Neurodivergent Archives - The Business Oddcast

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Protecting Your Energy When the World Won’t Slow Down

Firstly, I just want to give a shout out to any readers who have mastered the art of understanding the unpredictable beast that is ND energy. A confusing little fecker that might give you a whiff of hope that there’s some petrol in the tank… and then you do the most mediocre of chores and feel like your brain has been turned into a smoothie.

If you haven’t mastered that, then… well, how the devil are you going to protect it if you don’t even know how it works? Just kidding. As you were. Keep reading.

So, let’s assume you’ve got at least some understanding of how your energy behaves, in all its unpredictable random sparkliness. The next step is protecting it. Because you’re living in a world that won’t slow down. Not even a teeny bit. Not even if you ask it really nicely.

And this is the bit no one wants to talk about. The world isn’t going to adjust itself around your capacity. Deadlines still exist, clients still want quick replies, and life in its many forms keeps moving at the same pace regardless of how you’re feeling. Which is why protecting your energy isn’t optional. It’s sanity maintenance.

And when you’re neurodivergent, then that’s double funzies, because your energy isn’t linear. It fluctuates. It spikes. It drops. It goes out for a pint of milk and comes back 3 days later. It’s that crazy unpredictable drunk uncle that you don’t want at your wedding.

So, this isn’t about escaping the world. It’s about learning how to stay in it without acquiring yourself a one way ticket to burnout town!

The world isn’t built for you. Accept it…and move on

Most systems are built on the assumption that energy is stable. That you wake up, work, produce, and repeat. Nice, neat, and predictable. Lovely for people whose brains behave like that. Big fan. Congratulations to them. Except that’s not how a lot of ND brains work.

Some days you can fly through work like you’ve unlocked a secret level of existence and suddenly you are unstoppable. Other days, opening your laptop feels like a hostage negotiation between your fingers and your brain. Same person. Same workload. Completely different capacity.

And yet… none of those changes how the world responds to you. You’re still expected to show up, deliver, reply, and keep things moving — even on the days where your brain has very much not signed off on that plan. No one pops up and says, “Ah, I see your brain has gone offline today, let’s circle back when it returns.”

The problem is that external demand stays consistent, while your capacity didn’t get the memo. So, when those two things collide, pressure builds. And when that pressure sits there long enough, it turns into stress, then exhaustion, and eventually burnout.

Which is why this whole “just push through” approach doesn’t really work for brains like ours. (It barely works for anyone, to be honest, but that’s a rant for another day.)

Urgency will eat your energy if you let it

One of the biggest drains on your energy isn’t actually the work itself — it’s urgency. Everything suddenly feels important. Everything feels like it needs doing now. Everything feels like it will fall apart if you don’t respond immediately.

But a lot of that urgency isn’t real. It’s artificial deadlines, other people’s poor planning, and those “quick favours” that somehow take half your day and leave you wondering why you opened your laptop in the first place.

If you’ve spent years being reliable, helpful, and responsive, you’re probably very good at jumping straight into action mode without even questioning it. It feels productive. It feels responsible. It also quietly sucks the life out of you.

The problem is that urgency pushes you into adrenaline. And adrenaline is great … in small, occasional bursts. As a lifestyle choice? Less ideal. You end up running on “just get through it” energy, which works, right up until it really, really doesn’t.

A small but surprisingly effective shift is asking yourself: “is this actually urgent?” Not “does it feel urgent” but is it genuinely time-critical. Because those two things are very different. Even if your brain insists they’re identical.

Energy boundaries are different from emotional ones

I’m the queen when it comes to chatting about boundaries. It’s like I discovered them, 51 years later in my life, and now they are my specialist subject. In fact, it pretty much is that! But most of those conversations are about emotional ones. Protecting your feelings, managing relationships, that sort of thing. Energy boundaries are slightly different. They’re about protecting your capacity.

Because you can technically have the time to do something, but not the energy. You might look at your calendar and think, “Well, I’ve got an hour free,” but your brain is already fried, your sensory load is maxed out, and you’ve made approximately 47,000 decisions already that day. That hour is not usable. It’s like a mirage hour.

This is where one of the most useful sentences you’ll ever learn comes in: “I don’t have capacity for that.” Not followed by your life story. Not turned into something apologetic, or a giant discussion. Just that.

It sounds simple, and it is. It’s also wildly uncomfortable if you’re used to over-explaining, over-justifying, and making sure everyone else is fine first. But it works. Quietly, efficiently, and without wringing out what little energy you had left.

Saying no without it being a 3-part drama

If you’re anything like me, saying no doesn’t just happen. It comes with a full internal production. You draft the explanation, rehearse the tone, anticipate their reaction, and try to make it sound reasonable, valid, and entirely non-offensive to anyone, ever.

The irony being that by the time you’ve finished explaining, you’ve used more energy than the original task would have taken. How’s that for efficiency…or lack of it!

The truth is most of that explanation is for us. It’s working hard to make the discomfort of setting a boundary feel safer. But “no” doesn’t require a backstory. It doesn’t require a breakdown of your week, your mental state, or your entire life context. As Stu taught me once, it’s an entire sentence. And the more you practise it, the less energy you leak trying to make your boundaries palatable for everyone involved. I promise you it starts to feel easier the more you try it on for size. In fact, it’s so incredibly freeing. Because it’s you having your own back.

Not everything is worth the cost anymore

One of the biggest shifts that comes with protecting our energy is realising that just because something is possible, it doesn’t mean it’s sustainable.

We ‘could’ say yes. We ‘could’ take it on. We ‘could’ push through.

But then we could also decide to deep clean our entire house at 11pm on a Tuesday night. Half of my teenage years were spent piling the entire contents of my bedroom floor onto my bed at about 10om, then crying and putting it all back onto the floor. The question is… should we?

Because every “yes” is stealing from a limited resource. And if you’re not consciously deciding where that energy goes, it gets spent by default. Usually on the loudest, most urgent, or most guilt-inducing thing in front of you.

Protecting your energy means getting honest about trade-offs. Letting go of “shoulds”, looking properly at commitments, and actively choosing long-term stability over the short-term approval that we can often crave. Sweet dopamine.

Sometimes that means making decisions that don’t look particularly impressive on paper but feel a lot safer in our body. Which, frankly, should be the only measure that really counts.

Recovery doesn’t protect itself

One of the sneakiest things about energy is how quickly we decide we’re “fine again”.

You have one good day. Maybe two if you’re feeling particularly wild. You wake up, your brain is cooperating, you answer a few emails without wanting to lie down afterwards, and suddenly you’re like, “Right. I’m back. Power Rangers…let’s go!.”

And off you go. Rebooking everything. Saying yes to things. Catching up on the 463 tasks you’ve been avoiding. Possibly reorganising a cupboard for emotional reasons. Fully convinced you’ve turned a corner.

Newsflash. You haven’t turned a corner. You’ve just found the exit of the car park.

Because early recovery energy is not a full tank. It’s not even half a tank. It’s more like your car has stopped making that alarming flashing noise and you’ve gone, “Great, let’s drive to Scotland.” You’re out of the danger zone. That’s it. But you’re not on the home straight yet.

And this is where we accidentally undo all the progress we’ve made. Not because we’re reckless (well, some of us can be!), but because it feels so good to have energy back that we immediately spend it. All of it. In one go. Like a toddler with birthday money.

Then we’re surprised when we crash again.

Protecting your energy at this stage means doing something deeply unnatural: not filling the space. It means leaving gaps. Building buffers. Resisting the urge to “catch up” on everything all at once. Saying no to your old pace, even when your brain is loudly insisting that this time will be different. (It won’t. Your brain is a liar when it’s excited.)

Recovery isn’t just about getting your energy back. It’s about not immediately burning through it the moment it returns.

When boundaries feel like a scratchy jumper (and they will)

Protecting your energy isn’t just practical — it’s deeply inconvenient on an emotional level. Because when you start doing it properly, things come up. Guilt. Fear. That slightly sick feeling that you’ve just disappointed someone. And sometimes actual pushback from people who were very happy with the old version of you. The one that was constantly nodding like their head wasn’t attached properly. Saying yes, staying available, and overextending herself. Funny that.

That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’ve stopped being as convenient. And yes, it does feel uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Like you’ve put on a jumper that technically fits but is somehow both itchy and judging you.

You’ll be tempted to soften it, to explain more, to just do the thing this once because it’s easier than holding the boundary. But every time you do that, you teach people (and yourself) that your limits are optional. The real work here isn’t setting the boundary. It’s holding it when it would be much easier not to. This is a huge part of my life story, so believe me when I say I get it. But I’m also now boundaries number one fan!

You don’t have to live at the pace of everything around you

The world might not slow down. That’s true. Deeply annoying, but true. But that doesn’t mean you have to speed up to match it, because that’s how you ended up here in the first place. Remember?

Protecting your energy long-term often means your life looks a bit different. Less stuff, more intention. Not churning your output like a sausage factory. Which, depending on your previous operating style, can feel suspiciously like you’re “not doing enough”. But you are. You’re just not doing everything, thank god.

And yes, sometimes it can feel like you’re not keeping up with everyone else. Like you’re dawdling while the rest of the world is power-walking past you in Lycra, with a podcast on 3x speed. But I can promise you this: they’re exhausted too. They’re just better at pretending they’re not.

What you gain instead is something far more useful: stability, sustainability, and the ability to keep going without repeatedly crashing and having to rebuild yourself from scratch every few months. This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about doing what actually works for your brain, your body, and your life in the long term.

Because if it only works when your brain’s on fire and your nervous system is halfway out the window, it doesn’t actually work.

After Burnout: What Real Recovery Looks like for NDs

ROLL UP, ROLL UP. THE WILDEST SHOW IN TOWN HAS ARRIVED! YOU’VE GOT A VIP, FRONT ROW SEAT TO SEE CRASH & THE BURNOUT BLUES BAND, featuring songs from their greatest hits album, like “Marshmallow Brain” and who could forget “ANGRY FOR NO DISCERNABLE REASON!” plus that all-time classic “Zero spoons & fucks to give.”

I know, I paint a very rosy picture of the old ND “Burnout”, funtimes, shitz ‘n’ gigz… but until you understand exactly how your energy arrives and how you need to manage it, you will repeat the same pattern of burnout, over and over and over…

Ask me how I know? Yes! ::ding ding ding:: correct answer, I know, because I’ve been there several times, full send to destination fucked (said in “Matt Rose Aussie Guy Voice”).

I’ve been through the fully immersive “Life Hurricane” simulator on several occasions, from humble dust devil, to full on Cat5 Katrina and every time I reflect on how we got here and clearly see all the warning signs. From the first roof tile rattling all the way to “Oh no, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore…” in what seems like a blink of an eye.

But the real kicker is yet to land, when you inevitably crash-n-burn harder than a cut-price electric car using auto-steer, and you are absolutely wiped emotionally, physically, spiritually. You surface, as addicts might identify, with “a moment of clarity” (I know I did), as you realise that it all has to change, everything, what came before was unsustainable. The way you found that out was to Live-Action Role Play* using a strategy that required an ill-advised amount of energy burnt in an unreasonably short time-frame. (*hat tips to the LARPers!)

It’s called BURNout for a reason… You have literally burnt through your entire stock of “coping” and now have to rethink the overall game play, whilst attempting to continue living, earning and remaining sane.

And, as you lie there in that fragile state, where breakfast is a life goal, and “dressed before noon” is about as likely as winning a national lottery every day for a year, you realise a horrible truth.

The burnout is not done with you yet, oh no buster… it’s taken you everything you have, maybe even more than you had, to get here. The real challenge begins once you hit the eye of the storm. This calm center allows you to reflect from a vantage point, and assess the size of the storm, and you realise, whatever the magnitude there’s only one route to recovery… The way back is through the other side…

Staring at a blurred wall of thought and vortex of emotions, you’re not wrong to flinch away. Whatever your route to burnout there’s going to be a fair amount of shame and inward blame stacked up ready for you to process and no-one claps their hands together and exclaims “Goody gum-drops, lets play the blame and shame game!“. Here definitely be dragons, and in fact probably these dragons are mere dragonlets of the massive monstrous demon dragons locked behind the door marked “Childhood”. Those deep, ominous rumbling sounds are the bass-notes echoing through your head. Pulsing as your heart beats, an energy hungry beast that gives your enemies a 2X damage for every one hit and wakes you at 2am. Sweating.

It’s natural to want to shrink away. Your bed is safety, the duvet will protect you from the hooded claw, and, who knows, even keep some vampires from your door. But, that’s a lot to ask of bed linen, even if it is from M&S. Lying, passively and waiting for the pressure to release is not progress, that’s stagnation, rotting away in the depressed, comatose lethargy that burnout brings.

It is such a warm and tempting place to remain, forever at the eye of it all, life moving around you, whatever little routine or safety net you draw around you is “enough”. It is… for now. But do not get stuck there, that way victimhood lies, and that is living hell. A learned helplessness, of being coddled and cossetted. It’s tempting.

But you need to know, and fully accept that no one’s coming to help you.

That was my huge revelation from my first round of therapy, after my first major burnout, when my Dr’s were calling my absolute lethargy “depression”, and my all-gas, no brakes bouts of “mania”, were “Nothing to worry about. Drink less caffeine and get more sleep.” (what a Dr. actually said to me).

Oh, and there’s also the insomnia, yeah, “get more sleep“… good one.

At some point you have to make the effort, it’s you and only you. Not your partner, not your family, kids or friends. YOU.

You have to get yourself “well”, what that looks like is unknowable at this point, just accepting that this is on you is enough. When you have hit rock-bottom and the only way is up** an uphill struggle, right when you are at a point when you have no capacity for creating a rational strategy to make your way back is going to look like the least “do-able” decision.

This is why you have a plan before you go in, creating a disaster recovery plan in the middle of a disaster will give you a grab bag of dumb decisions and half-assed ideas. All the while depleting what little energy you already have. Again, hello, been there, done that. 1 star, do not recommend.

The acceptance of that truth will unlock everything else, being kind to yourself throughout will speed up the recovery. Word of warning, there’s “being kind” i.e. nope-ing the family reunion, or skipping the friend’s brunch and then there’s “slacking off on the road to recovery” with behaviours such as “one more hour of doomscrolling AuDHD memes before bed” and “Like my pants, this shirt will do another three days before it needs washing“.

I find that a strict routine prevents slippage of progress. My plan when I fought back the first time was to regain all I had lost, the focus, the 18 hour days for 12 weeks straight. I was a machine, I just forgot to get an oil change, now I am back I am BACK! No, do not do that – it leads to some very fun prescription narcotics that “mellow you the fuck out” as my mate once said. When you recover, do not build the same bonfire just to burn it all down again…

** Never got why that song got the airtime it did, if the only way is indeed “up”, then you must be at rock-bottom, right? Why then are they so cheerfully singing about it?

My guidance would be; bed by 10pm, up by 6am, or 7am on weekends. Bed has to be made, bed clothes folded. 1pt of water, with pink rock salt (for the sodium and trace iron) and lemon juice (helps regulate bowel!), coffee and breakfast. Then get dressed.

That’s my morning and as long as I am in my office by 10am the morning is won! I am often in by 9am, but even though I am more regulated now than I have ever been, I do not chastise a slow morning, these are the perks of the self-employed life. As long as I am not letting anyone down, I can get in at 10 if I want. A “luxury” I afford myself, which is more a need at times.

I won’t detail my entire routine, but that’s my morning and it is part of keeping my life consistent and regulated. Consistency for me is more; accelerate, then coast, accelerate then coast. I cannot just be foot flat to the floor, that way insanity lies. Plus my routine may not work for you; you find the routine that helps, but I know that too many mornings without this simple strategy and things are going to get blustery and likely be headed towards tornado season.

My crawl back to sanity and return to a new-normal was not easy, and had all sorts of consequences. Lost relationships, changing social connections, finding love. But when I returned to a more regulated life, I was different, slightly less angry, slightly more wary of people. A decade of daily othering, and bullying will do that.

The way back is to re-evaluate what your energy budget will get spent on and accept it

You have to realise you have finite “spoons” and so have to ration how they get used. Arguing over a parking ticket? Yeah, I have done that, was it worth it? Yeah, in the moment, but actually that’s 4 or 5 high energy interactions where you spend your precious energy for little to no positive return to your life. Learning to “let it go” can be hard with an innate sense of right and wrong. Some things are simply “not worth it”, as a spend from the finite energy budget. Here’s a list of things that never made the cut after various burnouts…

Work – I gave up having a job, seemed the same shit whatever building I went to.
Energy hoovers – people or situations that zap your mood and cost time & energy.
Worrying what other people think/say about me – I’m odd, deal with it.
Meeting other’s expectations – you do you, I’ll continue being my sweet awesome self.
Quid-pro-quo relationships – yeah, that’s not how the universe works, karma is paid forward and I am not one to argue with the universe.
No longer policing the world – adding to the karmic flow is the notion that some problems are going to be solved by the universe and I do not have to keep score. See someone weaving in and out of traffic? That’s a situation where the universe will come a-calling sooner or later… Someone being an a-hole? Knock. Knock. Muthafuqur… UNIVERSE CALLING.
Red rope – the red-rope around my time is sacrosanct, I choose where I spend it, you do not get to jump the queue by waiving money at me. Take a ticket, sit down, be patient. I will get to you in due course.
Firebreaks – whether I am due a break, or not, I will take days off after an intense project or working for a deadline. Allows my brain the time to transition from the project to new stuff and gives me energy recharge and prep time. I try to take Fridays off, definitely in the afternoon, and if I put in a firebreak then it’ll usually be a Monday and Tuesday, giving a longer weekend, and less impact to any ongoing projects.

If I do not respect these life rules I will burn out.

I know.

I have tried not doing these things.

I have burnouts 2, 3 and 4 to remind me of this. So, by a process of elimination I have curated my life to be as respectful of my time and energy as I can be, and ensure others respect these precious things too. No project, or person is worth my life on hold for months whilst I try and extinguish the flaming rubble my life becomes if I let others trample all over my own rules.

There’s no easy way back, and when you do emerge from the maelstrom and the destruction is apparent and everywhere and it can seem hopeless even trying to pick up and start again. But here’s the thing you have to cling to, you get to build it back the way you want. Fresh start, blank canvas, share your insights with those you love and who wish only good outcomes for you. Tell them what you have to do, or stop doing, if they truly love you , they will not only get it, they will advocate for you too.

Do not be shy about stating what you can and can no longer be expected to do. If you keep the household clean, fed and safe and it feels like a one-person crusade then delegate some of it or accept it will not get done anymore. This is not about alienating your loved ones, and those you live with, but more sharing with them the additional burden of the cognitive load and the overall weight of carrying it for the family. Teenagers and adult children living at home are quite capable of doing a load of washing. If they can work out playing a game on an X Box, they can figure out the right washing machine program.

Harder to do this at work, but if you are valued then you should have a conversation which shares the dangers of you shouldering certain loads. An explanation of burnout and paid time off might help them see the economic sense in making the accommodations?

Or think about job sharing, or adjusting your hours, which you should be legally allowed to do, we are in the UK, check local labour laws where you are before flicking the bird to your boss and saying “two days a week or imma be suing your azz”. Maybe not do that wherever you are employed.

After burnout your life is going to change, your capacity to do and cope may change, your tolerance to certain stimuli or situations may be different, and thousands of other minute but highly personal things may alter, but you have to give yourself permission to accept that these are things you have to let go. BE KIND TO YOURSELF. It’s handy to think “would I talk to my best friend/partner/kids like that?” and chances are you’re in an abusive relationship with your internal monologue.

BE KIND TO YOURSELF!

We’ve argued from Ep 01 that self employment is the perfect role for you if you have variable energy, focus and struggle with all the things that neurodivergent folk deal with on the daily. You get to show up as/when you can, and with the flexibility of letting you do what you can at a time that suits you. It’s not for everyone, but if you have a skill that you can monetise, then self-employment may just be the way out that you need.

A final bit of maths before I sign off.

If you work for the national minimum wage, for over 21s that’s £12.21 (time of writing 22 Feb 2026). A 38 hour week gives you £463.98.

Lets say you work in an office doing basic PA stuff, if you were self employed PA you’d charge a commercial rate of circa £30 an hour, and you only have to work 15.5 hrs to exceed your earnings at the full-time job. Work a 30 hour week and you earn £900, less tax and savings etc. and you will take home more than the PAYE position. With the right clients and projects you’d work 8 hours fewer a week and earn more, delivering at your own pace and timescale. It’s not for everyone, but for the right people, probably burnt out from attempting to scale the corporate ladder, then it could literally save your health and wellbeing.

It worked for me and whilst I still managed to burnout a few more times since the first, and biggest time, at least I didn’t have to explain to my boss why Fridays were “not doable” for the foreseeable future. Or playing the shame game, as you lie there on the sofa, feeling like you are letting everyone down, but unable to move.

With the right approach, right proposition to your local business community and a few local networking meetings you can earn a decent enough income without living a shadow life. Burnt out beyond recognition and probably self-medicating in the evening and twice at weekends. A story for another day I feel…

Be kind to YOURSELF and others.

Golden CGI trumpets tumbling down as we look up inside a rainbow hued umbrella

Delegation for Control Freaks (and the Overwhelmed)

There’s a very specific kind of ‘tired’ that shows up for me, long before burnout does. It’s not dramatic. I’m still functioning. Still replying. Still getting things done. But everything feels… loud. Overwhelming, where nothing is technically wrong, but my brain feels like it’s got too many tabs open. And if one more thing demands my attention, I might just climb into my wardrobe, nestle myself between some comfy jumpers, and wait until the search party find me. Or better still, don’t. (It’s ok, I’ll take snacks!)

When I reluctantly venture back out into civilisation, no doubt for a wee break, it won’t be long before someone has given me the delegation lecture. I say ‘lecture’ because this is not my first delegation rodeo. Oh no. Many people have gone before this latest one, promising me a world where I don’t have to do everything.

“Just hand a few things over”, they say…. in the same overly zealous way that people say, “Have you tried yoga?”, which immediately makes me want to lie down on the floor and stare at the ceiling!

They think they are being helpful, but all I can hear is my RSD singing “they think you are rubbish” to a creepy nursery rhyme tune. Don’t get me wrong, delegation sounds sensible in theory.

I mean, who wouldn’t want a bit of help once in a while? You’d think. In theory.

But in practice

In practice, the idea that I can easily hand over a thing to an ‘eager to help’ person without giving them the sense that they might end up having to prise it from my dead hands is unrealistic at best.

Because the ‘after haunting’ that accompanies someone else doing ‘a thing’ (one of my things) on my behalf can be brutal. My brain doesn’t hand over said thing, go get a cuppa and never think about it again. Oh no. It obsesses over the multiple ways that person might well, in fact, most probably will mess it up irreparably.

It might be fair to assume, at this stage, that I’m talking about what gen pop would refer to as important stuff. E.g. keeping my children alive. But no. EVERYTHING in my world is filed under ‘important’, when it comes to how it needs to be done.

Stacking the dishwasher, making the bed, editing a piece of my work……all need to follow the Hannah method ™. I have lived proof that even the smartest of husbands can mess up a spaghetti bolognese if not guided on how big to cut the onions and when to put the tomatoes in. He put ketchup in it, ffs. I know, right!

Don’t get me wrong, I am smart enough to understand the concept of the rest that could be had if someone else lightened the load. But, for me, the overthinking surrounding that process makes it more labour-intensive than just doing it myself. At this point, I want to remind anyone reading this that you have permission to throat punch anyone who says “just don’t think about it” to you. Maybe not an elderly relative, though. Even I have limits!

(Disclaimer – Oddcast, specifically Hannah, takes no responsibility for anyone who gets inspired to throat punch a relative!)

The redoing-it-quietly bit

So, let’s assume that someone got you into a semi-nelson, and you’ve agreed to let them do something for you. Although it kinda feels, at this point, like it’s more for them, really….But I digress.

Anyway, you’ve said thank you and made a promise to yourself to hand it over mentally. And you’re busying yourself not overthinking what they’ve done wrong, and what you’ll have to do to put it right. And before you know it, a ‘sneak peek’ at how they have stacked the dishwasher becomes a full ninja-style restack. All the time hoping they won’t notice.

Control isn’t a personality trait

So, I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t been labelled ‘controlling’ over the years. My stepbrothers used to call me ‘Queenie’ when they came to stay, as I liked to boss them around from a young age. But control can get labelled as a quirk or a flaw, when for many of us it’s more of a safety mechanism we built very early in our lives.

Doing it ourselves reduced the number of variables. It meant fewer explanations, fewer misunderstandings, fewer moments where we had to decide whether to speak up and risk judgment or swallow the discomfort. And that becomes hardwired in us. So, for me, control isn’t about ego. It’s not that I think I am the only one who knows the best way to do things. It’s about getting through the day without feeling exposed or overwhelmed.

So, when someone suggests delegation, they are actually asking us to loosen a system that’s been keeping things stable for a long time. Even if that system is exhausting, and not always in our best interests.

Perfectionism as volume control

But we can’t have control without her perfectly manicured sister ‘perfectionism’ rocking up. And perfectionism often gets a tough rap. The villain of the hour, with her precise requirements and “redo it” attitude. But it looks different from where she resides in my brain. She’s not trying to chase excellence. She’s trying to manage consequences.

Because there is so much reassurance to be had in knowing that it’s been done in the way you need it to be done. If something is slightly off, a cascade of decisions can follow. But when I do it myself, follow my own standard/routines, then I avoid worrying about whether I’ll end up having to say something. And will I sound ungrateful if I do? If I can’t cope, and I have to ‘fix’ it, then will that create a thing?

You getting the gist now? Can you see how much easier it feels to do it myself?

The cost of holding everything

But I’m smart enough to know that ‘doing it all myself’ is not a long-term strategy that ends well. Not for myself, or for the chap that messed up my spaghetti!

Because it’s a way of operating that only works whilst my capacity holds. And capacity is a finite resource, even if you’ve got the skills to stretch it to the max! (I wouldn’t recommend that, btw – hello burnout!)

And most of the time, the real weight that we feel is not the tasks themselves, but the cognitive load of remembering and prioritising everything. And the constant low-level vigilance of holding it all together. The remembering. The monitoring. The mental list that never quite switches off.

At that point, burnout can usually be seen standing in the corner looking over at you, like the creepy dude at the school disco!

Delegation isn’t abdication

Delegation is supposed to help, and if I am pretending not to be me for a moment, then I know that it really does. BUT there is still that initial awkward stage where it feels worse before it feels better. It’s like that party you went to as a kid, where you had a Barbie that you really wanted yourself, wrapped up in the prettiest paper for your friend. As you handed it over, there was that weird moment when you weren’t really ready to let it go, and so a slight tug of war ensued before you came to your senses and released your grip. That’s me in the rare moments that I delegate.

Then there is that “ I should be able to do it myself ‘self-doubt’ moment. Because, let’s face it, we’re not strangers to being made to feel like we should be able to do something. And sometimes this stage can make us want to go directly to “I tried this delegation stuff. It was rubbish. The end”. But please, dear reader, do not do this. Spoiler, it gets better!

Remember that delegation isn’t an all-or-nothing thing, and it isn’t dumping either. Handing something over doesn’t mean we’re incapable or we’ve stopped caring. Or worse still, that we’re relinquishing all control. It just means that we don’t have to march round the house like a martyr ranting, “don’t worry, I’ll do it” to ourselves. Or is that just me?

We get to decide which bits really need to be exactly the way we need them to be, and which bits don’t. That distinction can feel uncomfortable, especially when caring deeply has been part of how we have stayed safe and capable in the world. But knowing we have that choice is integral to letting things go.

Why this shows up so strongly in self-employment

By the time delegation becomes a work problem, it’s almost certainly already a fully immersed life pattern that we’ve been defending for years. Household decisions, emotional labour, remembering birthdays, managing logistics. If we’re used to being the quiet backbone of everything, then self-employment just amplifies that.

Suddenly, we’re not only the ones who notice things; we’re also the system. Don’t get me wrong, I still truly believe that self-employment is our get-out-of-jail card. Because it is genuinely freeing for neurodivergent people. Or indeed any neurotype, to be fair. But the friction comes when we try to hold every role indefinitely, because that’s what we’ve always done. And that is where we discover that delegation is not the enemy.

Sure, if we’re smart, then we have built ourselves a support network of other like-minded business owners around us. To compare notes with and bounce ideas. Having this network is integral to doing business without spending a lot of time crying into your tea. But we still need to accept that we can’t do everything. Regardless of how our brain is often telling us we need to.

A quieter measure of success

Delegation in business isn’t about growth hacks or scaling. It’s about sustainability. About not being the only thing keeping the wheels on. As I said before, letting go doesn’t have to mean letting everything go. Sometimes it just means noticing when the effort of holding on has become louder than the discomfort of sharing the load.

Success isn’t measured by ‘doing less’. It’s having enough left to keep going without constantly managing our own nervous systems in the background. That’s not giving up control. It’s about choosing a version that actually lasts.

Repeating masks of human faces in colour gradients across the image

Being Self-Employed Without Wearing the Mask at Home

8 February 2026 by Hannah Logan

General

Authenticity, Emotional Labour, Energy Management, Masking, Nervous System regulation, Neurodivergent, Neurodivergent Burnout, Neurodivergent Relationships, Self Employment, Self-Employed Wellbeing, Sustainable Work, Unmasking, Work Stress, Work-Life Boundaries

So, anyone who has listened to even just one of our Podcasts will be fully aware by now that Stu and I are huge fans of self-employment. Especially if your brain is of the spicier variety like ours.

But for those of you who haven’t heard us banging that particular drum (shame on you!), we are advocates for it because it can be hugely freeing, flexible, and often the safest way to build a working life that actually fits a neurodivergent brain.

But… there’s always a but, right? There’s the assumption that if we’ve chosen it, we must be fine. Because somewhere along the way, that freedom that’s afforded us gets tangled up with another expectation. If we’ve designed our own working life, we shouldn’t be struggling in it.

We’ve got to be coping, calm, and capable. On top of things. Definitely not lying awake at 3am replaying that time you finished a call with a client by saying “love you” then hanging up (true story). That’s a whole ton of pressure.

That pressure to be seen as ‘winning’ in our employment choice often turns into masking. Not the dramatic kind, but at least acting like everything is under control—not just to your clients, but also your loved ones. In reality, there are times when you can’t believe anyone ever gave the role of ‘adulting’ freely to you.

When “work mode’ refuses to sod off!

Self-employment doesn’t always stay in its cage when you want it to. Because your business is tied to your ideas, your brain, and your sense of self. Which is awesome when things are rocking. But deeply inconvenient when they’re not.

Masking at work, for us, often starts as self-defence. We learn how to say “yes, that’s all in hand” while our internal monologue is screaming. Not because we’re incapable, but because we’re translating chaos into something other people can digest.

We don’t perform fake competence. We buffer real competence. We smooth the edges, downplay the effort, and make difficult things look easier than they feel. Over time, that constant translation can solidify into a persona — the version of us others rely on, even when it costs more than anyone realises. The problem isn’t that the version exists. The problem is when she follows you home, sits on the sofa, and refuses to shut up.

So you keep reassuring. Keep editing. Keep smoothing the edges. You keep saying things like “it’s all fine.” Not because it isn’t, but because you’re translating when you actually need to sit in silence for twenty minutes, scrolling absolutely nothing, while your nervous system whispers kind words to itself.

Home slowly becomes another place where you’re on. And that’s exhausting in a way sleep alone doesn’t fix.

Why neurodivergent stress is like your drunk uncle at a wedding (Unpredictable!)

Neurodivergent stress is famously bad at behaving itself. It’s like a cat that is determined to tap all the precious things off the worktops onto the floor below. And it’s also almost always really unpredictable. Often, there’s a delay where we cope beautifully in the moment, lulling those around us into a false sense of security. Then unravel later while loading the dishwasher or standing in the shower, suddenly furious about something that happened last Tuesday.

This is where stress can start leaking out as irritability, withdrawal, or over-talking. Sudden emotional fireworks that seem wildly out of proportion to whatever happened. People around us can often get confused here because, from the outside, it can look like anger, disinterest, or distance. When, really, it’s the nervous system finally processing something it didn’t have time to deal with earlier.

So many of us default to jokes. Or silence. Or insisting everything’s fine until it very much isn’t.

Authenticity is not the same as handing over your brain

Dropping the mask at home doesn’t mean narrating every anxious thought like an audiobook nobody asked for. There’s a difference between honesty and emotional dumping, and most of us are trying to find the middle ground without traumatising our loved ones or imploding quietly instead.

Being honest can be as simple as translation. “I’m stressed about work” lands very differently from “I am spiralling, and you are now responsible for fixing it.”

“I don’t need fixing — I just need to talk this out” is, frankly, the king of sentences.

Timing matters too. Mid-meltdown is rarely the moment for a nuanced discussion about cash flow or existential dread. Whereas when we wait until we are more regulated, the outcomes are almost always much better. Believe me, I’ve tried the alternative multiple times, and it’s not a winner! And waiting for that regulated moment, when she arrives, isn’t avoidance. It’s the smart choice if you still want to get on with your family, ha ha!

Supportive people are still, annoyingly, not psychic

Here’s the deeply irritating truth: people can’t support what they don’t understand. I’ve dreamt of a psychic husband for many years now, but sadly, he has not materialised.

If all our family ever hears is that things are going well, they’ll assume they are. Not because they don’t care, but because they’re working with the information available to them. So when we are more transparent about how we feel about our work, they have a fair chance of understanding better. That’s not to say that we need to unveil our stress in a way that creates panic. It’s just about giving them context, for example, explaining patterns, and letting them know when our stress is a background noise rather than a car alarm.

Without that context, any concern they share with us can quickly morph into pressure. Especially around money and stability. Advice offered kindly can feel like judgment. Reassurance can feel like monitoring. Suddenly, “how’s work?” feels like an interrogation, and you’d rather fake your own disappearance than answer it.

Boundaries that keep work out of your living room

Unmasking doesn’t mean talking about business constantly. In fact, boundaries are usually what sustain honesty. That might mean limiting business talk in the evenings or having a loose container for venting rather than letting it seep into every conversation.

It might also mean choosing one trusted friend (thanks, Stu!) who understands self-employment in its ever-changing landscape of grassy fields and quicksand swamps. And better still, someone who is prepared to hear the gritty details, or at least nod and smile in the right places, without wanting to slap you.

Because, regardless of how much your family love you, and hopefully wants to be supportive, there is a limit to the breadth of their goodwill if you are expecting them to be your accountant, therapist, and crisis-response team all at once.

Now, I appreciate the irony in typing these next words that are basically my spirit animal. But try to avoid oversharing. Yes, yes, I literally overshare on everything. Sorry, not sorry. But just because I do, doesn’t mean you have to. Relationships where everything is shared can be as draining as those where nothing is. The goal is enough openness to feel supported, and enough structure to feel safe.

Remember, boundaries aren’t secrecy. They’re nervous system management.

What changes when you finally take the mask off

In healthy, honest relationships, you’re allowed to be uncertain without being fixed. You can admit when you’re tired without being judged. And be honest with those closest to you, without making them feel they need to manage it.

Being able to say “I’m not okay, but I am handling it” and be believed, is life-changing. Especially if you have spent a large portion of your life trying to avoid that at all costs.

It creates emotional safety, a shared language, and a sense that you’re not carrying self-employment entirely alone. Dropping the mask at home doesn’t make you less professional. It makes self-employment survivable.

Because when you stop performing competence everywhere, you get some energy back. Enough to rest. Enough to regulate. Enough to show up again without dragging yesterday’s stress into every room. You’re allowed to be capable, whilst still feeling unsure. Being human doesn’t prevent us from being successful…however we define that. And we can still be professional at work and still be fully ourselves at home.

That balance isn’t indulgent. It’s how you last.

Thriving Without a 5-Year Plan: Short-Term Wins, Long-Term Awesome

There are two types of people in the world: the ones with colour-coded five-year plans, laminated vision boards, and a spreadsheet that could probably file their taxes — and then there’s me. And if you’re reading this, there’s a decent chance you’re also in the “I’m just trying to get through the next five minutes without accidentally starting a new career as a candle-maker” camp.

The five-year plan is one of those culturally approved things we’re all supposed to have, like a skincare routine, a pension, or a consistent personality. And sure — for some brains, a five-year plan is motivating and grounding, a helpful lighthouse guiding you through the fog. For other brains (hi), it’s a pressure cooker. A shame-generator. A glittery trap disguised as “success”.

So let’s talk about what happens when you don’t have a five-year plan — and how you can still thrive, grow, and build long-term awesomeness without setting fire to your nervous system.

The problem with the five-year plan (for those with brains like mine)

A five-year plan assumes you can reliably do two things: predict the future, and be the same version of yourself every day for five years. If companies packed full of mega brain analysts can’t predict this stuff accurately, then what sort of hope (none… the answer’s none) does a small business owner with a spoon deficit and a squirrel chasing brain have of being able to map out the rest of the month, let alone 5 long years.

If a five-year plan genuinely works for you, I mean this sincerely: I love that for you. But if it fills you with fear, and makes you feel like you’re failing before you’ve even started, you’re not broken. It’s just not a tool that’s built for your brain.

Direction beats detail: you don’t need a plan, you need a hill

I’d be lying if I said I had ever truly understood the concept of a five-year plan in life or business. I understand direction. I understand having something vaguely on a hill that you’re aiming for — a general “over there”. What I don’t understand is the rigid, milestone-heavy version where by Year Two you’re meant to have achieved X, become Y, and be emotionally stable by Year Four (I’m not emotionally stable by year 51!). That’s not planning. That’s inviting your inner perfectionist to move in permanently and redecorate using paint shade ‘shame’.

What actually helps is a looser kind of vision that gives you direction without demanding you predict every step. For me, my goals tend to sound less like “I will triple my revenue and expand into three new markets” and more like wanting to work less, enjoy my client base, feel calmer about my work, and earn enough that I’m not living ten days from payday in a constant state of dread. That’s not a five-year plan. That’s an anti-meltdown, sustainable lifestyle..

Short-term wins: building the future without suffocating yourself

If you want long-term awesome without the five-year straight jacket, the trick is to stop trying to build the whole staircase and just focus on the next step. Short-term goals work well for neurodivergent brains because they’re visible, achievable, motivating, and adjustable. They give you something solid to aim for without locking you into a version of the future you might outgrow

This is why I love working in short sprints. Well, I have since Stu introduced me to the concept. Before that I was just bumbling along with no plans on adulting when it came to business at all. I miss those days! No, focus Hannah, focus!

Ninety days, thirty days, a season, whatever chunk doesn’t make you want to crawl under a table. You pick something specific, give it a defined window of time, and treat it like an experiment. Does it work? Does it pay? Does it drain you? Do you enjoy it? Is it sustainable? Is it moving you vaguely toward the hill? At the end of the sprint, you reassess. No drama, no shame, no “I’ve ruined my entire future”. Just interesting data and a chance to pivot.

Pivoting isn’t failure. It’s business. (And also survival.)

One of the biggest lies hustle culture tells us is that success means sticking with one idea forever, even when it’s clearly not working. But self-employment is messy and stop-start. Some months are great; other months you’re wondering if you should become a barista purely for the predictable schedule and the free pastries.

If something isn’t working — financially, emotionally, practically — pivoting isn’t weak. It’s smart. And honestly, who are these imaginary people we’re trying to impress? What committee is meeting weekly to review your career choices and announce that you’ve pivoted again and they disapprove? There isn’t one. And even if there was: fuck em.

Your energy budget is the real business plan

This might be the most important part, so I’ll say it slowly: if you don’t plan around your energy, your business will plan your burnout for you. Neurodivergent energy isn’t linear. It doesn’t show up like a tidy nine-to-five battery bar. Some days you’re focused and flying; other days you’re technically present but running on fumes and a slightly haunted vibe.

So instead of demanding consistency from yourself, you build systems that support variability. That might mean time-blocking, protecting recovery time, pushing “urgent” work to next week, or recognising that doing more now usually means borrowing from future-you. As we’ve said repeatedly in past blogs and episodes, rest isn’t a reward for getting everything done — it’s preparation for the work ahead.

Consistency is overrated (at least the way people think about it)

I don’t think consistency itself is the enemy. What is unhelpful is the idea that consistency means showing up as the same version of yourself every single day. When we have already established that that is not going to happen for a lot of us! What actually matters, especially in business, is consistency of outcome rather than consistency of energy.

My clients don’t need me to be the same Hannah every day. They need good work, delivered when it’s promised — reliability in results, not access to my internal battery levels. So I do focus-heavy work on days when focus exists, I protect recovery so future-me doesn’t suffer, and I design systems that absorb variability instead of pretending it isn’t happening. From the outside, it looks consistent; from the inside, it’s flexible, responsive, and intentional. That distinction matters, because forcing “perfect consistency” is often what breaks people, whereas systems that expect variability are what keep things moving.

And yes, the squirrels still exist

The ideas. The sudden obsessions. The “maybe I should retrain as something wildly unrelated” moments. Curiosity isn’t the enemy, and learning things isn’t wasted. Sometimes finishing isn’t even the point — the learning is. But not every idea needs to hijack the entire business.

Having an idea bank helps. Write it down, capture the dopamine, park it. If it keeps coming back and aligns with the hill, you can revisit it later. Not everything needs to become a full identity.

Your to-do list might actually be a shame list

If you’ve got tasks that have been sitting on your list for months, chatting shit about you, it’s probably time to be honest. Delete them, outsource them, or accept they’re not realistic right now. A to-do list that makes you feel permanently behind isn’t a productivity tool — it’s a stress list.

So what does “long-term awesome” actually look like?

It might look like earning enough to cover your bills without panic, doing work that doesn’t destroy your nervous system, and setting goals that flex as your life changes. It might look like a business that evolves with you instead of demanding you stay the same.

And maybe — just maybe — thriving without a five-year plan isn’t chaotic. Maybe it’s wise. Maybe it’s the most neurodivergent thing in the world to say: “I don’t know exactly where I’ll be in five years, but I know what matters to me. I know what drains me. I know what brings me joy. And I’m going to build from there.”

Short-term wins. Long-term awesome. No pretending to be someone you’re not.

New Years 2026 Oddcast Blog Fireworks Display

New Year’s Resolutions & Goal Setting 2026

I have a complicated relationship with New Year.

On the one hand, my inner golden-retriever loves the idea of a fresh start. New calendar, new notebook, new chance to believe that this year I’ll drink water like a functional adult and not live on caffeine and Netflix. Especially if the previous year has been a bit of a car crash, there’s something comforting about drawing a line under it and going, “Redo”

But then the rest of me remembers what New Year actually comes with. One of my biggest kryptonites: pressure. “What are your resolutions?” “How are you going to improve?” “What horribly unachievable goals have you set yourself?” Apparently “continuing to exist and not murdering anyone who chews loudly” is not an acceptable answer. Who knew!

There’s this unspoken expectation that we must want to be fitter, more productive, more disciplined, more something. And once you say a resolution out loud, it suddenly feels like the whole world’s watching. “Oh, I thought you were cutting down on biscuits?” “Didn’t you say you were going to the gym?” No, Carol, I said it once in a burst of delusional optimism. That doesn’t mean I consented to being put under lifestyle surveillance for the next twelve months. Get back in your box.

Resolutions, perfectionism & the ND shame spiral

For my neurodivergent brain, New Year’s resolutions tend to go in one of two directions: either I go rogue and make a grand announcement that I am the boss of me and don’t have to conform to such bullshit… or I get boss-level FOMO and make a list long enough to qualify as a cry for help.

This can look something like:
“This year I will drink more water, stop eating biscuits, exercise three times a week, have a weekly rest day, be more organised, reply to messages like a real grown-up, and definitely, definitely not work late every night.”

Cut to mid-January and I’ve already “failed” half of them, promptly launching myself into a shame spiral because apparently I can’t even keep a promise to myself for more than eleven days.

The annoying thing is: it’s never due to laziness. I just… forget I even set the resolution. A few months ago, I bought vitamins after some very predictable blood tests (vitamin D? Low. Shocking). I bought one of those little pill organisers – Monday to Sunday – and for two months I was religious about taking them. Felt better for it too. Then one day I missed them. Then another. And then my brain quietly decided, “We don’t do supplements anymore,” and that was that. The box is still in the cupboard, full, quietly judging me every time I reach for the tea bags.So, it’s not that we can’t be consistent with anything. I’ve been with my husband for 21 years – clearly I can stick at some stuff (yay me!). But standard resolution culture assumes a brain that remembers what it decided, experiences time in a straight line, and doesn’t regularly drop whole habits down the back of the sofa of consciousness. Mine does not.

You didn’t fail the plan. The plan wasn’t designed for you.

One line I heard recently really stuck with me: “You didn’t fail the plan. The plan wasn’t designed for you.”

That hit me right in the executive function.

Because even when we design the plan, we’re often doing it based on bad information. We’re designing for the fantasy version of ourselves — the one who always has energy, never gets overwhelmed, and apparently turns into a completely different person the moment Jools Holland starts getting overexcited.

Tangent time: were you aware, dear reader, that Jools Holland’s Hootenanny is not live? It’s pre-recorded. I learned this at the grand old age of 50 and it destroyed the joy completely. And yet I still watch it so I can check how convincing the guests are. That’s how dedicated my tism is.

Right, back to the point.

For a lot of us, real us has things like ADHD time-blindness, autistic sensory overload, rejection sensitivity, chronic fatigue, pain, anxiety, depression, and a nervous system already working overtime just to exist in the world. The care label on a neurodivergent person should probably read something like:

“Before committing to anything, check: current energy budget, sensory load, existing obligations, and the likelihood of forgetting this even exists by February.”

So instead of asking, “What should I do next year?”, I’ve started asking, “What should I do given the life I actually have?” Then I can pass it through the realism filter: where would this shiny new idea fit with work, relationships, downtime, health? What has to be reduced or removed to make space for it? And crucially: what will my actual brain and energy allow me to do? Not fantasy-me who rides around on her unicorn — the real me, who is pretty awesome but has her limits.

Consistency is overrated (especially the way it’s sold)

Neurotypical hustle culture loves consistency. “Show up every day.” “Discipline over motivation.” “You just have to want it enough.” My ADHD brain hears that and laughs in 17 open browser tabs.

For a lot of us, consistency in the traditional sense is a myth. Our capacity fluctuates. Our focus fluctuates. Our executive function fluctuates. Sleep, hormones, sensory input, other people’s drama — it all messes with what we can realistically do on any given day.

So if we latch onto “New Year, new me” and set ambitious (read: unrealistic) resolutions that rely on perfect consistency, we are setting ourselves up to fail. Why would we want to do that?

Stuart introduced me to a fabulous term: minimum viable progress — asking “What’s the smallest version of this that still counts?” What would “good enough” look like, not “ideal Hannah on a TED stage”? If everything went sideways, what’s the baseline I’d still be proud of?

And this really works. I urge you to try it yourself — if you’re silly enough to welcome New Year’s resolutions into your life.

The anti-resolution resolution

The more I think about it, the more I realise I don’t actually want more goals next year. I want fewer.

Neurodivergent life already comes with a ridiculous amount of invisible work: managing sensory input, masking, unmasking, scripting social interactions, tracking everyone’s emotional state, battling executive dysfunction and decision fatigue before we’ve even opened our laptops. Slapping ten extra “improvement projects” on top of that isn’t self-development. It’s self-sabotage on roids!

So my New Year’s resolutions for 2026 are looking less like, “I will become a totally upgraded, sleek, consistent, disciplined version of myself,” and more like, “I will stop doing things that drain my energy for no good reason.”

That might look like saying yes to fewer things I already know I’ll resent, taking on fewer “little favours” that come with large emotional price tags, and stopping agreeing to projects that require a personality I simply do not have. It absolutely looks like treating rest as something I’m entitled to and need, not as a reward I have to earn by grinding myself into the floor first.

It’s less “What will you add?” and more “What will you gently but firmly remove?” Consider it an anti-resolution resolution — a boundary-setting exercise in disguise.

Stuart taught me (think Karate Kid but with less waxing) that rest isn’t a reward you get for being productive enough. It’s preparation for everything that’s coming. That’s true whether you’re training for a marathon, running a business, raising kids, or simply surviving late-stage capitalism with a frazzled brain.

So for 2026, I’m far more interested in building in rest on purpose, not only when I’m already in pieces. I’m more interested in choosing tiny habits that work with my rhythms, not against them. I’m much keener on letting go of goals that only exist because they sound good on LinkedIn, and treating my energy like the finite resource it is — not like some infinite well I can plunder because I’ve bought a fancy planner.

You don’t need a “new you”

Here’s where I’ve landed with New Year, resolutions and goal setting: You don’t need a “new you”. You need more support for the you that already exists.

The you who loses track of supplements but shows up for friends.
The you who forgets resolutions but remembers everyone’s emotional temperature at a party.
The you who can’t stick to habit trackers but can hyperfocus for 14 hours on something you care about.
The you who gets overwhelmed by change but has probably survived more of it than most people will ever understand.

That version of you doesn’t need to be replaced. She needs to be listened to, accommodated, and designed around. So if you’re staring down another January thinking, “I cannot face another round of ‘New Year, new me’ nonsense,” consider this your official permission slip to opt out.

You are allowed to have no resolutions at all.
You are allowed to pick one tiny, kind goal and let that be enough.
You are allowed to focus on what you’ll stop doing, not what you’ll cram in.
You are absolutely allowed to decide that your main achievement next year will be: “stayed vaguely functional and didn’t combust.”

You’re not behind. You’re not broken. You’re not failing because you can’t reinvent yourself every January. You are a neurodivergent human doing your best with a brain that was never invited to the planning meeting for “how life is supposed to work.” Designing your year around that reality isn’t failure. It’s self-respect.

And if anyone asks you what your New Year’s resolution is, you can smile and say:

“Supporting the current me a bit better, thanks. As I’m already doing enough.”

Hanging baubles in garish colours with dates emblazoned on the fronts. Multiple baubles across the screen

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…

Colourful yellow blocks on a blue background with a pink block to the right of them indicating odd one out

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.

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