’s not the numbers I am really reviewing. The numbers are a scorecard, a way to keep a tally of wins and losses. Something tangible and fixed that can be easily measured, and then various levers deployed to course-correct. All of that is doable, but the key question; do you have the person in front of you who can do it?
No, it’s the person that I am reviewing, assessing if they can be flexible and not ego-driven and rigid in thought and action not just their business plan, those can be altered with the stroke of a keyboard. Ironic that an autist with his own routines and rigour is assessing others, some of whom may not be “on the spectrum” for those traits. But being aware of these internal foibles, I can quickly probe the individual about their own flexibility in what their business does.
You have to get out of your own way. You have to see that your ONLY goal is revenue generation, full stop. If a better plan comes along, even if it is not your 100% original, created-all-by-you plan, but it will perform better, then you need to be flexible enough to revert a position or re-evaluate your direction. Too much hubris has cost companies billions in missed revenue and lost opportunity.
A CONCLUSION (of sorts)
Therefore I will conclude (see, told you) with this: as a micro business, with possibly only one employee, keep things flexible, especially at the outset. That means you have to keep things simple. Have one product or service initially. Test it. Get feedback. Iterate. Adapt. Change. Pivot. You will also be up against your own energy reserves; when rejection hurts, RSD is real, and PDA can crater your productivity at a moment’s notice.
Over the years I have had all sorts of “plans.” Nowadays my plan is a couple of paragraphs at best. It’s also more of a life goal or guiding principle as well, and it can be summarised as: “spend more time with good people doing the stuff you love.” Doesn’t sound like much of a plan. No; granted, it is short on the finer details, but more than makes up for that with flexibility.
Over the years I have often failed to answer the question “what do you do?” I even tried to summarise it in a one-man play and overran by an hour. I have done a lot, and a lot of it is a means to an end. A direction of travel, a use of my skills, time with my special interests, a way to earn without the burnout. I continue to stay flexible, adaptable and open to the possibility that I may not know it all. But, and here’s the killer takeaway:
I now trust that I have a process, and if left alone with a clear brief and appropriate (but not necessarily over-abundant) resources, you’ll be happy with the result.
Which could be summarised as:
“I know shit, and get shit done.”
That needs to be on a t-shirt.
Also, I think that might be the answer I have been looking for as the answer to “what do you do?”
“Stuart Morrison
Shit Mitigation.”
Of course, if you are stuck for the answers to, “what do I do?”, “how do I do it?” and any other business “shit” like that, get in touch. We’re here to help and signpost business stuff as much as ND issues. Let us know what your one-page business plan is, we’d love to champion your business!
Final Note:
Hopefully this blog post delivered on being “allergic to boring” – if you want some dynamic ideas and ways to get to where you’re going get in touch, let us help you say bye bye to boring in your business…
Miracle Morning – Neurospicy Edition
The whole “Miracle Morning” by Hal Elrod phenomenum initially annoyed me, how can one morning routine be fit for EVERYONE!? There’s apparently ONE optimal way for all of humanity to wake up?
OK Stu, calm down, these are just some simple tips to give the average Jo Schmo a less rough start to what is likely to be a busy day. It’s not a prescription for humanity, right?
OK, so perhaps my opening gambit does put the bar of disbelief a little too high, but I am by nature and experience a skeptical person. I’m also ND and have my own very specific routine each morning. But, I am open to suggestions on how I may further optimise it, so if there’s no demand for “Hal’s way or the highway“, then I’ll cancel my Uber and let’s dive in.
Just before that let me be clear, with any of the books or resources we share the goal is never to make you feel less-than if the ideas do not resonate. Our goal is to share our own experiences, your mileage may vary enormously! We do want to hear if you agree, disagree or have other experiences that have worked!
Our goal is not to state this book is some revolutionary new way of being or thinking, merely to offer you some ideas to help optimise your day, which may really work for the routine cravers amongst us. I read the book a long while ago, and there’s some decent ideas, minimal-woo and some solid suggestions. So lets dive in…
The AI offered this TL:DR of the book:
“Create a powerful morning routine to improve every area of your life by consistently investing in yourself before the day’s distractions begin.“
Main framework / acronym:
S.A.V.E.R.S.
-
- Silence (meditation/prayer)
- Affirmations
- Visualization
- Exercise
- Reading
- Scribing (journaling)
Core themes:
-
- Personal responsibility and intentional living
- Small daily habits compound into massive life change
- Mornings set the tone for mindset, productivity, and success
- You don’t need more time—just better use of the first hour
Bottom line:
Win the morning, win the day, win your life.
As a summary it seems simplistic, and why I liked it was that it was simple. First thing, I do not want; complicated, or too rigid routines. The same person doesn’t necessarily wake every day for me. Energy levels vary, life demands vary, my lovely ND traits vary and all of it needs to be allowed, accepted and not shamed for showing up unannounced. Simply put, the PDA leaps to the fore here, and if you start saying I should apply these specific rules, in a specific way, or I am somehow failing, then goodbye, hard nope. I do not need another metric to keep track of to show me by how much I’m failing at life. I already have a few that wake me at 3am, I do not need a subscription to another.
But the book steers a fairly benign course, the ideas being more suggestions for use as a framework, rather than a rigid set of “must dos”. So, I adapted them to suit, here’s an example; I do drink a glass of water first thing, that’s a decent shout, especially as I often forget to drink water. However, that water also has some fresh lemon juice and one grind of pink rock salt as an adaptation from other research and reading.
I do allow for some silence in my day, waking at around 5:30 every day, I have a good two hours in the morning without any interruptions. Allows me to settle into the day, acclimatise and run through the various obligations my day contains.
I do use affirmations; when I hear a nugget of truth I record it and stick it to my inspiration board. There’s some solid bits of business, life and human advice. I bare them in mind constantly as they are in my eye line every day,
I have always been a dreamer, always called out for not paying attention in class, for staring out the window and “sky gazing”. The $1 word Hal uses is “visualization“, and I still like to lean back, and let my mind unfocus, and just run through my problems, trying out different scenarios, working on outlier concepts. All my best ideas have been when I let it all go and just unfocus my mind. Daydreaming counts, especially if it helps direct the day.
I strongly recommend exercise – since running entered my life I have 100% been a happier human. Stretching, resistance training and cardio form the running and I am lighter and tighter, fitter and much happier. Just go do a park run, you don’t have to RUN, you can walk, and do 5K is decent solid exercise when you walk it. Get a smart watch, record your steps, thank me later.
Hal suggests “reading“, well I do audiobooks, and articles, a lot of documentaries and you tube creators. It keeps my mind open to new ideas and suggestions, plus I get to see what other people are doing out there on the Internet!
The final S of the acronym “SAVERS”, is “scribing” which stands for the idea of writing daily, most specifically a journal, but I say, ANY writing is better than no writing. So that may be voice notes, or a bullet list or just some handwritten ideas. Keep it simple, and just jot down useful thoughts and ideas. Using an app you can index them too. So just find some time to keep a little note of those simple, fleeting thoughts that may be nothing on their own. But, may build up into a more concrete idea in future.
These are all solid, decent and genuinely useful things, but I am not about to do ALL of them after waking or suggest that you should either. Pick, choose, discard.
My own personal morning routine is a well worn groove and it delivers me ready to focus on my work for the day. If I don’t do it, then I can get a bit wobbly, especially if it’s disrupted too many days running. This is a routine which I have been working on for years, and it has allowed me to have everything I currently enjoy. But this is MY morning, you have to work on what works best for you and your circumstances.
A morning routine should set you up for success… so why do they feel so impossible when you’re neurodivergent? My own has been built due to my own specific needs and yet some mornings it can feel like I am swimming up from underwater, or hit the ground and my brain is off ahead of me and I am running behind trying to catch up. The wide spectrum of morning states and variable traits all add to the post-wake chaos too.
The idea of a one-size-fits-all morning for the ND brain is therefore ridiculous, and yet some of us crave a routine, for me it can be like a life line, a way to get through without having to use too much brain processing. Stepping stones through a complex, ever shifting landscape, just follow the yellow brick road…
Again I believe the message is flexibility, build your morning for your brain, adapt as local conditions demand.
As we talk about in the episode with the right systems you don’t need willpower, you can also allow for variable energy with buffer days, and some simple prepping the night before.
WHY DON’T I “JUST GET ORGANISED” STUART? – WOW, WHY HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT? GENIUS!
Yep, totally hear that, and this is why kindness beats perfection every single time. If traditional routines make you feel broken, this is your permission slip to do mornings your way. Acknowledge your needs, make your own accommodations and design the morning around lowering the impact to your energy. This may mean having some very direct conversations with the people you live with, and requesting they help. 100% acknowledge it can be very difficult when you have dependants clamouring for your attention.
As someone who has been self-employed for over 30 years I have had plenty of time to reflect, hone, polish, and learn by “trial and error”, which felt more like trial by error, an endurance race not a sprint. In that time I have allowed my morning routine to evolve, as my own needs, both personal and business also evolved.
Over that time I have read many many books on how to improve performance, endurance, profits, and listened to hours of content telling me how to save time, energy and money. Countless sessions spent reviewing performance, and managing time more efficiently. There’s been quite a bit of money also spent on optimising my business processes. However what is left is the stuff that I adapted to suit my own needs.
Be in business long enough and the rough edges get rubbed off, you get a bit more rounded and grounded, you recognise that most new things are somehow repackaged old things. Or old scams wearing more fashion forward attire. Anyone got any NFTs they wanna confess to owning? You begin to feel a sense of calm, insulated from the FoMo, that fear transmuting into solid risk aversion and pragmatic caution.
One thing does emerge, when you acknowledge your own needs, is your own inner sense of what you need from your day. What the day has to give you for you to feel fulfilled and engaged in the work you do. It’s not about what the work takes, different conversation, but there has to be fair exchange of value right? The goal is to extract positive value from the day, for me it is. Before I started to protect my energy I found I was left at the end of the day feeling like I’d been ten rounds in the octagon. YAY! You get the pleasure of doing more again the following day. DOUBLE YAY!!
Well, take it from someone who has worn himself down to a raw nub by failing to realise that energy exchange cannot be asymmetrical for too long or else you will harm your health. In my case, thankfully there’s been no lasting damage, but when your body stops you in your tracks and refuses to mend, and enforces a downtime. There’s three things that happen;
1) You get very ill; this is a waste of life force and requires unwanted distraction
2) You stop forward motion; this is a waste of time, a finite resource for us all.
3) You reflect; what did I do wrong and how do I do it better next time?
The key to long term survival is to get to point 3 before you experience points 1 & 2. While you’re not earning, you’re wasting opportunity, which is why an energy management plan is at the heart of my day, and my life. I cannot let the day take from me for too long, I am simply unwilling to be persuaded to undertake projects that do not allow me to align my energy goals.
All sounds very “woo woo” Stu, but what are you waffling about?
Here’s the thing, optimising for energy is the key to my success, and the more my life meets my energy goals, then the more success I have. It’s a feedback loop where I only spend time working on the projects that align my goals with my energy over the long term. My day starts acknowledging that and that acknowledgement starts the night before when I go to bed. I go early enough that my 5:30am wake up will not drain me. I need that 2 hrs of peace to reflect and slide into the day without too much stress.
This podcast is a perfect example of a project that gives back more than it takes, my goal is to offer the ND community a recognisable and viable way to earn, whilst allowing your ND best self to live a life you want to live. The best way I can do that is share what I do, and how I live my life, and perhaps some of the things I offer will help you too.
I am a skeptical person, as you age your tolerance for BS certainly diminishes. However, I am self-aware enough to temper this cynical outlook with a never ending curiosity and love of solving puzzles, however they present themselves.
That’s why I still like to reflect on other people’s guidance, lived experience etc. what are the takeaways I can use to benefit my own life?
Whilst the Miracle Morning is not hugely revolutionary in scope and ideas, it does make you reflect on your own morning and what you might do to have less of an impact on your own energy reserves and set yourself up to have a better day.
If you have any hints or tips, or your own routine do let us know, if we can learn something else to add to making the morning more bearable then do let us know.
96.10984% Human Content
3.89016% A.I. Summary
100.000% Human Ideas
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.”
The 12 Neurodivergent Traits of Christmas (A festive guide for the spicy-brained among us)
Christmas: the season of joy, excess, twinkly lights and — if you’re neurodivergent — mild to moderate existential dread wrapped in tinsel.
Every year, the world seems to erupt into a frenzy of socialising, gift-buying, sensory overload and forced fun, while those of us with neurodivergent nervous systems quietly whisper, “This feels… a lot.”
So in the spirit of festive honesty, and inspired by our Christmas Special on The Business Oddcast, we present to you: The 12 Neurodiverse Traits of Christmas — a gently chaotic, deeply truthful, and slightly feral look at why this season can feel like an endurance sport for ND folk.
Each trait comes with humour, chaos, and the lived experience of two neurodivergent adults just trying to survive December without ruining yet another Christmas for everyone else. (You’re welcome, families.)
Let’s begin, shall we?
1. New year, same you!
Ah yes, the annual performance review conducted by… myself, in the bath, on Boxing Day. Everywhere you look, people are talking about “new year, new me”, as if some miracle occurs as January limps into view. Spoiler….it doesn’t. Or rather that’s been my experience for the last 50 or so years. Us ND’s can get this special extra layer of festive joy: the delusional belief that next year we’ll suddenly be organised, consistent, socially competent, and able to reply to emails without needing a lie-down afterwards. Double spoiler: we might well not. And that’s ok. This whole self-improvement-at-gunpoint thing is basically the Christmas cracker of internal pressure — loud, dramatic, and inside you’ll find a tiny plastic disappointment. P.s. If you must make a resolution, make it something achievable like “drink water occasionally”.
2. Small talk
It’s just about bearable, esp. with people you might not have seen for a while as you get to have a bit of a catch up but… then 5 mins in and you forget you are having a conversation in the middle of the conversation – the other person says something that your brain latches onto and yoinks you out of the flow of the story like a cartoon character pulled off stage with a hook.
Why do we need to know what your friend’s sister’s dog did last week? Your conversational partner is clearly no Scorsese, and rambles down side streets, and off on wild segues into other boring stuff. It is the conversational equivalent of being handed bags of stuff, and being asked to deal with it. You end up with armfuls of garbage and guff, the feeling that if this doesn’t end soon you might just run headlong into the nearest wall persists. It may be less painful than a deep dive into Marion’s colonoscopy last week. I tell you what, you can stick her colonoscopy up your… oh.
3. Sensory overload season
Christmas is basically a month-long assault on all five senses, no doubt created by a neurotypical person (Just kidding, or am I?). Flashing lights, loud music, small children off their faces on Quality Street and the promise of Santa. Not forgetting the overcrowded spaces, scratchy jumpers, and Slade on the radio every other song screaming “It’s Christmas” in a bizarrely angry sounding voice that I have never quite understood. Wait a minute!…..maybe he was of the spicy variety!? Parties smell like overly processed beige food, and bad decisions. There is a constant soundtrack of someone munching their way through a giant tub of cheese balls. For the love of god, can everyone just put down the snacks for a second. My brain spends December sobbing in a corner with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones on.
4. The Xmas spreadsheet
I cook the roast, we have a big bird, and all the trimmings, inc. enough for the Vegans. I prep everything the night before where I can, plan my workspace meticulously. Ensuring we have enough utensils and pots, pans and kitchen ephemera to support the two cooking flows for the carnivores and the vegans. It’s like a concert, imagine a F1 Pit Stop, but turkey, trimmings and timers. A full and detailed breakdown of the timings, and main steps in a spreadsheet, with corresponding alarms on my phone is a must. If I am unable to complete my mission, it should be able to be completed by my Sous, luckily I have a daughter who is hospitality trained and she dances around my darting-bulk whisking away various discarded implements and averting danger. The collaborative Christmas Robin to my Batmange Tout. It starts with my waking alarm and the cooking time of the bird and adjust so lunch is ready at 12:00pm for 12:30 service. This ritual has ensured a 100% christmas meal success rate BOOM!. It does mean I miss a lot of the unwrapping of presents, and various social interactions but it does ensure I eat EXACTLY what I need to on Xmas day all done whilst listening to some top tunes! NOE! That’s What I Call ND Christmas.
5. Christmas work parties…
Or as I like to call them The Hunger Games, but with tinsel. Everyone pretending they want to be there, downing the free booze like someone is going to take it off them. For me, it’s not just the people — it’s the combination of noise, unstructured mingling, and the terror of someone dragging me onto the dance floor to bust out some moves that should have stayed in the 90’s. The last office party I went to, which thankfully was in a previous employed life, I ended up slapping ‘Anne from accounts’ hand off my arm, during one of those enforced dancefloor moments. And growling “get off me” in a slightly psychotic voice. Not my finest moment. Anyway, I digress. It’s totally ok to stand by the exit like a Victorian ghost. In fact I actively encourage it. If you must attend, locate the quiet corner immediately. There is always one. Usually near the coats. Become the Coat Goblin. It’s peaceful there.
6. Unwrapping presents
This is always a cause of frustration in our house. Whilst the various family members are scrabbling at their gifts like velociraptors clawing open a vehicle full of teens. My daughter and I are peeling the tape off, untying the knotted ribbons, and ensuring we take time to appreciate the wrapping, and unwrapping experience. We make a ball of the tape and flatten out the paper, my intention is to reuse it (and whilst some DOES get reused most gets recycled). It feels wasteful to use it and not reuse it, and always useful for a last minute regifting. All the while the assembled throng tut and huff, as we’re slowing the process down, but the greater the pressure to confirm, the less likely we are to speed up… Hi there PDA, we’ve been expecting you… But, you know, PDA turns up when IT wants to, not when it is told to… so, there’s suddenly an uninvited item in the baggage area and our brains are more stubborn than a definitely double dead donkey.
7. ‘Must see everyone’ pressure
Christmas apparently turns us all into migratory birds — flying around visiting every relative, friend, colleague, neighbour, neighbour’s dog, and that person you haven’t seen since 2014 who pops up saying “we should do a festive drink!”. No. No, we should not. The social expectation that you must “catch up before Christmas” is wild. Why? I don’t want to ‘catch up’ the rest of the year. Adding turkey doesn’t change that! I’ve sent you a card, for goodness sake. Is that not enough of me? Top tip – Sending a ‘let’s catch up in January’ response usually allows said person the time for the December enthusiasm to dwindle and they return to realising they survived without seeing you the rest of the year. So all is good – Bullet dodged.
8. Be a Christmas turtle
Just like we overfill our plates and spend the entire time regretting it, after all 6 mince pies is a LOT of mince pies between meals, we NDs overestimate just how much socialising we can do.
Sometimes you find yourself with the familial obligation and expectation of a party to attend and realise that you have 5% battery and are on reduced power, or “Turtle Mode” as our Nissan Leaf EV likes to call running on reduced battery. Decisions take longer, and thoughts ping around with no outlet for their outcomes.
TOP TIP. Take a Party Holiday. If I’m getting overwhelmed, I take myself off, usually to find a cat and have a cuddle and a cooldown. I’ve even been known to take a 30 minute nap, mid party… even if it is at someone else’s house. Sometimes, if we’re at home that nap can extend through to the morning and I find I have noped out the party. I’ve even escaped and had a doze in the car. I simply can’t enjoy myself if I have zero energy spoons, so this helps to sustain me, a sleep snack if you will.
TOP TIP TWO: We plan “zero days”, no expectations, no plans and no demands. Today the menu is “Feed yourself from the pile of offerings and left-overs in the fridge and cupboards”. You join in the games and TV you want to, with no guilt, shame or repeatedly begging people to do things because “We’re a family…”. It’s a chance to center and recharge, and they are 100% key to successful Christmas celebrations in our household. Sometimes you just need to pull in your arms, and legs and hide in your shell…
9. Routine shuffler
Ah, the magical Christmas limbo week — where time dissolves and we all slowly lose touch with reality. Staggering around our houses, faces covered in chocolate snaffling for snacks like a truffle pig. Because our new life has temporarily become one of eating, watching terrible TV, and finding our nearest and dearest more annoying than usual. Neurotypical people call this “relaxing”. I call it “being trapped in a snow globe someone won’t stop shaking”. No routine. No structure. Meals at random times. Days blending into each other like a hideous festive groundhog day. I am a much nicer person when I know what is happening, when it is happening, and who will be there. My unsolicited advice?: Give yourself three anchor points in the day — wake-ish, eat-ish, bed-ish — and everything else can float. This should stop you maiming your relatives.
10. Food droughts
We’re a few days into the Xmas season, you’re not sure what day of the week it is, but you know it’s somewhere between Christmas Day and New Year. Mid morning you get reminded that we’re off to some party or other that evening. You chug through your day, and find yourself at the party, and realise there’s no safe food, or actually the “food” choices are either cheese or onion or ready salted… WHO THE FU.. I Mean C’MON! Ready salted crisps? It’s the beige of the snack world…
Two drinks in you realise there’s not going to be much in the way of food and at best “nibbles” is gonna have to sustain you. OR, worse, they pull out all the pizzas, meaty, veggie, cheesy and BBQ-ee, it’s like Dominos are doing a taster menu. Except, of course, Stu cannot eat gluten, not in a “I prefer not to” way, more in a “bloated stomach and horrible pains for 24hrs until the poison exits the system, rapidly and in several violent and short bursts.” way. However, if I have had a couple of drinks… and it’s good pizza… But, I have learned that having a bag of nuts or a flapjack handy, can stop the two days of suffering the consequences of being glutened. Of course that is then 2 disregulated days, lost to regret shame, proximity to the bathroom and low mood and therefore poor energy. GLUTEN, just say NO!
11. Buying pressure
The gift-buying spiral is real. Neurotypicals seem to breeze around shops humming along to “Last Christmas” and eating the free mince pies. Whilst I’m pacing the aisles ranting things like “I don’t even like this person. Why do I have to buy them a present” as I pick up a pair of overpriced socks. Nothing says “I just don’t care” more than a scented candle or socks. And yet they become the default present for most of the family. Occasionally I trick myself into wanting to make more effort and my brain goes full investigation mode: what do they use? What do they own? What colours do they wear? What did they post on Instagram 43 weeks ago? It’s a level of analysis MI5 should aspire to. Then there’s wrapping… but we’ve already covered wrapping trauma, so I’ll park that. All I know is: Christmas shopping turns my executive function into a pile of dropped baubles. If in doubt chocolate is a safe bet!
12. Gormless guests
As one might expect, I am quite self-directed, with a lot of agency and ability. I expect the same from everyone else, which is a pain when dealing with guests. Obv. I wish them to be comfortable, but I am not running around like a butler ensuring they are waited on hand, foot and finger. Want a cuppa? There’s the cupboard. Need a spoon? Figure it out, start in the kitchen, find a drawer, go from there. You’re unlikely to find any surprises in the kitchen cupboards, we don’t keep the dildoes next to the jams. I do not mind showing you and helping and assisting, but don’t sit there gasping for a cuppa, go make one. I am unlikely to ask, I will forget my own needs, let alone those of others. Esp. when I am 2 hours into solving a particularly challenging Christmas gift.
At the same time, if I am a guest, don’t faff about asking me constant questions, “Everything OK?” , “Need anything?”, etc.. If my needs are not being met I shall mention them, unless of course the party is in full swing in which case I will solo-mission my way to finding what I need… So if you are sitting waiting to be asked, then that’s on you!
And there we have it — the 12 Neurodiverse Traits of Christmas
If you recognised yourself in even one of these, congratulations: you’ve unlocked the “Surviving the Festive Season” achievement badge. It comes with absolutely no prizes except the knowledge that you are not, in fact, the only person who wants to hide behind the coats at the work party.
Christmas is weird. Christmas when you’re neurodivergent is… extra weird. But it doesn’t mean you’re broken, or anti-social, or “not festive enough.” It just means your brain likes clarity, calm, predictability, and to not be ambushed by Marion’s colonoscopy chat while you’re trying to eat a mince pie.
So however you celebrate — loudly, quietly, begrudgingly, or by noping out halfway through and having a nap in your car — may your Christmas be as peaceful and manageable as possible.
And remember: survival is enough.
Anything beyond that? A Christmas miracle.
Happy Merrymas and a Sparkly New Year, see you on the other side…