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.
Sustainable Productivity Hacks for Neurodivergent Entrepreneurs
If you’ve ever Googled “how to be more productive” and ended up rage-eating crisps because some bloke in a navy suit told you to just wake up at 5am and hustle, this one’s for you.
Most traditional productivity advice feels like it was written for robots with no sensory issues, no ADHD paralysis, and an unhealthy love for Excel. For the rest of us — the neurodivergent entrepreneurs with fluctuating focus, executive dysfunction, sensory sensitivities, and a sprinkle of perfectionism — that advice often backfires.
We don’t need more discipline. We need systems that support our brains instead of having a little scrap with them. So with that in mind, here are some sustainable, real-world hacks — designed to help you get things done without burning out, selling your soul, or needing to search on the black market for a new nervous system.
1. Build systems, not routines
Here’s the thing about routines: they rely on willpower, and willpower is like the battery on an old iPhone — fine one minute, dead the next.
Systems, on the other hand, are flexible frameworks. They don’t care if you wake up at 6am or 10:37am; they meet you where your brain is that day.
Instead of “I must write my newsletter every Thursday at 9,” try “when I open my laptop, I’ll spend 15 minutes on content before emails.” Same goal, less guilt.
Imperfect consistency is still progress. In fact, it’s the only kind that lasts. “Good enough” beats “burnt out but technically on schedule” every time.
And if you miss a day? You haven’t failed — you’ve just gathered more data on how your brain actually works. That’s useful intel, not a character flaw.
Quick side-rant about consistency (Someone had to say it!)
People love to bang on about consistency like it’s the holy grail of productivity. “Just show up every day!” they say. Like it’s something that comes naturally to everyone.
But here’s the truth: consistency isn’t about frequency. It’s not about grinding out content or showing up every single day with nothing better than an enthusiastic smile.
Consistency is quality and reliability, not repetition. Turning up with weak, run-of-the-mill content just to tick a box hurts your business. Turning up unexpectedly with quality — something that surprises, delights, and actually offers value — builds trust and interest. It’s that old adage of not speaking unless you have something worth saying (I appreciate the irony of me typing this, given that speaking is my specialist subject!).
Reliably rewarding, high-quality content every two weeks will do more for your business than daily posts that are weaker than a US beer. Consistency isn’t doing more — it’s doing better, at a rhythm you can sustain.
2. Leverage your hyperfocus (without exploding)
Hyperfocus is the neurodivergent equivalent of a superpower — one that comes without an off switch. It can also have a mind of its own, but that’s a topic for another blog. You can build a website, design a course, and reorganise your sock drawer before lunch… but forget to eat, stretch, or blink.
The trick isn’t to stop hyperfocusing — it’s to use it strategically. Save it for deep creative or strategic work, not admin rabbit holes. If you know a task will grab your brain and not let go, plan for it.
Set external reminders: timers, alarms, accountability friends — people who can text “drink water!” without judgement.
Keep a soft landing list: low-effort tasks you can move to when your focus drops off. It helps you transition gently instead of crashing into the burnout wall.
Once a week, reflect. What brought you joy? What wrang you dry? Adjust your workload accordingly — that’s not flakiness, it’s self-preservation.
3. Redefine time management as energy management
If you’ve ever looked at your calendar and thought “who the hell scheduled me for this?”, you’re not alone. Time isn’t the problem — energy is.
Neurodivergent productivity works best when you manage your mental fuel, not your minutes. Try energy-based time blocking instead of hour-by-hour scheduling.
Label your day in blocks like “high focus,” “medium focus,” and “low focus.” Do your hardest work during high focus, admin or email in low focus, and gentle planning during medium focus.
Build micro-recovery moments into your day — stretch, breathe, lie on the floor, eat something that isn’t beige. Create fire breaks between tasks; five-minute buffers to reset your brain before diving into the next thing.
And remember, asynchronous productivity is valid. You don’t have to work when everyone else does. If your best ideas show up at 11pm, so be it. Some of my finest work has been crafted when the rest of society are snoozing! Just make sure you rest when the world’s awake.
4. Design your environment to work with you
Environment design beats self-control every time. The less friction you have between “I should do this” and “I’m doing this,” the easier life gets.
Minimise distractions: use noise-cancelling headphones, reduce visual clutter, or change locations depending on the task. (Some of my best ideas have come whilst working in a cafe — part caffeine, part chaos.)
Create sensory-friendly spaces. Adjust lighting, add soft textures, or use ambient sound that soothes instead of overstimulates.
Body doubling, working alongside someone else, even virtually, can also work wonders. It tricks your brain into accountability without the performance anxiety.
Keep friction low: have shortcuts to your current projects on your desktop or in one easy-access folder. Nothing kills motivation faster than the digital equivalent of rummaging through your handbag for half an hour. Set the stage, and your brain will follow.
5. Use tech as your cognitive sidekick
Tech isn’t cheating, it’s scaffolding. You’re not lazy for using tools that make life easier; you’re building a support team for your executive function.
Use AI tools (like ChatGPT ) for brainstorming, writing drafts, or summarising notes. Set up digital reminders, gentle nudges, and calendar alerts to keep track of what ‘future you’ might forget.
Task visualisation apps like Trello, Notion, or ClickUp let you see your workflow instead of holding it in your head. That’s not an aesthetic choice, it’s cognitive relief.
Keep it simple, though. The goal is to support your brain, not to spend three days colour-coding task boards you’ll never open again. I have whiled away many hours on a Miro board, knowing I will almost certainly never look at it again.
6. Normalise rest, downtime & self-compassion
Repeat after me: rest is not a reward for hard work — it’s preparation for it.
Schedule rest on purpose. That might look like no-meeting days, naps, or sensory breaks. Track your early signs of overwhelm — irritability, procrastination, forgetfulness — and intervene early.
Rest doesn’t have to mean doing nothing; it can mean doing something that restores you. Gardening, gaming, stalking the aisles of TK Maxx without purpose. All valid.
Celebrate progress, not perfection. If you got through the day without crying into your to-do list, that’s a win.
7. Build support systems
Sustainable productivity doesn’t happen in isolation. It happens in community.
Outsource tasks that drain your executive function; bookkeeping, inbox management, or even meal prep if you can. (Tesco delivery counts as self-care, I promise.)
Join neurodivergent entrepreneur networks, accountability groups, or yes — the OddSquad. Find your people. They’ll remind you that you’re not failing; you’re functioning differently.
And when possible, communicate your needs openly with clients or collaborators. “I work best with written instructions” or “I might need a bit of notice for meetings” are not admissions of weakness — they’re signs of self-awareness.
8. Give yourself permission to evolve
Your productivity will change — with seasons, stress, hormones, health, or just because it wants to. That’s not failure; that’s life.
What worked brilliantly in January might crash and burn by May, and that’s okay. Instead of seeing it as inconsistency, think of it as calibration. You’re learning your rhythms, not breaking them.
Check in with yourself regularly. Ask yourself “is this system still serving me, or am I serving it”? If it’s the latter, tweak, adapt, or ditch it entirely.
You’re not meant to be a static machine of efficiency. You’re a human — and humans change. The real productivity hack is accepting that evolution is part of the process.
The big reframe
Productivity isn’t about fitting into a neurotypical mould. It’s about designing a system that fits you. Treat productivity like a living organism; something that evolves as you do. What works this month might not next month, and that’s okay.
Your brain isn’t the barrier; it’s the blueprint. The right systems protect you, your business, and your energy. So next time someone tells you to “just be better organised”, feel free to smile, nod, and ignore them completely. You’re not disorganised — you’re custom-built!.
Now go design the kind of productivity that sustains you — leopard print optional. Unless you’re me, then leopard print is compulsory!
Rejection Sensitivity: Why a “No” Feels Like a Punch in the Soul
When someone doesn’t reply to a message, if I’m having a bad day my brain gallops straight past logic and into catastrophe. I wonder if I’ve done something to upset them. Maybe they’re ignoring me in the hope I’ll take the hint. My go-to isn’t the logical answer — that they’re just busy. Welcome to RSD, where there is no peace in the silence.
Rejection — whether perceived or otherwise — hurts everyone, of course. But when you’ve got a neurodivergent brain, it’s not just an ache, it’s a full-body blow. A single “no” can hang around for ages, quietly joining the ‘collection of rejection’ in your brain, ready to haunt you in the early hours when you can’t sleep.
And yet, many of us gravitate towards self-employment — because it’s often the safest place to build a life that fits. We get to choose our hours, our clients, our energy. But the irony? The same freedom that protects our energy also exposes our hearts — because showing up as your own boss often means facing rejection head-on, over and over again.
The science bit
Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD for short) is the intense emotional pain triggered by real or perceived rejection. It’s not a character flaw, It’s a neurological difference. It often shows up in ADHD and AuDHD brains with dopamine systems that are already a bit unpredictable. Basically, our brains don’t process emotional feedback the same way. So, something small, like someone pausing before replying, can register as full-scale rejection.
Think of RSD as your brain’s smoke alarm, but instead of only going off when there’s a proper fire, it also gets triggered by overly toasty crumpets too. And no amount of flapping a t-towel in its general direction makes a difference! It’s not that we overreact — it’s that our nervous systems were built without a dimmer switch. So everything feels bright, loud, and ‘right now!’.
The “why aren’t you texting me back” stage
RSD isn’t about being overly sensitive — it’s about feeling everything without the built-in emotional buffer most people have. It can show up when you re-read an email ten times before sending it, or feel that pit in your stomach when “Can we talk?” pops up on your screen. It’s reading “Thanks, we’ll let you know” and hearing “Why on earth did you ever think you were any good?” It’s reliving an awkward moment from three years ago like it happened this morning — analysing every element for evidence that it was even worse than you remember.
And then there’s the bonus round: third-party RSD — when someone you care about gets knocked back and you feel it like it happened to you. Your chest tightens; you start imagining them being judged, excluded, or abandoned. “They’ve split up with her? That’s it — where’s the shovel?.”
The perceived “No”
The cruellest part of RSD is that half the rejections we feel never actually happened. It’s not
just the actual “no” — it’s the imagined ones. The pauses, the read receipts, the slightly neutral tone in a message. It’s all the invisible rejections that live in the gaps.
I’ve replayed conversations that never actually happened. Not because I’m bonkers (well, maybe a little), but because I’ve scripted, directed, and emotionally scored millions of them inside my head. Somehow, I almost always end up as both the villain and the victim. It’s exhausting — the kind of tired that lives in your bones. Because even when no one has rejected you, your body has lived through it a hundred times already.
And of course, RSD rarely travels alone. Emotional dysregulation is usually sitting in the passenger seat, ready to slam its foot on the accelerator. It’s that surge of emotion that feels impossible to contain — the crying you can’t stop, the anger that flares before you even understand why, the exhaustion that follows like a hangover. When the two combine, it’s like being caught in a storm inside your own body. You know it’s too much, you know it will pass, but in the moment it feels utterly consuming. That’s why recovering from even a tiny perceived rejection can take days — or send you into shutdown when you least expect it.
I’m much more aware now of how RSD shows up for me, and realise it gave me the label of “needy” for much of my life. That “Why don’t you love me?” mantra has followed me through friendships, relationships, and work — in the way I’ve questioned too much, asked for reassurance, or clung too tightly to people who weren’t ‘my’ people, simply because I was grateful someone wanted me around.
In business, it’s shown up as underselling myself, undercharging, or saying yes to projects I didn’t even want — because someone asking felt like proof that I was good enough. The difference now is self-awareness. I can spot the signs and talk myself off the ledge before it manifests. That self-awareness has become one of my biggest strengths, because it helps me work with clearer boundaries and a lot more compassion for myself and others.
The business impact
Self-employment with RSD can feel like emotional skydiving without a parachute. We run businesses that depend on putting ourselves out there — marketing, networking, pitching, creating. Every one of those things carries the risk of a “no,” or worse, a nothing. Ghosting is the absolute worst, and sadly pretty common in business.
I’m currently going through this, actually. I sent over a proposal and never heard back. Come on, dude — just tell me if you’re not interested. The more self-aware would probably take the silence as a clear “nope,” but the more this guy ignores me, the more I want to talk to him. It’s like the cool kid at middle school all over again.
With this in mind, RSD in business can look like delaying proposals to avoid potential rejection, overthinking marketing posts, reading too much into short messages, or apologising unnecessarily — just in case. I reckon if I added up all the life hours I’ve wasted apologising for things that never actually happened, it would be months.
And don’t even get me started on social media silence. I’ve mostly grown beyond counting likes, but I haven’t quite evolved past checking who they were from — and overthinking why certain people weren’t on the list. “No one’s liked my post in an hour. That’s it, I’m shutting down the business and moving to a remote island to make jam.”
I’m still in emotional recovery from the time I offered free website audits on LinkedIn and sat back while the tumbleweeds rolled past. In hindsight, I can see that no one wants to invite someone in to tell them everything that’s wrong with their website. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t take me far too long to work that out.
Coping mechanisms
I’d love to tell you I’ve mastered RSD and am now completely rejection-proof. I haven’t. But I’ve definitely learned to manage it better. I haven’t had to be pulled off a potential client’s ankles in weeks, and that last injunction has finally been closed down… just kidding.
I’ve found that tiny steps help. I go for opportunities, even when the competition is fierce — not because I enjoy rejection (we’ve established I don’t), but because I’m teaching my brain that I’ll survive it. I write email templates for when I’m spiralling, because future-me deserves the support of slightly-more-rational me.
And I use humour. Always. It’s one of my favourite coping tools. When I can make something funny, I can hold it at arm’s length. It gives pain a shape — and when you can laugh at it, it shrinks a little. But the biggest thing I’ve learned is to rest after the crash. RSD wipes you out. Your body can feel like it’s been through an emotional car wash. Taking time to reset — even if that just means sitting in silence or crying into a cup of tea — is part of recovery, not weakness.
And honestly, the goal isn’t to stop feeling things so deeply. It’s to stop punishing yourself for it. Getting from “full-blown doom spiral” to “slightly miffed but functional” is still progress.
The reframe (I love a good reframe!)
Here’s what I’ve come to realise: RSD only hurts this much because we care this much. That emotional intensity — the part that makes rejection feel like the end of the world — is also what makes us brilliant at connection, empathy, and creativity.
It’s not that we care too much; it’s that we feel deeply. And when that’s channelled into work, relationships, and purpose, it becomes one of our greatest strengths. Our sensitivity isn’t the problem. The problem is a world that keeps telling us to tone it down.
How others can help
If you’ve got someone in your life with RSD — whether it’s a friend, partner, colleague, or client — please know we’re not expecting you to reply to messages in under 0.2 seconds or walk on emotional eggshells forever. What helps most isn’t speed; it’s clarity and kindness.
If you’re busy and can’t reply right away, a simple “Got your message, I’ll come back to it later” can work wonders. It stops our brains from writing a three-part tragedy about what we must have done wrong. Honesty helps too. If you need space, say so. If you’re giving feedback, pair it with reassurance that you still value the person. We don’t need constant approval — just the occasional reminder that a pause doesn’t mean rejection.
Mostly though, remember that people with RSD aren’t fragile; we’re just wired differently. A little patience and understanding can turn what might have been a spiral into a sigh of relief. It’s not about fixing us. It’s about helping us feel safe enough to stop fixing ourselves.
RSD is messy, unpredictable, and sometimes overwhelming — but it’s not weakness. It’s a nervous system that just hasn’t learned the difference between “rejection” and “discomfort.” So the next time you find yourself rewriting an email for the sixth time, convinced you’ve ruined everything, pause. Breathe. Chances are, they were just making a cup of tea.
And even if they weren’t — you’ll be fine. You’re learning to feel without falling apart. You’re learning to be brave without burning out. That’s what real progress looks like.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to check whether Richard’s finally unblocked me. (He hasn’t. It’s fine. I’m fine. Probably.)
Are You Too Much – Or Are They Not Enough?
Apparently, I can be too much. Too emotional. Too open. Too talkative. Too honest. Too… everything. But maybe that’s not really the problem. Maybe I just feel things deeply in a world that prefers emotional beige.
We’ve all heard it, haven’t we? “You’re too sensitive.” “You take things to heart.” “You talk about stuff that makes people uncomfortable.” Translation: you’re being real, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
So, here’s my reframe: maybe I’m not too much. Maybe they’re just not enough!
A Lifetime of being ‘a bit much’
If I had a fiver for every time I was asked “why are you getting so upset” or told to “stop overthinking it,” I could probably buy a small emotional-support island by now.
It’s not that I’m loud — it’s that my feelings tend to show up before my filter does. I’ll overshare in the queue at the supermarket, cry at adverts about rescue dogs, and then spend three hours replaying a conversation in my head because I’m convinced I made someone uncomfortable. People love authenticity — until it’s messy, vulnerable, or a bit too real. Then suddenly it’s “you’re too intense” or “you need to calm down.” But do I? Do any of us? The truth is, it’s exhausting to keep sanding down your edges just so other people don’t cut themselves on your honesty.
Flipping the script
Here’s a thought: maybe it’s not that I feel too deeply, maybe others just… don’t feel enough. We live in a culture that worships logic and labels emotion as weakness. If you stay detached, you’re “professional.” If you care too much, you’re “unstable.”
But what if empathy, passion, and openness aren’t flaws? What if they’re the very things that make us better leaders, partners, creators — humans? People say they want “authenticity” in business and relationships — but what they usually mean is: “Be real, but not that real.”
The emotional cost – shrinking hurts
Trying to bottle your emotions for the comfort of others is like shaking a can of Coke and pretending it’s not going to explode.
I’ve done it. I’ve gone into social situations thinking, “Right, just be chill. Don’t get too enthusiastic. Don’t overshare. Don’t cry at your own stories this time” (yeah, that’s been a thing!). And every single time, it feels like walking on emotional eggshells — and I still end up saying something like, “Does anyone else overthink their own emails?” (Spoiler: silence.)
The thing is, masking doesn’t make me less ‘much’ — it just makes me exhausted. And it disconnects me from the very part of myself that actually connects with people: my heart.
Dressing the part (Or “what would Pat Butcher do”)
As a teenager, I went through a lot of “phases.” Hippy chick. Goth. Rocker. Confused. You name it — I probably had the wardrobe for it. And while it might have looked like I was exploring my identity, the truth is, it was less self-discovery and more self-defence. Each phase was an attempt to fit into whatever group I thought would make me less noticeable — a very confused chameleon trying to match my surroundings so perfectly that nobody would see how out of place I actually felt.
Fast forward a few decades, and that instinct to blend in hadn’t really gone away — it just got better dressed. I wore what everyone else was wearing, even if it didn’t make my heart sing. But somewhere deep down, the real me was dreaming of leopard print, bold colours, and earrings that could double as small wind chimes.
The day I finally started dressing for myself, and not for the comfort of others, something shifted. It wasn’t just about clothes; it was about permission. Permission to stop apologising for existing in full technicolour. Now, do I occasionally look like Pat Butcher on her way to brunch? Absolutely. (If you know, you know.) But I also feel authentic, comfortable, me.
And that doesn’t mean every day is a glitter explosion. Some days I camouflage in my jeans and sweatshirt because I need quiet. Or I have been known to shuffle around my house all day in my PJs — just because. But the difference now is that I’m choosing it. And every time I reach for something bold, I’m reminding myself that being “too much” isn’t the problem. It’s the pretending that hurts.
Why we feel so much (The science bit — don’t panic)
Here’s the thing: when you’re neurodivergent, feeling things deeply isn’t a character flaw — it’s literally how your brain is wired. For many of us — autistic, ADHD, PDA, AuDHD — our nervous systems are like Formula One engines running on supermarket fuel. We process emotions, sounds, sensations, and social cues all at once, often without any filter to soften the blow.
That means joy can feel euphoric, but embarrassment can feel like an actual physical injury. Rejection sensitivity (RSD) means even a neutral “we’ll circle back” in an email can feel like a breakup. Emotional dysregulation makes tiny frustrations hit like a tidal wave. And because our brains don’t have the same “autopilot” that neurotypical ones do for emotional regulation, we can swing from overthinking a comment to writing a business plan at 2am out of sheer adrenaline.
It’s not overreacting — it’s accurately reacting with a nervous system that forgot to install a dimmer switch.
The gift (and risk) of feeling deeply
For all its challenges, one of the most wonderful things about feeling so deeply is the connection it brings. Because I feel things fully, I notice when others are struggling — it’s like my emotional radar is permanently tuned to “who needs a bit of kindness?”
Over the years, that’s meant people tend to gravitate towards me when they need to talk.
Friends, colleagues, even near-strangers somehow know that I’m a safe place to land. They sense the lack of judgement — the “you can tell me anything” energy that comes from having lived on the sharp end of sensitivity myself. I’ve realised that this is one of the quiet superpowers (a rare occasion where I think that word fits!) of being “too much.” We make space for others to be real, messy, honest — because we know what it feels like to hide.
And if that means I’m the go-to person when someone needs advice, reassurance, or just a bit of compassion… I’ll take that any day.
But of course, there’s another side to all that openness. A while ago, I had a friend I’d only see occasionally — but when we did, our conversations went deep. Not small talk, not “how’s work,” but proper soul-level stuff. The kind of connection where you skip the surface entirely and head straight for the meaning of life. She knew me well, and I knew her. So, when she suddenly stopped replying — no message, no explanation — I was completely thrown. We weren’t in daily contact, but the silence still hit hard. For months, I tormented myself trying to work out what I’d done wrong. Each conversation replayed in my head on a loop, each one another stick to beat myself with. Regretted messages asking, almost begging, to know what I had done and how I could change. Still silence. The checking of messages became an obsession that was pulling me under.
And then, about six months later, I finally got the answer. She told me she’d been going through her own struggles — and that I was, in her words, “emotionally too much.” That hurt but hearing it and having an answer gave me a sense of peace. Because I realised that the ache wasn’t about losing her; it was about the not knowing. And suddenly, I knew. I stopped feeling ashamed for being “too much,” because I understood that it wasn’t about me being wrong — it was about her capacity. I’m exactly where I want and need to be on the muchness scale. It took a while, but I made peace with it. She’s not my person — and that’s okay.
Because when you live life in full emotional colour, not everyone can handle the brightness.
And that doesn’t mean you need to dim your light. It just means you need to shine where you’re appreciated.
Reframing ‘too much’ as strength (without the superhero cape)
Here’s the truth: the people who change things — in art, activism, business — are almost always the ones who got told they were “too much.”
Think about Greta Thunberg, who, for the record, is one of my absolute favourite humans! Documented as an awesome beacon of neurodiversity, she’s been criticised for caring too much — as though there’s an acceptable, socially approved amount of caring when trying to save the planet. Her emotions, her conviction, her intensity — they make people uncomfortable. And yet, they’ve moved mountains.
Or look at Lady Gaga — “too dramatic.” Richard Branson — “too impulsive.” Every one of them turned “too much” into just enough to make history — and a fair bit of money to boot. I’m not saying I’m a global changemaker (unless crying over my to-do list counts as activism). But it’s worth remembering that feeling deeply isn’t a flaw — it’s power. It’s empathy, creativity, connection, courage. The very things that build communities, fuel businesses, and start revolutions. So no, I’m not going to apologise for caring, crying, or sharing too much.
I’m retiring the superhero cape, but I’ll keep the intensity — it’s where all the good stuff lives.
So, This Is my unsolicited advice to you
When you catch yourself shrinking, ask: “who am I doing this for?” Notice the moments you call yourself “too emotional” — would you say the same thing to a friend? Find the people who don’t flinch when you’re honest — they’re your real audience.
Take this as your permission slip to feel deeply, speak honestly, and overshare with pride. The world doesn’t need you to shrink. It needs your whole, unfiltered, gloriously emotional self — tears, tangents, and all.
Episode 5 of the Business Oddcast is now live with more of these types of insights and some funny stories.
Is Marketing Immunity a Neurodivergent Superpower?
Often, I see a company marketing their goods and services and wonder if ANYONE has stopped and thought through their audience’s reaction to the whole effort, or is it just a case of “that’ll do…”?
Big businesses regularly employ very well-respected, highly rewarded ad agencies to do all the necessary work ensuring their ads reach the intended eyeballs and ears of their target market. Far too often, this has clearly not been thought about, or discussed prior to them creating and airing the ad and the evidence is right there on the screen.
But understanding the customer and their needs is my primary line of questioning when I am building a website for a customer: who is the website for? Who will be using it? What are their main motivations, and does your site, messaging, and overall customer journey align with the end user’s desired outcome?
But this seems to be an afterthought for a lot of campaigns and for me the whole approach seems flawed, especially from a neurodiverse perspective.
From the initial concept to the execution of the ad it’s a baffling mess and this can be amplified if you are Neurodiverse and struggle with social context, attention switching and processing communication literally.
I’ve seen a lot of ads that have required me to have repeated exposure to, before I can make any sense out of it or decode the relevance of the ad to the product or service.
Here’s an example: putting up a text-heavy ad that disappears before you have a chance to acknowledge, read, comprehend, and decide if you need to take action or and ad makes a bold assertion and a (supposedly) ‘startling revelation’ about a new thing, process or service.
In our attention-starved, dopamine-seeking times, the need to keep the viewer addicted to their screen is the primary concern of the channel, website, or streaming service. But I’ve often thought that the needs of the channel outweigh the best interests of the advertisers. The adverts are a necessary intrusion if the channel wishes to make an income. sure. However, the brerak from the program gives the viewer the opportunity to switch attention and go make a cuppa, scroll on Facebook, or, if forced to, speak to their partner, child, or pet.
It’s the attention economy, and these days, it is EVERYTHING, I would have thought that advertisers would make their campaigns as engaging as possible. Becuase once you have the audience engaged you can keep their attention on your products or services. But, it seems a lot of campaigns have little or no understanding of how to capitalise on the attention once given.
“Get the eyeballs and the wallets will follow” seems to be the mantra but those eyeballs are highly distracted these days. And, like most things, the neurodiverse needs in this arena are rarely a consideration. Large companies may pay lip service to their DEI policies, proudly exposing how wonderfully rainbow and equitable their inclusivity policies are for staff and customers alike, but then it’s business as usual.
Where Ads Go Wrong
What am I rambling on about? Well, here is a worked example of how advertising and marketing miss the mark for me and others like me.
I realise that most people try to avoid ads and marketing, but there are times when visual or audible communication is vital, and clarity is paramount. So, this doesn’t JUST apply to ads, but ads are where it shows up most frequently and noticeably for me.
Lets start with concept and context switching, which can be a real challenge, especially with ads that start with a bold assertion, claim, or non-sequitur apropos to nothing before.
Example: A man stands in a plastic poncho, struggling to keep dry in a simulated rainstorm, while a gruff male voice states something like; “Still struggling with disposable ponchos? Stop wearing a plastic poncho and use our jacket.”
Now, apart from the absurd notion that there’s a whole slew of people out there, soaked to the skin every time it rains, struggling to stay dry in their plastic ponchos and unable to figure out a more permanent weatherproof alternative, is frankly, laughable. And not laughable in a laughing “with you” way.
But despite these issues, this ad would seem straightforward at first glance. Ah… but…
Let me share the neurodivergent user experience.
A Brutal Transition
The issue starts with how the program transitions to the ad. We used to have ‘bumpers‘ in the UK, small stings or short 5ish second mentions for a product or service associated with the program or channel sponsor.
“‘Six Idiots Spout Absolute Drivel’ is sponsored by Crap-is-Us, providing crap to the public for 250 years.” wipe/cut to commercials…
I’ve not seen a live TV program on a major UK commercial channel for many, many years. These “bumpers” may still exist, but not so much on Amazon Prime or Netflix. No sirree, Bob!
Instead, it’s straight from the program you’re enjoying to the ad without delay. No interstitial wipe, no bumper, no nothing. Just, BOOM! ADS!!
“You’re going to have my baby, Sylvia? My mother’s dying and you tell me now!”
Song kicks in – singer: “DARLING HOLD MY HAND.” Visuals show a laughing young lady, arm stretched backwards, from your POV you seeher running ahead, giggling and laughing on some sun-drenched beach.
Slam cut. Program’s gone. New visual. New scene. No Context.
In an instant, I’m scratching my head, forced to attention-switch faster than a professional whack-a-mole player.
I’ve been luxuriating in the program I’ve chosen to watch, immersed in its story, when suddenly this overly harsh, brash, bright ad bursts in. Imagine you’re having a lovely meal with someone you care about, and suddenly someone runs up and goes “WANNA BUY A PONCHO?”… You’ll rightly have questions, and maybe a few choice words for the individual rudely interrupting your meal. But do you think you’d be spending the rest of the date thinking “Well that’s our poncho needs sorted“?
I am always wrong-footed by this crash cut to an ad. Even if I have seen the ad before. My first instinct is always: “This seems to be a stylistic departure. How does this fit into the narrative? Are these new characters? Is this a flashback, flashforward, or maybe worldbuilding?”
Then, as in the poncho example, I have to figure out what the heck is going on. “Are they selling ponchos? No. Do I own a poncho? No. Do I ever struggle with a poncho? Huh? Why am I even thinking about ponchos? Stop hijacking my internal narrative!”
Now, I’ve said “poncho” too many times, and the word sounds weird. But I can guarantee I’ll be obsessing over the word poncho for about three weeks.
PONCHO!
This rapid-fire switch makes no sense.
Then, before I’ve figured out what the ad is about, BOOM, the next ad begins. It’s like that feeling you get, running downhill a little faster than you feel comfortable about, anxious about losing your footing and face planting. Maybe you’re not even sure why you’re running down the hill in the first place…
All this is going on and therefore the “call to action” is completely missed, and the intent of the ad (to sell stuff) is lost on me. ALL. THE. TIME.
Also, my Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD) and Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA) mean that as soon as someone tells me to do something, there’s no chance I’ll comply.
“You need to buy X…”
Yeah, and you need to fuck off. Oh, apologies. Reflex action. Do continue…
The struggle is very real.
Confrontational Messaging
The confrontational tone of many ads also gets my hackles up. The formula is usually:
“Do you think/buy/do this? Then you’re an idiot. You need to stop being such a massive idiot and buy our stuff. Or you will continue to be an idiot. Do you really want to be the person who continues being an idiot?”
Followed by some smug line designed to make you feel like “one of the gang” with a sentiment along the lines of: “Buy our crap. Laugh at twats.”
I may have paraphrased somewhat.
Obviously, TV ads are quick-fire by necessity, and I doubt advertisers are likely to make major changes for those who find them difficult to process. But here’s the thing: neurodivergent people are usually very loyal and like predictable routines. It may involve taste testing or other trial runs of the product before committing to it. Win us over though and we may be the most loyal customer you have. Switching brands is a considered step we do not take lightly.
We just need a little more time to think, plan, and switch.
The Bottom Line
So, to all the advertisers out there, all those businesses seeking customers through ads, PPC, or other marketing strategies:
Consider who might be in your audience.
Think about their needs. When you alienate us with your ads, you effectively lose our business, possibly for life. There are brands and companies on my personal “no-fly list” who will NEVER see a penny of my money again. I’m looking hard at you, Google PPC, Tesco Bank, NatWest, you all know what you did.
Marketing is pretty straightforward: Allow your customer to understand the benefit and value of what you offer and tell them the next step if they are interested. That’s it. Sure, dress that up with fancy phrases, in-depth studies, focus groups and the rest of the ad production merry-go-round. But effectively communicating your value and telling the customer the next step is all you do. Yet, most of the ads I see these days are not fit for purpose. It’s as if a lot of ad agencies have allowed the interns to run the place.
If you have a business, whatever the size, I hope that episode Four of our humble little podcast gives you food for thought.
Let us know; maybe I am missing something (not for the first time), or there are considerations I haven’t thought of. Feel free to jump into the conversation, and let’s hear your thoughts on this topic!
Listen to our Podcast Here: https://businessoddcast.com/podcasts/
Slightly Sweary, Always Real: Not Your Average ND or Business Podcast
When Stu first approached me about co-hosting the Oddcast, I bit his hand off. Not literally — I’m not some sort of rabid, fame-hungry chihuahua. But I just had this deep-rooted sense that this was going to be something that fed my soul on so many levels. It felt like a kind, slightly self-indulgent gift to myself.
And who doesn’t love a gift?
The truth is, we were already having the sorts of conversations we have in the Oddcast all the time anyway. So why not record them, slap on a fancy logo, and share them with anyone who might need a laugh, a bit of solidarity, or a reminder they’re not the only one.
BUT it needed to be the right vibe, because a lot of the ND podcasts I’d experienced so far were more ‘support group’ energy. And I couldn’t see myself leaning forward in my chair, wearing steel-rimmed glasses, going “and how does that make you feel?” Don’t get me wrong, there is enormous value in that approach, but it’s all a bit clinical: not something you’d binge with a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits. We wanted it to be lighter, more relatable, and rooted in celebrating what we bring to the table — rather than mourning anything we don’t.
I’d been thinking about a podcast for some time but couldn’t picture what that would look like. So, like many of my ideas, I fixated on it for weeks, then put it in a box in my brain marked “lost dreams” to collect dust amongst all the magnificent wiring up there. Then along came Stu, in his incredible tailoring, with a clear vision that put into words what I couldn’t. So, I hitched my trailer to Sparkly Suit Man™ (I’m defo contacting Marvel with this one), and here we are.
Here’s what we’re doing here: finding comedy in the chaos of our day-to-day. Not to belittle difficult situations, but because when you laugh, things just feel smilier (is that a word? It is now!). We recognise the different ways things can work for us and celebrate the differences, rather than use them as a stick to hit each other with. Although that would make for a fun podcast, wouldn’t it? Note that down, Stu.
So welcome to the Business Oddcast. This is a space where we get to scream, loudly and unapologetically: “We’re fucking amazing.“
What We’re Doing Differently
Other ND podcasts often lean into the “here’s what’s wrong with us” angle. Ours? Not so much. Yes, there are struggles — burnout, demand avoidance, ADHD loops to name but a few — but there’s also humour, creativity, and oodles of group empathy. With a dollop of no judgement to boot.
You might also find yourself dragged down a long and random rabbit-hole tangent that I’ve decided to go on. Because I’m the queen of all things tangent. So buckle up and be reassured that Stu will circle us back to the original topic at some stage.
There will also be soapbox moments, where one of us taps into some past rage and decides to vent it momentarily. So, you can either look away or cheer us from the sidelines. It’s just all part of the journey. We’re flipping the script: less doom and gloom, more “here’s the messy truth, and here’s how we get through it.“
Why It Matters (The Tribe Bit)
Being ND in business can feel lonely. You’re juggling burnout, weird work rhythms, and a brain that sometimes flatly refuses to cooperate. It’s easy to think you’re the only one. God, we’ve all been there. In a room surrounded by people and feeling the loneliest you’ve ever felt.
That’s why this podcast exists: to hold up a neon sign that says “You’re not alone. You’re one of us.” Well, it’s certainly one of the reasons anyway!
But don’t fear, there is no pity in this party of spicy goodness. So if you’ve come for that, then you’ll need to take your Wotsits and your REM album, and jog on. Actually, leave the Wotsits… because who doesn’t love that bright orange cheesy goodness.
That takes me back to being very drunk, in the mid-90s (actually, I think I was drunk for the whole of the 90s), in a terrible karaoke bar in Menorca, singing a more depressing version, if that is possible, of *Losing My Religion* by REM. I’m using the term ‘singing’ very loosely here. After about an hour of flat-out refusing to join in the fun, I had gone full karaoke queen, and was limbering up for ‘Islands in the Stream’: yes, I was planning to be both Dolly and Kenny. The sambuca had made me invincible! Or maybe delusional. One of the two anyway. So, after a while of me not playing nicely, and refusing to leave the stage, a scuffle ensued as the guy running the event tried to wrestle the microphone off me. Not my finest moment!
I digress…
Tips Without the Preach
We’re not here to hand out shiny 10-step plans or productivity hacks you’ll forget about by Tuesday. What we are here to do is share the stuff that actually works for us — usually discovered the hard way — along with the fails, the facepalms, and the odd accidental win. Think of it less like a workshop, more like swapping survival notes with friends.
And we’re definitely not here to “fix” anyone, because none of you awesome humans are broken! Also, from an insurance point of view, I can’t make that promise — I’ve been trying it on myself for 50 years and it’s not going brilliantly. There is a long list of therapists in the south-east who could back me up on that.
What we are here to do is build a space where you might find your people, laugh at the chaos with us, and hear from brilliant guest speakers who share their own experiences of being ND in business. Between the laughs, the honest chats, and the guest insights, we want you to feel like you’ve found your tribe.
And if you don’t? Well, please leave us a nice review anyway, so we don’t have to start busking. It’s been a long while since I dusted off my recorder, and honestly — no one needs to see that.
Come in, the water’s lovely, and there are no strange-looking plaster thingys floating in it.
Click here to see us in glorious technicolor – or if you just want the podcast click here