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.
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.
The 12 Neurodivergent Traits of Christmas (A festive guide for the spicy-brained among us)
Christmas: the season of joy, excess, twinkly lights and — if you’re neurodivergent — mild to moderate existential dread wrapped in tinsel.
Every year, the world seems to erupt into a frenzy of socialising, gift-buying, sensory overload and forced fun, while those of us with neurodivergent nervous systems quietly whisper, “This feels… a lot.”
So in the spirit of festive honesty, and inspired by our Christmas Special on The Business Oddcast, we present to you: The 12 Neurodiverse Traits of Christmas — a gently chaotic, deeply truthful, and slightly feral look at why this season can feel like an endurance sport for ND folk.
Each trait comes with humour, chaos, and the lived experience of two neurodivergent adults just trying to survive December without ruining yet another Christmas for everyone else. (You’re welcome, families.)
Let’s begin, shall we?
1. New year, same you!
Ah yes, the annual performance review conducted by… myself, in the bath, on Boxing Day. Everywhere you look, people are talking about “new year, new me”, as if some miracle occurs as January limps into view. Spoiler….it doesn’t. Or rather that’s been my experience for the last 50 or so years. Us ND’s can get this special extra layer of festive joy: the delusional belief that next year we’ll suddenly be organised, consistent, socially competent, and able to reply to emails without needing a lie-down afterwards. Double spoiler: we might well not. And that’s ok. This whole self-improvement-at-gunpoint thing is basically the Christmas cracker of internal pressure — loud, dramatic, and inside you’ll find a tiny plastic disappointment. P.s. If you must make a resolution, make it something achievable like “drink water occasionally”.
2. Small talk
It’s just about bearable, esp. with people you might not have seen for a while as you get to have a bit of a catch up but… then 5 mins in and you forget you are having a conversation in the middle of the conversation – the other person says something that your brain latches onto and yoinks you out of the flow of the story like a cartoon character pulled off stage with a hook.
Why do we need to know what your friend’s sister’s dog did last week? Your conversational partner is clearly no Scorsese, and rambles down side streets, and off on wild segues into other boring stuff. It is the conversational equivalent of being handed bags of stuff, and being asked to deal with it. You end up with armfuls of garbage and guff, the feeling that if this doesn’t end soon you might just run headlong into the nearest wall persists. It may be less painful than a deep dive into Marion’s colonoscopy last week. I tell you what, you can stick her colonoscopy up your… oh.
3. Sensory overload season
Christmas is basically a month-long assault on all five senses, no doubt created by a neurotypical person (Just kidding, or am I?). Flashing lights, loud music, small children off their faces on Quality Street and the promise of Santa. Not forgetting the overcrowded spaces, scratchy jumpers, and Slade on the radio every other song screaming “It’s Christmas” in a bizarrely angry sounding voice that I have never quite understood. Wait a minute!…..maybe he was of the spicy variety!? Parties smell like overly processed beige food, and bad decisions. There is a constant soundtrack of someone munching their way through a giant tub of cheese balls. For the love of god, can everyone just put down the snacks for a second. My brain spends December sobbing in a corner with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones on.
4. The Xmas spreadsheet
I cook the roast, we have a big bird, and all the trimmings, inc. enough for the Vegans. I prep everything the night before where I can, plan my workspace meticulously. Ensuring we have enough utensils and pots, pans and kitchen ephemera to support the two cooking flows for the carnivores and the vegans. It’s like a concert, imagine a F1 Pit Stop, but turkey, trimmings and timers. A full and detailed breakdown of the timings, and main steps in a spreadsheet, with corresponding alarms on my phone is a must. If I am unable to complete my mission, it should be able to be completed by my Sous, luckily I have a daughter who is hospitality trained and she dances around my darting-bulk whisking away various discarded implements and averting danger. The collaborative Christmas Robin to my Batmange Tout. It starts with my waking alarm and the cooking time of the bird and adjust so lunch is ready at 12:00pm for 12:30 service. This ritual has ensured a 100% christmas meal success rate BOOM!. It does mean I miss a lot of the unwrapping of presents, and various social interactions but it does ensure I eat EXACTLY what I need to on Xmas day all done whilst listening to some top tunes! NOE! That’s What I Call ND Christmas.
5. Christmas work parties…
Or as I like to call them The Hunger Games, but with tinsel. Everyone pretending they want to be there, downing the free booze like someone is going to take it off them. For me, it’s not just the people — it’s the combination of noise, unstructured mingling, and the terror of someone dragging me onto the dance floor to bust out some moves that should have stayed in the 90’s. The last office party I went to, which thankfully was in a previous employed life, I ended up slapping ‘Anne from accounts’ hand off my arm, during one of those enforced dancefloor moments. And growling “get off me” in a slightly psychotic voice. Not my finest moment. Anyway, I digress. It’s totally ok to stand by the exit like a Victorian ghost. In fact I actively encourage it. If you must attend, locate the quiet corner immediately. There is always one. Usually near the coats. Become the Coat Goblin. It’s peaceful there.
6. Unwrapping presents
This is always a cause of frustration in our house. Whilst the various family members are scrabbling at their gifts like velociraptors clawing open a vehicle full of teens. My daughter and I are peeling the tape off, untying the knotted ribbons, and ensuring we take time to appreciate the wrapping, and unwrapping experience. We make a ball of the tape and flatten out the paper, my intention is to reuse it (and whilst some DOES get reused most gets recycled). It feels wasteful to use it and not reuse it, and always useful for a last minute regifting. All the while the assembled throng tut and huff, as we’re slowing the process down, but the greater the pressure to confirm, the less likely we are to speed up… Hi there PDA, we’ve been expecting you… But, you know, PDA turns up when IT wants to, not when it is told to… so, there’s suddenly an uninvited item in the baggage area and our brains are more stubborn than a definitely double dead donkey.
7. ‘Must see everyone’ pressure
Christmas apparently turns us all into migratory birds — flying around visiting every relative, friend, colleague, neighbour, neighbour’s dog, and that person you haven’t seen since 2014 who pops up saying “we should do a festive drink!”. No. No, we should not. The social expectation that you must “catch up before Christmas” is wild. Why? I don’t want to ‘catch up’ the rest of the year. Adding turkey doesn’t change that! I’ve sent you a card, for goodness sake. Is that not enough of me? Top tip – Sending a ‘let’s catch up in January’ response usually allows said person the time for the December enthusiasm to dwindle and they return to realising they survived without seeing you the rest of the year. So all is good – Bullet dodged.
8. Be a Christmas turtle
Just like we overfill our plates and spend the entire time regretting it, after all 6 mince pies is a LOT of mince pies between meals, we NDs overestimate just how much socialising we can do.
Sometimes you find yourself with the familial obligation and expectation of a party to attend and realise that you have 5% battery and are on reduced power, or “Turtle Mode” as our Nissan Leaf EV likes to call running on reduced battery. Decisions take longer, and thoughts ping around with no outlet for their outcomes.
TOP TIP. Take a Party Holiday. If I’m getting overwhelmed, I take myself off, usually to find a cat and have a cuddle and a cooldown. I’ve even been known to take a 30 minute nap, mid party… even if it is at someone else’s house. Sometimes, if we’re at home that nap can extend through to the morning and I find I have noped out the party. I’ve even escaped and had a doze in the car. I simply can’t enjoy myself if I have zero energy spoons, so this helps to sustain me, a sleep snack if you will.
TOP TIP TWO: We plan “zero days”, no expectations, no plans and no demands. Today the menu is “Feed yourself from the pile of offerings and left-overs in the fridge and cupboards”. You join in the games and TV you want to, with no guilt, shame or repeatedly begging people to do things because “We’re a family…”. It’s a chance to center and recharge, and they are 100% key to successful Christmas celebrations in our household. Sometimes you just need to pull in your arms, and legs and hide in your shell…
9. Routine shuffler
Ah, the magical Christmas limbo week — where time dissolves and we all slowly lose touch with reality. Staggering around our houses, faces covered in chocolate snaffling for snacks like a truffle pig. Because our new life has temporarily become one of eating, watching terrible TV, and finding our nearest and dearest more annoying than usual. Neurotypical people call this “relaxing”. I call it “being trapped in a snow globe someone won’t stop shaking”. No routine. No structure. Meals at random times. Days blending into each other like a hideous festive groundhog day. I am a much nicer person when I know what is happening, when it is happening, and who will be there. My unsolicited advice?: Give yourself three anchor points in the day — wake-ish, eat-ish, bed-ish — and everything else can float. This should stop you maiming your relatives.
10. Food droughts
We’re a few days into the Xmas season, you’re not sure what day of the week it is, but you know it’s somewhere between Christmas Day and New Year. Mid morning you get reminded that we’re off to some party or other that evening. You chug through your day, and find yourself at the party, and realise there’s no safe food, or actually the “food” choices are either cheese or onion or ready salted… WHO THE FU.. I Mean C’MON! Ready salted crisps? It’s the beige of the snack world…
Two drinks in you realise there’s not going to be much in the way of food and at best “nibbles” is gonna have to sustain you. OR, worse, they pull out all the pizzas, meaty, veggie, cheesy and BBQ-ee, it’s like Dominos are doing a taster menu. Except, of course, Stu cannot eat gluten, not in a “I prefer not to” way, more in a “bloated stomach and horrible pains for 24hrs until the poison exits the system, rapidly and in several violent and short bursts.” way. However, if I have had a couple of drinks… and it’s good pizza… But, I have learned that having a bag of nuts or a flapjack handy, can stop the two days of suffering the consequences of being glutened. Of course that is then 2 disregulated days, lost to regret shame, proximity to the bathroom and low mood and therefore poor energy. GLUTEN, just say NO!
11. Buying pressure
The gift-buying spiral is real. Neurotypicals seem to breeze around shops humming along to “Last Christmas” and eating the free mince pies. Whilst I’m pacing the aisles ranting things like “I don’t even like this person. Why do I have to buy them a present” as I pick up a pair of overpriced socks. Nothing says “I just don’t care” more than a scented candle or socks. And yet they become the default present for most of the family. Occasionally I trick myself into wanting to make more effort and my brain goes full investigation mode: what do they use? What do they own? What colours do they wear? What did they post on Instagram 43 weeks ago? It’s a level of analysis MI5 should aspire to. Then there’s wrapping… but we’ve already covered wrapping trauma, so I’ll park that. All I know is: Christmas shopping turns my executive function into a pile of dropped baubles. If in doubt chocolate is a safe bet!
12. Gormless guests
As one might expect, I am quite self-directed, with a lot of agency and ability. I expect the same from everyone else, which is a pain when dealing with guests. Obv. I wish them to be comfortable, but I am not running around like a butler ensuring they are waited on hand, foot and finger. Want a cuppa? There’s the cupboard. Need a spoon? Figure it out, start in the kitchen, find a drawer, go from there. You’re unlikely to find any surprises in the kitchen cupboards, we don’t keep the dildoes next to the jams. I do not mind showing you and helping and assisting, but don’t sit there gasping for a cuppa, go make one. I am unlikely to ask, I will forget my own needs, let alone those of others. Esp. when I am 2 hours into solving a particularly challenging Christmas gift.
At the same time, if I am a guest, don’t faff about asking me constant questions, “Everything OK?” , “Need anything?”, etc.. If my needs are not being met I shall mention them, unless of course the party is in full swing in which case I will solo-mission my way to finding what I need… So if you are sitting waiting to be asked, then that’s on you!
And there we have it — the 12 Neurodiverse Traits of Christmas
If you recognised yourself in even one of these, congratulations: you’ve unlocked the “Surviving the Festive Season” achievement badge. It comes with absolutely no prizes except the knowledge that you are not, in fact, the only person who wants to hide behind the coats at the work party.
Christmas is weird. Christmas when you’re neurodivergent is… extra weird. But it doesn’t mean you’re broken, or anti-social, or “not festive enough.” It just means your brain likes clarity, calm, predictability, and to not be ambushed by Marion’s colonoscopy chat while you’re trying to eat a mince pie.
So however you celebrate — loudly, quietly, begrudgingly, or by noping out halfway through and having a nap in your car — may your Christmas be as peaceful and manageable as possible.
And remember: survival is enough.
Anything beyond that? A Christmas miracle.
Happy Merrymas and a Sparkly New Year, see you on the other side…
Reunions – Life’s Unwanted Performance Review
Let’s just start with the dictionary definition of a “Reunion.”
Reunion; noun — a social event for a group of people who have not seen each other for a long time, or a situation when people meet again after they have not seen each other for a long time.
You lost me at “social event.” Now, I am not the Grinch, and I certainly have been known to part-tay with the best of them; those youngsters got nothing on me. Well, except non-arthritic knees, a later bedtime and a better tolerance for bad music. Fuck me, stop being a cliché and get on with the blog post Morrison. Sorry, I digress.
Social gatherings present many challenges for the Neurodivergent. Reunions are top tier, premier-league when it comes to a social gathering. The timeline of pressure goes something like this:
Somewhere around your thirties you hit a little patch of melancholia. Ageing is life’s “black ice”, you come a-cropper when you least expect it, but the arc of age has waypoints and this is one. As your youth recedes common thoughts pervade and you ruminate on your mortality, achievements, success (whatever the fuck that is!). All the things we were overtly or benignly pointed at and corralled towards are suddenly up for grabs.
There’s a wistful nostalgia, pining for a simpler time, a heady scent from your youth wafts on the cognitive breeze; it’s full of heightened colours, distorted perceptions, grander adventures and energetic, forbidden discoveries. To badly paraphrase the mighty Stephen King, it’s comfortable down there, they all float down there… Nostalgia is a powerful drug. Kids, just say no!
But in a weak moment, Friday, after two glasses of vino-de-plonko, you get tagged in a post on social media. A few names get mentioned, a nickname or two, stories about escapades that you had not thought about in a long, long time. One more glass of wine and bingo, bango, FFW 3 weeks and you’re sharing messages with Carol, the bratty class tattle-tale, arguing about the venue for the “RIDE OR DIE BITCHES REUNION TOUR” (partners, significant others and life mates also welcome).
FFW 3 weeks and you’re sharing messages with Carol, the bratty class tattle-tale, arguing about the venue for the “RIDE OR DIE BITCHES REUNION TOUR” (partners, significant others and life mates also welcome).
You wake in the night screaming, “This is not my beautiful life,” and you may ask yourself, “Well, how did I get here?” And I can answer that.
The reason for your involvement in the construction of a gateway to hell is one of social obligation, a pull towards familiar bonds, even if those are built on the mask you once had or maybe still do. Old mental subroutines, canyons of the mind, suddenly flooded with the mental backwash of years gone by.
But as you age, the energy to shore up the façade requires more and more effort. However, we tend to default to our old roles, and of course as the lowest in the school, work or other social org. the default pecking order returns and you not only get the stuff to do that no one else wants to do, you’re kind of happy that you have some sort of involvement, the other kids do want you around. Although being the “doer”, that does mean that when you’re on a committee you’re never the Chair, but are the one whose name is always against an “action item,” giving you all of the stress and none of the glory.
Even if none of this nightmare is your particular experience, just the word “reunion” is going to make your neck hairs stand up and the predator alert go off in your brain. The emotional river runs deep, the water is always freezing, and the current is fast flowing and tempestuous.
My own emotional landscape is littered with burnt-out hulks of past social gatherings positioned as “Reunions,” when they were more re-enactments of former social ostracism and, frankly, I would need a lifetime of spoons to enter into that level of combat ever again.
Obv. school reunions will feature at some point in your life. Whether invited or even if you go doesn’t matter; you’ll still experience the heart-dropping, knotted, gnawing feelings that were your daily internal struggle in class, returning all at once, with considerable compound interest.
I haven’t met everyone on the planet yet, but I have yet to meet someone who is clearly ND that had a happy time at school. I’ve met a lot of damaged people though, who have first-hand horror stories of bullying, abuse and systemic failings, all for being a “bit different.” I’ll save my own for your personal delight and edification another time, but believe me it takes a LOT of time, and considerable growth and clarity, to drop the sack of rocks weighing you down every day and no longer live under the dragweight of those specific incidents.
Here’s another point I wish to cover: Neurodivergent friendship. If you are not in my life, then that is for a reason; mostly because other people cease contact, and at some point you realise that you are the one making all the overtures, or that there are no more DMs being DMed. You get used to the “let’s meet for coffee, soon” moments and start to hear them as “I feel awkward about not being in touch, so I will suggest a vague future meet up and hope we’ll never meet again.”, it’s the “soon“, the indefinite article, making it so very real.
Friendship for a lot of NDs, esp. Autists, is all or nothing, that “Caesar or Death” mindset. I’ve got friends in my life that I have known for 40+ years, and we may not speak for weeks, maybe months. When we do it’s like no time has passed. If you are neurotypical and you have a friend like that, one of you at least is probably ND. Can’t be 100%, but of the few good friends in my life who remain, they’re the ones who will be in touch, out of the blue, and we pick up right where we left off. Right off the high board into the deep end.
But here’s the thing, that’s a one-on-one experience, a very manageable slice of people, in a dose that one can tolerate. A reuni-one, a reunion of one?! Or maybe a re-two-nion, as there are only two people present? Whatever, intermittent peopling in small bursts is doable, with enough notification and crucially, the right.fucking.venue. CAROL!
…intermittent peopling in small bursts is doable, with enough notification and crucially, the right.fucking.venue. CAROL!
As they say, you meet one ND you’ve met one ND. None of us are the same. My sensory hell may well be tolerable for others, and you may have had much gentler and kinder people around you than I did at times, when growing up, so I absolutely assume that all the above is going to be different for you. However, whenever I speak to other NDs who are aware of their own energy and peopling ability, they rarely relish a reunion.
Why rehash the past? Most of the time my earliest memories revolve around trying to fit in, not be seen, avoid the emotional turmoil and mental gymnastics of trying to figure out if it was sarcasm, idiom, analogy or direct instruction. Laid on top of auditory and visual overwhelm, plus hormones, and fluctuating energy due to being hungry or dysregulated because my uniform was hell, the classroom was too hot or cold, and a mind that would wander when bored, which was most of the time. Add all that up and then suggest I want to revisit it, and I am Nopey McNopeface.
The work reunion is no better. Let me preface this by saying: this is not a few drinks with old, familiar colleagues, that’s acceptable. As long as there’s no compulsory “fun,” and we all get to leave when we want without rancour or bantery “negging” next time we meet. That’s fine. Enjoyable even.
What I am talking about is when a company decides to have some kind of get-together of current and/or old workforce and throws a party. Usually around some foundational milestone or other “historic” moment in the company’s past. Maybe even a retirement for a long-standing member of the team.
These can be cringefests, and totally worth playing the “grandparent’s death” card to avoid. An event where there are some absolute guarantees:
A carpet of beige food lines the tables against one wall, none is marked for allergens, so that’s you not eating all night. A DJ plays a mix of Ibiza bangers and childcare nursery rhymes set to a disco beat, weirdly they sound essentially the same, all the while people whose limbs do not coordinate when walking try to recreate the coordinated dance troupe from the Thriller video. With about as much success as you would have with real-life corpses. Plus some kind of speech or announcement from someone who has zero oratory or microphone skills. Somehow they are both too loud and inaudible.
All the while Alan from “Technical Department” ignores the speechifying and rattles on about that time you did that thing and luckily (for you) he spotted that it was wrong, and you had to then get this signed off by this other department manager… all the while standing too close for the toxic level of deodorant deployed that’s still failing to overcome his noxious body odour and coffee-breath, a one-two knockout combo.
We’re now back to the “entertainment,” and everyone is whispering despite the full Glasto main-stage volume level of the DJ’s kit, and yet no one can make out what he says when he speaks into the mic, which is frequently, and seemingly at random. “Heeeess warn fur thaaa layydeees, gert ahn that darnssssssflawwww…” Ace of Spades by Motörhead blares out… WT actual effing effington. Fuck.
Now, I know I paint a rosy picture, but don’t be sucked in. You will hate yourself if you go and try to scratch a nostalgic itch. It won’t work. It’s like taking an industrial sander with 80-grit discs to soothe some mild sunburn, about as enjoyable as a cactus dildo, similar amount of pricks to deal with though. There will be screaming and running for the exits if/as/when it goes wrong.
Recently I was invited to an old friends’ reunion. This was organised pre-official diagnosis, but the event was scheduled just after. I was asked by the organiser to attend, and I agreed. But the closer we got, the more I felt internal resistance, and then after the diagnosis I was off-kilter. I knew what the result of the assessments would be, because when you know, you know, right? And yet some small part of you thinks, “No, not me, surely, I am just a bit odd.”
Anyway, to then have to go and navigate a social landscape that expects me to be “old” me when I am not even sure who that person was back then. Certainly a lot younger, but also very dysregulated at a very unhappy part of my life, combined with expectations, assumptions, and a genuine 24-carat arsehole I’ve no wish to spend any time with ever again, who offends my DNA with his presence and for whom I would happily undergo amnesia therapy to erase from my brain. Yeah. The resistance is strong…
So, although I said I would go, I didn’t. Spent the entire evening feeling guilt, shame, and avoiding social media. Then add a few days spiralling around the well of despair that I had let people down. And yet, no one got in touch after, apart from the host with a “where were you?” cue more shame and guilt, even though they graciously and fully understood.
Not that friendship is a test, but if anyone had truly missed my presence then a “missed you, hope you’re well” from others attending is the least you might expect? There may have been major relief at the weirdo not coming, or I may be reading waaaaaaaay too much into all of this and after all “it’s just a reunion Stuart.”
But here’s the thing for NDs: there’s no “just” about it. If the above jumble of metaphors, analogies and scenarios resonates then I am sure that no apology to you is required. You can feel the emotional vibration, the level of overthinking, and the ball of frayed knots in yer innards for days before and after.
And then there’s the “Family Reunion”, the smackdown, title fight of Reunions… let’s not go there… We’ll save that for another blog.
Here’s the thing: we’re all different. Don’t let my experience cloud your own enjoyment of anything which gives you a smile and a lift. Go do it and ignore this old curmudgeon with no new friends!
IMPORTANT MESSAGE
If you’re struggling there is help. If you need to speak to someone, bigmoosecharity.co — this is free, emergency mental health support. If you need them, click the link and send them a message. They reply within 24 hrs and you will be speaking to someone within 7 days.
Neurodivergent Holidays – Packing, Panic & Pretending to Relax
I have a confession that I’ve learnt over the years is not the popular choice: I don’t like holidays. And because holidays feel like the societal currency of success, there’s quite a bit of shame wrapped up in admitting you don’t like them.
For a lot of people, holidays are the shiny prize at the end of months of grind. You work hard, you earn a “break”, you go somewhere sunny and allegedly “switch off”. But for me, I just don’t see it that way.
This is made all the more difficult given that about 80% of pre summer small talk circles around how you plan to spend your time off. It’s endless! “Going anywhere nice this year?”, “Got any holidays booked?”. Then there’s 3 months of social media being drenched in “don’t mind if I do, cocktails by the pool” photos, and notifications telling you that one of your friends has just uploaded 463 photos to their #soblessed Fakebook photo album. Sorry Carol, but there are only so many photos of your lobster-red family (none, if you are asking!) that one can feign interest in when it comes to someone else’s holiday. And if you’re thinking “what is the appropriate number of photos to share on social media, the answer is”none “,”no photos”, “nada, nope and nooooo” photos!.
When I nonchalantly announce that I plan to take some time off and hang around my house, maybe venturing out on the occasional day trip if I feel daring enough, the look I get can only be described as a mix of confusion and pity. Or they just do an awkward laugh that tells me they have no idea what to do with that information.
So if holidays don’t feel relaxing to you either, this blog’s for you. This isn’t a guide to having the “perfect” break. This is a shout out to everyone who finds holidays complicated, exhausting, or downright pointless… and the permission to do ‘rest’ your own way, even if that might look different to some.
The holiday anxiety starts the moment someone suggests it
For me, the anxiety takes up residence in my brain the second someone says, “We should go away.” I haven’t been on a ‘proper’ holiday abroad in about eight years. I see that as a massive win. My husband probably doesn’t share my enthusiasm, because he loves holidays and has inexplicably chosen to be married to me, but here we are.
The minute a holiday is mentioned, my brain starts running a full diagnostic on everything that would need to be in place before we leave. Is my work covered? Have I replied to everyone? Will the heating be okay? Who’s feeding the cats? What if something breaks while we’re gone? What if I’ve forgotten something crucial and can’t fix it because I’m in another country with the wrong plug sockets and no printer?
Packing is a whole separate hell. A neurotypical person might think: “We’re going somewhere warm. I’ll pack for warm.” My brain goes: “But what if it isn’t warm? What if it’s windy? What if it’s humid-but-chilly? What if the jumper I packed feels fine at home and suddenly turns into sandpaper while I’m away? What if I need options for all seven versions of my skin?”
It’s not just “have I packed enough clothes?” It’s “have I packed clothes that will feel okay on my body in a climate I can’t predict, in moods I haven’t had yet, in sensory states I don’t know about until I’m in them?” So I over-pack. Obviously.
Then comes the weight-limit panic. Once the giant suitcase is full, my brain immediately flips to, “The airline is going to charge me £5,000 because this weighs more than a small car.” Cue repacking. Sorting. Weighing. Taking things out. Putting them back in. Negotiating with myself about how many emergency jumpers one woman really needs. By the time we even lock the case, I already need a nap and possibly a small breakdown.
Airport security: my face says “drug mule”
If there’s one place where my autistic anxiety and my ADHD mouth love to team up, it’s airport security. I once flew to the US in my early twenties and had to go through one of those extra-intense interviews at immigration. Under pressure, all useful information immediately vacates my brain. I stood there shaking, fumbling through papers, mumbling things like, “Sightseeing? I don’t know? Just… doing stuff?”
I completely forgot both the name and where I had put the address of the friends of my family that I was staying with. And then, because my internal monologue has no volume control, I blurted out: “I’m not a drug mule or anything.” Exactly what a drug mule would say.
I didn’t get arrested, obviously, but the look they gave me was… memorable. When I’m anxious, my face pulls “I’m hiding contraband” expressions for fun. I overcompensate, I ramble, I make terrible jokes and then wonder why everyone is staring at me like I’ve brought a kilo of cocaine in my carry-on.
So no, security doesn’t feel like “the exciting gateway to adventure.” It feels like a test I don’t understand, with questions I’m not prepared for, in a system that already thinks I’m suspicious because I can’t stand still and behave ‘normally.’
The real problem: control, or lack thereof
At home, I have escape routes. If everything gets too much, I can retreat to my bedroom, the garden, the sofa, my favourite chair. I know where to go to calm down. I know the rules, the layout, the lighting, the temperature, the sounds. On holiday, all of that disappears.
One year, we rented a villa in France. It should have been idyllic — little house, nice weather, all very Pinterest. I remember standing outside the villa feeling utterly overwhelmed, scanning my surroundings and thinking, “Where’s my safe place?” There wasn’t one. In the end I got in the hire car, drove to a random supermarket, and just wandered around the aisles like a ghost. Not because I needed groceries. Just because it was the closest thing to “normal” I could find — fluorescent lighting, familiar-shaped shelves, products in rows. It gave me a little anchor in a world that suddenly felt completely unmoored.
Leaving the UK makes that feeling even sharper. It’s not that France is far away; it’s that it feels inaccessible. If things get unbearable on a day trip, I can at least get in my car and come home. If I’m in another country, my brain registers it as: “you’re here forever. “
Holidays ask me to give up control of my environment, my routines, my foods, my exits… and then “relax.” It doesn’t work like that for me.
When everyone is spicy: family holidays and sensory chaos
It’s not just my brain I’m managing on holiday either; I’m not the only neurodivergent one in the family. So when we’ve done the Family Holiday thing, it hasn’t been just one person struggling; it’s a big old mixed bag of meltdowns.
Picture it: one child is in bits because the Wi-Fi doesn’t work properly and their online world — their safe place — has vanished. Someone else is overwhelmed by new smells, noises, and textures. I’m freaking out about control and routine. My husband is quietly re-evaluating all his life choices. It’s not that we don’t love each other. It’s that you can’t take four nervous systems that rely on predictability, special interests, and carefully crafted habits… then dump them in a loud, unfamiliar environment full of strangers and expect it to go well.
We once did a UK holiday park — big entertainment complex, lots of screaming children, drum and bass through caravan walls at 5am. My husband basically faked a stomach bug by day three just so he could tap out. He used me as a human shield — “Don’t come near, I’m contagious” — and hid in the bedroom while I took the kids into the arcade chaos. Honestly? I respect the strategy.
The “relaxation” myth
Here’s the bit that really messes with my head: holidays are sold as relaxation. “You need a break.” “Get away from it all.” “Switch off.” Great in theory. In practice, when you’re neurodivergent, holidays can feel like an endurance test.
My daily life at home is built around routines that work for my energy, my brain and my nervous system. I know when I need quiet. I know when I can people and when I absolutely cannot. I structure my work around it as much as I can. Take all that away and plant me in another country and suddenly I’m around people all the time. I don’t control the noise. Meal times are different. Sleep is disrupted. Food is unfamiliar. I can’t get to my safe spots. My regular self-regulation routines are gone.
That’s not relaxing — that’s extra cognitive load. And then, on top of all that, there’s the emotional pressure to “make memories”, “enjoy every second”, “get your money’s worth” and be visibly grateful because “some people would kill for this.” No wonder I come back from holidays more exhausted than when I left.
The holiday hangover: three weeks for a one-week break
One of the reasons I avoid holidays now is the sheer time and energy cost. For me, a one-week holiday looks like a week before of prep, admin, packing and anxiety; a week during of sensory overload and pretending I’m fine; and a week afterwards of decompression and trying to reintegrate back into real life.
That’s three weeks of disrupted functioning for a single week of “rest” that didn’t feel restful. At that point, staying home with my own kettle, my own bed, my own food, and my own sofa starts to look less “boring” and more “deeply wise.”
Despite everything, I don’t think all holidays are doomed forever. I just think the standard template — flights, sun, enforced fun, daily activities — doesn’t work brilliantly for a lot of neurodivergent brains.
The breaks that have worked better for me tend to be short, nearby, and familiar. A couple of nights in a UK city, a hotel chain where I know roughly what the room will be like, a place where I can get home if I need to. Everyone gets their own space. Our last family trip was a weekend to York. It worked pretty well as the kids had their own rooms. We had ours. We set the tone early: you don’t have to spend every second together. If you want to disappear into your room and read for two hours, that is more than fine. It’s survival.
My fantasy holiday (and why it involves nobody else)
My husband once asked me, “If we won the lottery, what would your perfect holiday be?” I described an island with hardly anyone else on it, where someone quietly ships in food and books, and I just potter around by myself in peace. He said, “That sounds amazing — I could do that.” I said, “No. Just me. Not even the kids. Literally just me.”
It sounds awful written down, but it’s not about not loving my family. I adore them. It’s about cognitive load. If I’m on holiday with them, my brain doesn’t stop tracking everyone’s needs. I don’t stop listening, scanning, checking: “Are they okay? Are they overwhelmed? Are they bored? Are they hungry?” I can’t switch that off. That’s the mum load, the ND load, all in one. To feel genuinely rested, I need that channel to be quiet too.
Redefining what a “good holiday” looks like
Society tends to treat holidays as a scoreboard. “Where did you go this year?” “How many countries have you visited?” As if the number of times you’ve sat in an airport somehow proves you’re “winning” at life.
I’ve started opting out of that game. I’m not interested in racking up “experiences” just because that’s what everyone else seems to be doing. I’m much more interested in crafting a life that doesn’t require me to escape it constantly.
For me, that looks like more rest in my everyday life, less pressure to prove I’m having fun, being honest that holidays don’t feel relaxing, and letting go of the idea that I’m “boring” or “failing” if I don’t go away. If your idea of a perfect break is a week at home with no plans, no alarms, and no small talk, that is just as valid as two weeks in Ibiza. You’re not doing life wrong. You’re just doing it in a way that works for your nervous system.
Permission time!
So, if you’re a neurodivergent human who dreads packing, panics at airport security, needs a full week to recover from a “relaxing” trip, or secretly prefers your own sofa to any beach on earth… this is your reminder that there is nothing wrong with you.
Holidays, as sold to us, are not designed with us in mind. They assume flexible routines, low sensory sensitivity, high tolerance for uncertainty, and a brain that finds novelty more exciting than terrifying. If that’s not you, you are allowed to opt out — or redesign the whole idea.
You are allowed to say no to the big trips. You are allowed to do short, gentle, nearby breaks. You are allowed to rest at home and call it a holiday. You are allowed to like your own bed more than a resort. You are allowed to want a life you don’t constantly need a break from.
And if anyone at the hairdresser asks, “Going anywhere nice this year?” You can smile and say, “Yes, actually. My living room. It’s perfect.”