PDA in Business: A User’s Guide to Autonomy
There is a very specific way to make me not want to do something.
Tell me I have to. That’s it. That’s the kryptonite!
It doesn’t matter whether it was already on my to-do list. It doesn’t matter if it was my idea. It doesn’t even matter if it’s something I genuinely want to do. The moment it starts feeling compulsory, some deeply stubborn part of my brain folds its arms, narrows its eyes and mutters “NOPE”.
I’ve had entire conversations with myself that go something like this:
“Right, today we’re finally going to finish that blog.”
“No, we’re not.”
“What do you mean, no?”
“We just aren’t.”
“But it was literally our idea.”
“Still no.”
At this point, I’m essentially arguing with myself like both parts of me are not, in fact, on the same team! If this sounds familiar, then welcome. Pull up a chair. This one’s for you.
Instead, I found myself in a bizarre stand-off with perfectly reasonable activities. The strange thing is that the task itself often wasn’t the problem. In fact, I was frequently interested in the task. I’d chosen it. Planned it. Sometimes I’d even been excited about it. Then I’d write it on a list. And suddenly it felt completely different.
The day my to-do list became my enemy
For years, I thought there was something wrong with me. Surely if I wanted to do something, I should just be able to do it? It seemed logical enough. If I needed to send an email, send the email. If I wanted to write a blog, write the blog. If there was a task on my to-do list, complete the task and move on with my life like a sensible adult. (although, I have always felt that ‘sensible’ was overrated. But I digress)
The blog that had seemed exciting now felt oppressive. The email that would take three minutes somehow became a major life event. The phone call I’d intended to make all week was a weighted chain around my neck. It’s a weird experience trying to explain to people, particularly when the person creating the pressure is also you.
I once spent three hours avoiding a task that would have taken ten minutes. During those three hours, I managed to reorganise my desktop, research something completely unrelated, make two cups of tea, and stare out of the window. The original task remained exactly where I’d left it. Waiting patiently…mocking me with its judgy face.
The problem with “should”
I’ve come to realise that one of the most dangerous words in my vocabulary is “should”. I should post more consistently. I should be further ahead. I should have finished this by now. I should really sort that out.
The funny thing is that “should” sounds incredibly responsible. Like the sort of word used by people who always know where their car keys are and have a bottle of water on them at all times.
But for me, “should” always comes with some creepy companions. Like guilt, pressure, unrealistic expectations and a small suitcase full of shame. Before I know it, a perfectly manageable task has transformed into a judgement on my entire character.
And then the resistance arrives. The more pressure I apply, the more resistance I create. The more resistance I create, the more guilty I feel. Which makes me apply more pressure. It’s an impressively terrible system.
Why self-employment felt like freedom
One of the reasons self-employment suited me so well was the autonomy. No manager. No clocking in. No annual appraisal where someone asks where I see myself in five years’ time. (Surviving. Ideally in stretchy trousers.)
For many neurodivergent people, self-employment can be genuinely life-changing. It gives us the freedom to work around our energy, our focus and our lives, rather than trying to squeeze ourselves into systems that were never really designed for us in the first place.
The autonomy is glorious. There is, however, one slight complication.
Whilst we’ve escaped other people telling us what to do, we’re now responsible for setting our own deadlines, creating our own structure and deciding what happens next. And if your brain is demand-sensitive, it turns out it doesn’t particularly care who created the demand.
The number of productivity systems I’ve lovingly created and then immediately rebelled against is frankly embarrassing. I’ve colour-coded calendars. Built project plans. Created beautifully organised task lists. Then looked at them the next day and thought, “Hell no.”
It’s a very strange experience setting your own rules and then immediately looking for loopholes.
Negotiating with yourself
At some point I realised that I spend a surprising amount of time negotiating with myself. Not motivating myself. Not inspiring myself. Negotiating.
“What if we just do ten minutes?”
“You don’t have to finish it.”
“Let’s just open the document.”
“Would a biscuit help?” (FYI – they ALWAYS help)
The thing is, choice changes everything. There is a huge difference between telling myself “You have to finish this today” and “It would be useful to make some progress on this today.” The task hasn’t changed. The outcome hasn’t changed. But the emotional response is completely different. One feels like being backed into a corner. The other feels like an invitation.
Over time, I’ve realised that my nervous system cares far less about the task than it does about how trapped it feels. The more choice I have, the easier things become. Which is deeply inconvenient for all the productivity gurus trying to convince me that discipline is the answer to everything.
Why motivation was never the answer
For years I bought into the lie that I needed more motivation. More discipline. More grit. What even is grit!?! The internet certainly seemed convinced that was the solution. If you couldn’t do the thing, you simply needed to try harder. Push harder. Want it more. Whatever the latest advice happened to be.
The trouble is that pressure can absolutely produce results. For a while. Many of us become experts in last-minute heroics. We pull things together at the final hour. We work ridiculous hours. We create miracles under pressure and then wonder why we’re exhausted afterwards.
For years I thought this meant I worked well under pressure. I don’t. I work well under urgency. There’s a difference. One feels energising. The other feels like being chased by an angry badger. Or rather, what I imagine that would feel like. I’ve not actually lived that badger experience, thank god.
Eventually, constantly relying on urgency becomes exhausting. It’s like powering your business with emergency generators. It works, but it’s noisy, stressful and not particularly sustainable.
Curiosity works better than self-bullying
One of the biggest shifts for me has been replacing judgement with curiosity. Instead of asking, “Why can’t I just do the thing?” I’ve started asking, “What is making this feel difficult?” The answers are often surprisingly useful. Sometimes the task is too big. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed. Sometimes I’m exhausted. Sometimes I’ve accidentally convinced myself that a perfectly ordinary piece of work will determine the entire course of my future.
Sometimes the resistance is trying to tell me that I’ve taken on too much. Sometimes it’s warning me that I’m running on empty. And sometimes it’s simply because I’ve turned a minor admin task into a dramatic theatrical production inside my own head.
The point is that resistance usually contains information. Not always accurate information, admittedly. But information nonetheless. And understanding what’s underneath the resistance is almost always more helpful than shouting at myself for having it.
Autonomy isn’t a luxury
I think this is the bit that often gets missed. For some people, autonomy is a nice bonus. For others, it’s regulation. It’s the difference between feeling trapped and feeling capable. The difference between pressure and choice. The difference between fighting your nervous system and working alongside it.
Which is why so many neurodivergent people thrive when they can build flexibility into their lives and businesses. Flexible schedules. Choice-based planning. Working with their energy instead of constantly battling against it. Designing systems that support them rather than punish them.
Not because they’re lazy. Not because they lack discipline. But because autonomy changes how the whole system responds. Once you understand that, a lot of things suddenly start making sense.
One more time for those at the back…
For a long time, I thought the answer was becoming stricter with myself. More disciplined. More productive. More organised. Because I was the one to blame… I was letting the side down.
What I’ve slowly realised is that my nervous system was never asking for more pressure. It was asking for more autonomy.
The goal isn’t becoming somebody who never experiences resistance. The goal is building a life where you’re not constantly having to fight yourself.
Because if your brain experiences pressure as threat, then pushing harder isn’t always the solution. Sometimes the solution is creating enough choice, flexibility and autonomy that moving forwards feels safe again.
That’s why self-employment works so well for so many neurodivergent people. Not because we’re incapable of working hard, but because we’re finally able to build environments that work with our brains instead of constantly fighting against them.
And that’s a much better use of your energy than spending your life arguing with your own to-do list.
Protecting Your Energy When the World Won’t Slow Down
Firstly, I just want to give a shout out to any readers who have mastered the art of understanding the unpredictable beast that is ND energy. A confusing little fecker that might give you a whiff of hope that there’s some petrol in the tank… and then you do the most mediocre of chores and feel like your brain has been turned into a smoothie.
If you haven’t mastered that, then… well, how the devil are you going to protect it if you don’t even know how it works? Just kidding. As you were. Keep reading.
So, let’s assume you’ve got at least some understanding of how your energy behaves, in all its unpredictable random sparkliness. The next step is protecting it. Because you’re living in a world that won’t slow down. Not even a teeny bit. Not even if you ask it really nicely.
And this is the bit no one wants to talk about. The world isn’t going to adjust itself around your capacity. Deadlines still exist, clients still want quick replies, and life in its many forms keeps moving at the same pace regardless of how you’re feeling. Which is why protecting your energy isn’t optional. It’s sanity maintenance.
And when you’re neurodivergent, then that’s double funzies, because your energy isn’t linear. It fluctuates. It spikes. It drops. It goes out for a pint of milk and comes back 3 days later. It’s that crazy unpredictable drunk uncle that you don’t want at your wedding.
So, this isn’t about escaping the world. It’s about learning how to stay in it without acquiring yourself a one way ticket to burnout town!
The world isn’t built for you. Accept it…and move on
Most systems are built on the assumption that energy is stable. That you wake up, work, produce, and repeat. Nice, neat, and predictable. Lovely for people whose brains behave like that. Big fan. Congratulations to them. Except that’s not how a lot of ND brains work.
Some days you can fly through work like you’ve unlocked a secret level of existence and suddenly you are unstoppable. Other days, opening your laptop feels like a hostage negotiation between your fingers and your brain. Same person. Same workload. Completely different capacity.
And yet… none of those changes how the world responds to you. You’re still expected to show up, deliver, reply, and keep things moving — even on the days where your brain has very much not signed off on that plan. No one pops up and says, “Ah, I see your brain has gone offline today, let’s circle back when it returns.”
The problem is that external demand stays consistent, while your capacity didn’t get the memo. So, when those two things collide, pressure builds. And when that pressure sits there long enough, it turns into stress, then exhaustion, and eventually burnout.
Which is why this whole “just push through” approach doesn’t really work for brains like ours. (It barely works for anyone, to be honest, but that’s a rant for another day.)
Urgency will eat your energy if you let it
One of the biggest drains on your energy isn’t actually the work itself — it’s urgency. Everything suddenly feels important. Everything feels like it needs doing now. Everything feels like it will fall apart if you don’t respond immediately.
But a lot of that urgency isn’t real. It’s artificial deadlines, other people’s poor planning, and those “quick favours” that somehow take half your day and leave you wondering why you opened your laptop in the first place.
If you’ve spent years being reliable, helpful, and responsive, you’re probably very good at jumping straight into action mode without even questioning it. It feels productive. It feels responsible. It also quietly sucks the life out of you.
The problem is that urgency pushes you into adrenaline. And adrenaline is great … in small, occasional bursts. As a lifestyle choice? Less ideal. You end up running on “just get through it” energy, which works, right up until it really, really doesn’t.
A small but surprisingly effective shift is asking yourself: “is this actually urgent?” Not “does it feel urgent” but is it genuinely time-critical. Because those two things are very different. Even if your brain insists they’re identical.
Energy boundaries are different from emotional ones
I’m the queen when it comes to chatting about boundaries. It’s like I discovered them, 51 years later in my life, and now they are my specialist subject. In fact, it pretty much is that! But most of those conversations are about emotional ones. Protecting your feelings, managing relationships, that sort of thing. Energy boundaries are slightly different. They’re about protecting your capacity.
Because you can technically have the time to do something, but not the energy. You might look at your calendar and think, “Well, I’ve got an hour free,” but your brain is already fried, your sensory load is maxed out, and you’ve made approximately 47,000 decisions already that day. That hour is not usable. It’s like a mirage hour.
This is where one of the most useful sentences you’ll ever learn comes in: “I don’t have capacity for that.” Not followed by your life story. Not turned into something apologetic, or a giant discussion. Just that.
It sounds simple, and it is. It’s also wildly uncomfortable if you’re used to over-explaining, over-justifying, and making sure everyone else is fine first. But it works. Quietly, efficiently, and without wringing out what little energy you had left.
Saying no without it being a 3-part drama
If you’re anything like me, saying no doesn’t just happen. It comes with a full internal production. You draft the explanation, rehearse the tone, anticipate their reaction, and try to make it sound reasonable, valid, and entirely non-offensive to anyone, ever.
The irony being that by the time you’ve finished explaining, you’ve used more energy than the original task would have taken. How’s that for efficiency…or lack of it!
The truth is most of that explanation is for us. It’s working hard to make the discomfort of setting a boundary feel safer. But “no” doesn’t require a backstory. It doesn’t require a breakdown of your week, your mental state, or your entire life context. As Stu taught me once, it’s an entire sentence. And the more you practise it, the less energy you leak trying to make your boundaries palatable for everyone involved. I promise you it starts to feel easier the more you try it on for size. In fact, it’s so incredibly freeing. Because it’s you having your own back.
Not everything is worth the cost anymore
One of the biggest shifts that comes with protecting our energy is realising that just because something is possible, it doesn’t mean it’s sustainable.
We ‘could’ say yes. We ‘could’ take it on. We ‘could’ push through.
But then we could also decide to deep clean our entire house at 11pm on a Tuesday night. Half of my teenage years were spent piling the entire contents of my bedroom floor onto my bed at about 10om, then crying and putting it all back onto the floor. The question is… should we?
Because every “yes” is stealing from a limited resource. And if you’re not consciously deciding where that energy goes, it gets spent by default. Usually on the loudest, most urgent, or most guilt-inducing thing in front of you.
Protecting your energy means getting honest about trade-offs. Letting go of “shoulds”, looking properly at commitments, and actively choosing long-term stability over the short-term approval that we can often crave. Sweet dopamine.
Sometimes that means making decisions that don’t look particularly impressive on paper but feel a lot safer in our body. Which, frankly, should be the only measure that really counts.
Recovery doesn’t protect itself
One of the sneakiest things about energy is how quickly we decide we’re “fine again”.
You have one good day. Maybe two if you’re feeling particularly wild. You wake up, your brain is cooperating, you answer a few emails without wanting to lie down afterwards, and suddenly you’re like, “Right. I’m back. Power Rangers…let’s go!.”
And off you go. Rebooking everything. Saying yes to things. Catching up on the 463 tasks you’ve been avoiding. Possibly reorganising a cupboard for emotional reasons. Fully convinced you’ve turned a corner.
Newsflash. You haven’t turned a corner. You’ve just found the exit of the car park.
Because early recovery energy is not a full tank. It’s not even half a tank. It’s more like your car has stopped making that alarming flashing noise and you’ve gone, “Great, let’s drive to Scotland.” You’re out of the danger zone. That’s it. But you’re not on the home straight yet.
And this is where we accidentally undo all the progress we’ve made. Not because we’re reckless (well, some of us can be!), but because it feels so good to have energy back that we immediately spend it. All of it. In one go. Like a toddler with birthday money.
Then we’re surprised when we crash again.
Protecting your energy at this stage means doing something deeply unnatural: not filling the space. It means leaving gaps. Building buffers. Resisting the urge to “catch up” on everything all at once. Saying no to your old pace, even when your brain is loudly insisting that this time will be different. (It won’t. Your brain is a liar when it’s excited.)
Recovery isn’t just about getting your energy back. It’s about not immediately burning through it the moment it returns.
When boundaries feel like a scratchy jumper (and they will)
Protecting your energy isn’t just practical — it’s deeply inconvenient on an emotional level. Because when you start doing it properly, things come up. Guilt. Fear. That slightly sick feeling that you’ve just disappointed someone. And sometimes actual pushback from people who were very happy with the old version of you. The one that was constantly nodding like their head wasn’t attached properly. Saying yes, staying available, and overextending herself. Funny that.
That doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’ve stopped being as convenient. And yes, it does feel uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. Like you’ve put on a jumper that technically fits but is somehow both itchy and judging you.
You’ll be tempted to soften it, to explain more, to just do the thing this once because it’s easier than holding the boundary. But every time you do that, you teach people (and yourself) that your limits are optional. The real work here isn’t setting the boundary. It’s holding it when it would be much easier not to. This is a huge part of my life story, so believe me when I say I get it. But I’m also now boundaries number one fan!
You don’t have to live at the pace of everything around you
The world might not slow down. That’s true. Deeply annoying, but true. But that doesn’t mean you have to speed up to match it, because that’s how you ended up here in the first place. Remember?
Protecting your energy long-term often means your life looks a bit different. Less stuff, more intention. Not churning your output like a sausage factory. Which, depending on your previous operating style, can feel suspiciously like you’re “not doing enough”. But you are. You’re just not doing everything, thank god.
And yes, sometimes it can feel like you’re not keeping up with everyone else. Like you’re dawdling while the rest of the world is power-walking past you in Lycra, with a podcast on 3x speed. But I can promise you this: they’re exhausted too. They’re just better at pretending they’re not.
What you gain instead is something far more useful: stability, sustainability, and the ability to keep going without repeatedly crashing and having to rebuild yourself from scratch every few months. This isn’t about doing less for the sake of it. It’s about doing what actually works for your brain, your body, and your life in the long term.
Because if it only works when your brain’s on fire and your nervous system is halfway out the window, it doesn’t actually work.
After Burnout: What Real Recovery Looks like for NDs
ROLL UP, ROLL UP. THE WILDEST SHOW IN TOWN HAS ARRIVED! YOU’VE GOT A VIP, FRONT ROW SEAT TO SEE CRASH & THE BURNOUT BLUES BAND, featuring songs from their greatest hits album, like “Marshmallow Brain” and who could forget “ANGRY FOR NO DISCERNABLE REASON!” plus that all-time classic “Zero spoons & fucks to give.”
I know, I paint a very rosy picture of the old ND “Burnout”, funtimes, shitz ‘n’ gigz… but until you understand exactly how your energy arrives and how you need to manage it, you will repeat the same pattern of burnout, over and over and over…
Ask me how I know? Yes! ::ding ding ding:: correct answer, I know, because I’ve been there several times, full send to destination fucked (said in “Matt Rose Aussie Guy Voice”).
I’ve been through the fully immersive “Life Hurricane” simulator on several occasions, from humble dust devil, to full on Cat5 Katrina and every time I reflect on how we got here and clearly see all the warning signs. From the first roof tile rattling all the way to “Oh no, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore…” in what seems like a blink of an eye.
But the real kicker is yet to land, when you inevitably crash-n-burn harder than a cut-price electric car using auto-steer, and you are absolutely wiped emotionally, physically, spiritually. You surface, as addicts might identify, with “a moment of clarity” (I know I did), as you realise that it all has to change, everything, what came before was unsustainable. The way you found that out was to Live-Action Role Play* using a strategy that required an ill-advised amount of energy burnt in an unreasonably short time-frame. (*hat tips to the LARPers!)
It’s called BURNout for a reason… You have literally burnt through your entire stock of “coping” and now have to rethink the overall game play, whilst attempting to continue living, earning and remaining sane.
And, as you lie there in that fragile state, where breakfast is a life goal, and “dressed before noon” is about as likely as winning a national lottery every day for a year, you realise a horrible truth.
The burnout is not done with you yet, oh no buster… it’s taken you everything you have, maybe even more than you had, to get here. The real challenge begins once you hit the eye of the storm. This calm center allows you to reflect from a vantage point, and assess the size of the storm, and you realise, whatever the magnitude there’s only one route to recovery… The way back is through the other side…
Staring at a blurred wall of thought and vortex of emotions, you’re not wrong to flinch away. Whatever your route to burnout there’s going to be a fair amount of shame and inward blame stacked up ready for you to process and no-one claps their hands together and exclaims “Goody gum-drops, lets play the blame and shame game!“. Here definitely be dragons, and in fact probably these dragons are mere dragonlets of the massive monstrous demon dragons locked behind the door marked “Childhood”. Those deep, ominous rumbling sounds are the bass-notes echoing through your head. Pulsing as your heart beats, an energy hungry beast that gives your enemies a 2X damage for every one hit and wakes you at 2am. Sweating.
It’s natural to want to shrink away. Your bed is safety, the duvet will protect you from the hooded claw, and, who knows, even keep some vampires from your door. But, that’s a lot to ask of bed linen, even if it is from M&S. Lying, passively and waiting for the pressure to release is not progress, that’s stagnation, rotting away in the depressed, comatose lethargy that burnout brings.
It is such a warm and tempting place to remain, forever at the eye of it all, life moving around you, whatever little routine or safety net you draw around you is “enough”. It is… for now. But do not get stuck there, that way victimhood lies, and that is living hell. A learned helplessness, of being coddled and cossetted. It’s tempting.
But you need to know, and fully accept that no one’s coming to help you.
That was my huge revelation from my first round of therapy, after my first major burnout, when my Dr’s were calling my absolute lethargy “depression”, and my all-gas, no brakes bouts of “mania”, were “Nothing to worry about. Drink less caffeine and get more sleep.” (what a Dr. actually said to me).
Oh, and there’s also the insomnia, yeah, “get more sleep“… good one.
At some point you have to make the effort, it’s you and only you. Not your partner, not your family, kids or friends. YOU.
You have to get yourself “well”, what that looks like is unknowable at this point, just accepting that this is on you is enough. When you have hit rock-bottom and the only way is up** an uphill struggle, right when you are at a point when you have no capacity for creating a rational strategy to make your way back is going to look like the least “do-able” decision.
This is why you have a plan before you go in, creating a disaster recovery plan in the middle of a disaster will give you a grab bag of dumb decisions and half-assed ideas. All the while depleting what little energy you already have. Again, hello, been there, done that. 1 star, do not recommend.
The acceptance of that truth will unlock everything else, being kind to yourself throughout will speed up the recovery. Word of warning, there’s “being kind” i.e. nope-ing the family reunion, or skipping the friend’s brunch and then there’s “slacking off on the road to recovery” with behaviours such as “one more hour of doomscrolling AuDHD memes before bed” and “Like my pants, this shirt will do another three days before it needs washing“.
I find that a strict routine prevents slippage of progress. My plan when I fought back the first time was to regain all I had lost, the focus, the 18 hour days for 12 weeks straight. I was a machine, I just forgot to get an oil change, now I am back I am BACK! No, do not do that – it leads to some very fun prescription narcotics that “mellow you the fuck out” as my mate once said. When you recover, do not build the same bonfire just to burn it all down again…
** Never got why that song got the airtime it did, if the only way is indeed “up”, then you must be at rock-bottom, right? Why then are they so cheerfully singing about it?
My guidance would be; bed by 10pm, up by 6am, or 7am on weekends. Bed has to be made, bed clothes folded. 1pt of water, with pink rock salt (for the sodium and trace iron) and lemon juice (helps regulate bowel!), coffee and breakfast. Then get dressed.
That’s my morning and as long as I am in my office by 10am the morning is won! I am often in by 9am, but even though I am more regulated now than I have ever been, I do not chastise a slow morning, these are the perks of the self-employed life. As long as I am not letting anyone down, I can get in at 10 if I want. A “luxury” I afford myself, which is more a need at times.
I won’t detail my entire routine, but that’s my morning and it is part of keeping my life consistent and regulated. Consistency for me is more; accelerate, then coast, accelerate then coast. I cannot just be foot flat to the floor, that way insanity lies. Plus my routine may not work for you; you find the routine that helps, but I know that too many mornings without this simple strategy and things are going to get blustery and likely be headed towards tornado season.
My crawl back to sanity and return to a new-normal was not easy, and had all sorts of consequences. Lost relationships, changing social connections, finding love. But when I returned to a more regulated life, I was different, slightly less angry, slightly more wary of people. A decade of daily othering, and bullying will do that.
The way back is to re-evaluate what your energy budget will get spent on and accept it
You have to realise you have finite “spoons” and so have to ration how they get used. Arguing over a parking ticket? Yeah, I have done that, was it worth it? Yeah, in the moment, but actually that’s 4 or 5 high energy interactions where you spend your precious energy for little to no positive return to your life. Learning to “let it go” can be hard with an innate sense of right and wrong. Some things are simply “not worth it”, as a spend from the finite energy budget. Here’s a list of things that never made the cut after various burnouts…
- Work – I gave up having a job, seemed the same shit whatever building I went to.
- Energy hoovers – people or situations that zap your mood and cost time & energy.
- Worrying what other people think/say about me – I’m odd, deal with it.
- Meeting other’s expectations – you do you, I’ll continue being my sweet awesome self.
- Quid-pro-quo relationships – yeah, that’s not how the universe works, karma is paid forward and I am not one to argue with the universe.
- No longer policing the world – adding to the karmic flow is the notion that some problems are going to be solved by the universe and I do not have to keep score. See someone weaving in and out of traffic? That’s a situation where the universe will come a-calling sooner or later… Someone being an a-hole? Knock. Knock. Muthafuqur… UNIVERSE CALLING.
- Red rope – the red-rope around my time is sacrosanct, I choose where I spend it, you do not get to jump the queue by waiving money at me. Take a ticket, sit down, be patient. I will get to you in due course.
- Firebreaks – whether I am due a break, or not, I will take days off after an intense project or working for a deadline. Allows my brain the time to transition from the project to new stuff and gives me energy recharge and prep time. I try to take Fridays off, definitely in the afternoon, and if I put in a firebreak then it’ll usually be a Monday and Tuesday, giving a longer weekend, and less impact to any ongoing projects.
If I do not respect these life rules I will burn out.
I know.
I have tried not doing these things.
I have burnouts 2, 3 and 4 to remind me of this. So, by a process of elimination I have curated my life to be as respectful of my time and energy as I can be, and ensure others respect these precious things too. No project, or person is worth my life on hold for months whilst I try and extinguish the flaming rubble my life becomes if I let others trample all over my own rules.
There’s no easy way back, and when you do emerge from the maelstrom and the destruction is apparent and everywhere and it can seem hopeless even trying to pick up and start again. But here’s the thing you have to cling to, you get to build it back the way you want. Fresh start, blank canvas, share your insights with those you love and who wish only good outcomes for you. Tell them what you have to do, or stop doing, if they truly love you , they will not only get it, they will advocate for you too.
Do not be shy about stating what you can and can no longer be expected to do. If you keep the household clean, fed and safe and it feels like a one-person crusade then delegate some of it or accept it will not get done anymore. This is not about alienating your loved ones, and those you live with, but more sharing with them the additional burden of the cognitive load and the overall weight of carrying it for the family. Teenagers and adult children living at home are quite capable of doing a load of washing. If they can work out playing a game on an X Box, they can figure out the right washing machine program.
Harder to do this at work, but if you are valued then you should have a conversation which shares the dangers of you shouldering certain loads. An explanation of burnout and paid time off might help them see the economic sense in making the accommodations?
Or think about job sharing, or adjusting your hours, which you should be legally allowed to do, we are in the UK, check local labour laws where you are before flicking the bird to your boss and saying “two days a week or imma be suing your azz”. Maybe not do that wherever you are employed.
After burnout your life is going to change, your capacity to do and cope may change, your tolerance to certain stimuli or situations may be different, and thousands of other minute but highly personal things may alter, but you have to give yourself permission to accept that these are things you have to let go. BE KIND TO YOURSELF. It’s handy to think “would I talk to my best friend/partner/kids like that?” and chances are you’re in an abusive relationship with your internal monologue.
BE KIND TO YOURSELF!
We’ve argued from Ep 01 that self employment is the perfect role for you if you have variable energy, focus and struggle with all the things that neurodivergent folk deal with on the daily. You get to show up as/when you can, and with the flexibility of letting you do what you can at a time that suits you. It’s not for everyone, but if you have a skill that you can monetise, then self-employment may just be the way out that you need.
A final bit of maths before I sign off.
If you work for the national minimum wage, for over 21s that’s £12.21 (time of writing 22 Feb 2026). A 38 hour week gives you £463.98.
Lets say you work in an office doing basic PA stuff, if you were self employed PA you’d charge a commercial rate of circa £30 an hour, and you only have to work 15.5 hrs to exceed your earnings at the full-time job. Work a 30 hour week and you earn £900, less tax and savings etc. and you will take home more than the PAYE position. With the right clients and projects you’d work 8 hours fewer a week and earn more, delivering at your own pace and timescale. It’s not for everyone, but for the right people, probably burnt out from attempting to scale the corporate ladder, then it could literally save your health and wellbeing.
It worked for me and whilst I still managed to burnout a few more times since the first, and biggest time, at least I didn’t have to explain to my boss why Fridays were “not doable” for the foreseeable future. Or playing the shame game, as you lie there on the sofa, feeling like you are letting everyone down, but unable to move.
With the right approach, right proposition to your local business community and a few local networking meetings you can earn a decent enough income without living a shadow life. Burnt out beyond recognition and probably self-medicating in the evening and twice at weekends. A story for another day I feel…
Be kind to YOURSELF and others.
Delegation for Control Freaks (and the Overwhelmed)
There’s a very specific kind of ‘tired’ that shows up for me, long before burnout does. It’s not dramatic. I’m still functioning. Still replying. Still getting things done. But everything feels… loud. Overwhelming, where nothing is technically wrong, but my brain feels like it’s got too many tabs open. And if one more thing demands my attention, I might just climb into my wardrobe, nestle myself between some comfy jumpers, and wait until the search party find me. Or better still, don’t. (It’s ok, I’ll take snacks!)
When I reluctantly venture back out into civilisation, no doubt for a wee break, it won’t be long before someone has given me the delegation lecture. I say ‘lecture’ because this is not my first delegation rodeo. Oh no. Many people have gone before this latest one, promising me a world where I don’t have to do everything.
“Just hand a few things over”, they say…. in the same overly zealous way that people say, “Have you tried yoga?”, which immediately makes me want to lie down on the floor and stare at the ceiling!
They think they are being helpful, but all I can hear is my RSD singing “they think you are rubbish” to a creepy nursery rhyme tune. Don’t get me wrong, delegation sounds sensible in theory.
I mean, who wouldn’t want a bit of help once in a while? You’d think. In theory.
But in practice
In practice, the idea that I can easily hand over a thing to an ‘eager to help’ person without giving them the sense that they might end up having to prise it from my dead hands is unrealistic at best.
Because the ‘after haunting’ that accompanies someone else doing ‘a thing’ (one of my things) on my behalf can be brutal. My brain doesn’t hand over said thing, go get a cuppa and never think about it again. Oh no. It obsesses over the multiple ways that person might well, in fact, most probably will mess it up irreparably.
It might be fair to assume, at this stage, that I’m talking about what gen pop would refer to as important stuff. E.g. keeping my children alive. But no. EVERYTHING in my world is filed under ‘important’, when it comes to how it needs to be done.
Stacking the dishwasher, making the bed, editing a piece of my work……all need to follow the Hannah method ™. I have lived proof that even the smartest of husbands can mess up a spaghetti bolognese if not guided on how big to cut the onions and when to put the tomatoes in. He put ketchup in it, ffs. I know, right!
Don’t get me wrong, I am smart enough to understand the concept of the rest that could be had if someone else lightened the load. But, for me, the overthinking surrounding that process makes it more labour-intensive than just doing it myself. At this point, I want to remind anyone reading this that you have permission to throat punch anyone who says “just don’t think about it” to you. Maybe not an elderly relative, though. Even I have limits!
(Disclaimer – Oddcast, specifically Hannah, takes no responsibility for anyone who gets inspired to throat punch a relative!)
The redoing-it-quietly bit
So, let’s assume that someone got you into a semi-nelson, and you’ve agreed to let them do something for you. Although it kinda feels, at this point, like it’s more for them, really….But I digress.
Anyway, you’ve said thank you and made a promise to yourself to hand it over mentally. And you’re busying yourself not overthinking what they’ve done wrong, and what you’ll have to do to put it right. And before you know it, a ‘sneak peek’ at how they have stacked the dishwasher becomes a full ninja-style restack. All the time hoping they won’t notice.
Control isn’t a personality trait
So, I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t been labelled ‘controlling’ over the years. My stepbrothers used to call me ‘Queenie’ when they came to stay, as I liked to boss them around from a young age. But control can get labelled as a quirk or a flaw, when for many of us it’s more of a safety mechanism we built very early in our lives.
Doing it ourselves reduced the number of variables. It meant fewer explanations, fewer misunderstandings, fewer moments where we had to decide whether to speak up and risk judgment or swallow the discomfort. And that becomes hardwired in us. So, for me, control isn’t about ego. It’s not that I think I am the only one who knows the best way to do things. It’s about getting through the day without feeling exposed or overwhelmed.
So, when someone suggests delegation, they are actually asking us to loosen a system that’s been keeping things stable for a long time. Even if that system is exhausting, and not always in our best interests.
Perfectionism as volume control
But we can’t have control without her perfectly manicured sister ‘perfectionism’ rocking up. And perfectionism often gets a tough rap. The villain of the hour, with her precise requirements and “redo it” attitude. But it looks different from where she resides in my brain. She’s not trying to chase excellence. She’s trying to manage consequences.
Because there is so much reassurance to be had in knowing that it’s been done in the way you need it to be done. If something is slightly off, a cascade of decisions can follow. But when I do it myself, follow my own standard/routines, then I avoid worrying about whether I’ll end up having to say something. And will I sound ungrateful if I do? If I can’t cope, and I have to ‘fix’ it, then will that create a thing?
You getting the gist now? Can you see how much easier it feels to do it myself?
The cost of holding everything
But I’m smart enough to know that ‘doing it all myself’ is not a long-term strategy that ends well. Not for myself, or for the chap that messed up my spaghetti!
Because it’s a way of operating that only works whilst my capacity holds. And capacity is a finite resource, even if you’ve got the skills to stretch it to the max! (I wouldn’t recommend that, btw – hello burnout!)
And most of the time, the real weight that we feel is not the tasks themselves, but the cognitive load of remembering and prioritising everything. And the constant low-level vigilance of holding it all together. The remembering. The monitoring. The mental list that never quite switches off.
At that point, burnout can usually be seen standing in the corner looking over at you, like the creepy dude at the school disco!
Delegation isn’t abdication
Delegation is supposed to help, and if I am pretending not to be me for a moment, then I know that it really does. BUT there is still that initial awkward stage where it feels worse before it feels better. It’s like that party you went to as a kid, where you had a Barbie that you really wanted yourself, wrapped up in the prettiest paper for your friend. As you handed it over, there was that weird moment when you weren’t really ready to let it go, and so a slight tug of war ensued before you came to your senses and released your grip. That’s me in the rare moments that I delegate.
Then there is that “ I should be able to do it myself ‘self-doubt’ moment. Because, let’s face it, we’re not strangers to being made to feel like we should be able to do something. And sometimes this stage can make us want to go directly to “I tried this delegation stuff. It was rubbish. The end”. But please, dear reader, do not do this. Spoiler, it gets better!
Remember that delegation isn’t an all-or-nothing thing, and it isn’t dumping either. Handing something over doesn’t mean we’re incapable or we’ve stopped caring. Or worse still, that we’re relinquishing all control. It just means that we don’t have to march round the house like a martyr ranting, “don’t worry, I’ll do it” to ourselves. Or is that just me?
We get to decide which bits really need to be exactly the way we need them to be, and which bits don’t. That distinction can feel uncomfortable, especially when caring deeply has been part of how we have stayed safe and capable in the world. But knowing we have that choice is integral to letting things go.
Why this shows up so strongly in self-employment
By the time delegation becomes a work problem, it’s almost certainly already a fully immersed life pattern that we’ve been defending for years. Household decisions, emotional labour, remembering birthdays, managing logistics. If we’re used to being the quiet backbone of everything, then self-employment just amplifies that.
Suddenly, we’re not only the ones who notice things; we’re also the system. Don’t get me wrong, I still truly believe that self-employment is our get-out-of-jail card. Because it is genuinely freeing for neurodivergent people. Or indeed any neurotype, to be fair. But the friction comes when we try to hold every role indefinitely, because that’s what we’ve always done. And that is where we discover that delegation is not the enemy.
Sure, if we’re smart, then we have built ourselves a support network of other like-minded business owners around us. To compare notes with and bounce ideas. Having this network is integral to doing business without spending a lot of time crying into your tea. But we still need to accept that we can’t do everything. Regardless of how our brain is often telling us we need to.
A quieter measure of success
Delegation in business isn’t about growth hacks or scaling. It’s about sustainability. About not being the only thing keeping the wheels on. As I said before, letting go doesn’t have to mean letting everything go. Sometimes it just means noticing when the effort of holding on has become louder than the discomfort of sharing the load.
Success isn’t measured by ‘doing less’. It’s having enough left to keep going without constantly managing our own nervous systems in the background. That’s not giving up control. It’s about choosing a version that actually lasts.
Being Self-Employed Without Wearing the Mask at Home
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.
To Unveil or Not to Unveil: That Is the Question
Should I tell clients I’m neurodivergent — or keep it under wraps? What if they don’t get it? What if they think I’m difficult, unreliable, or… too much?
Note to self: that ship well and truly sailed when I started wearing my leopard print army necklace!
It’s a question that I imagine most neurodivergent business owners wrestle with at some point: Do I show up as the real me — or play it safe and hope no one notices the sparkle leaking out? The answer, of course, is messy. Because in a world that still misunderstands us, unveiling can feel like standing on stage without a script — hoping the audience claps instead of walks out.
The armour we build
For many of us, masking isn’t about deceit — it’s about survival. And often, it’s not even conscious for those of us who’ve been doing it for as long as we can remember. We learn early on that being “different” can attract attention that we don’t want, so we build armour. Polished responses. Measured emotions. Perfectly timed smiles.
In business, that armour can look like people-pleasing, over-preparing, or saying yes when every cell in your body is screaming nope. It’s professionalism, we’re told. It’s adaptability. But often, it’s fear. And the longer you wear it, the heavier it gets. Masking isn’t pretending to be someone else — it’s protecting yourself from a world that doesn’t always make space for who you are. But it comes at a cost.
The Fear of Being Seen
Let’s be honest — unveiling feels risky. You start worrying: Will clients think I’m unreliable if I need a bit of wiggle room on deadlines? Will people assume I’m hard work because I process things differently? Will the ND label make them look for faults that aren’t there?
The fear isn’t irrational; it’s rooted in experience. Because we’ve all seen what happens when people throw stereotypes like darts: “Rain Man.” “High-functioning.” “Superpower.” Each one oversimplifies something beautifully complex.
It’s hard to “be yourself” when the world has already decided what it thinks that self means. And don’t even get me started on the word “admit.” I didn’t admit to being neurodivergent like I’d just confessed to putting kittens in the washing machine. I’m not revealing a dark secret or a moral failing — I’m just describing how my brain works. It’s not a crime; it’s just my wiring diagram — and frankly, it’s a pretty interesting one.
The Toll of Staying Hidden
I spent years perfecting the art of “passing.” Holding it together in meetings. Smiling through the sensory chaos. Matching the tone of the room, even when I wanted to scream.
And then I’d come home and collapse — physically and emotionally drained — because the performance had munched up all my energy. That’s the real cost of veiling: not rejection, but depletion. You become so good at being fine that you forget what feeling good actually feels like.
As someone with AuDHD, I’ve always had that strange internal contradiction — loving the rules but hating the confinement. Wanting structure but resenting how rigid it feels. That’s the paradox of masking — it keeps you safe, but it quietly steals your authenticity while it’s at it.
Imagining a Neurodiverse Economy
Here’s a thought experiment: what if we stopped trying to make zebras look like horses? Imagine a business world designed with neurodiversity in mind — flexible, creative, inclusive by default. Deadlines adjusted for energy levels, communication built on clarity instead of assumptions, quiet workspaces normalised rather than negotiated. It’s not a fantasy. It’s an economy that values different ways of thinking — one that’s sustainable, innovative, and actually human.
For many of us, that’s exactly why self-employment feels like home. It gives us the freedom to structure work around our energy, not the clock; to build systems that actually fit the way our brains work. And one of the most beautiful things about being self-employed is the freedom to build your own ecosystem — and fill it with people who get it. The right clients won’t flinch when you drop the mask; they’ll exhale too. They’ll see your focus, creativity, and honesty not as quirks to manage, but as assets to celebrate. And the ones who don’t? They were never your people anyway. Because when you start showing up as your unmasked self, you stop attracting the wrong ones and start magnetising the right ones. That honesty becomes the filter that protects your energy and your peace.
But wouldn’t it be incredible if that same flexibility existed everywhere — if employed roles, big organisations, and traditional workplaces embraced difference in the same way? The good news is, things are shifting. Slowly but surely, more employers are starting to understand that inclusion isn’t just a buzzword — it’s good business. Simple accommodations can make a world of difference. And when neurodivergent people don’t have to waste their energy pretending to be “normal,” they can spend it doing what they do best: innovating, creating, and seeing what others miss.
The Choice to Unveil
Unveiling isn’t a one-size-fits-all act of bravery. It’s personal. Contextual. Sometimes it’s safe; sometimes it isn’t. And that’s okay. Some industries will naturally be more forgiving, understanding, or even welcoming of neurodivergence than others. In some spaces, unveiling might feel empowering and freeing. In others, it might not feel safe — or relevant — and that’s completely valid.
You might decide that your diagnosis is a key part of your story and how you work best. Or you might feel that it’s totally irrelevant to your day-to-day — that it doesn’t define you, and that it doesn’t need to be shared. Both are absolutely fine. There’s no moral hierarchy to how “out” you are. Only what feels right for you. Maybe you start with a trusted client, or a simple boundary like: “I work best with clear instructions and time to process feedback.” That’s unmasking too — in small, sustainable steps.
I picture “unveiling” like that scene in The Mask, when Jim Carrey peels off the cartoon-green grin and stands there blinking like, Oh… so that’s what my actual face feels like. That’s what dropping the ND mask can be like — equal parts terrifying and liberating. The world looks the same, but suddenly you can breathe. And once you’ve felt that? It’s really hard to go back to pretending you’re fine behind the rubber.
For me, though, there’s no going back. Since co-hosting The Business Oddcast, I’ve basically sprinted out of the ND closet wearing my best leopard-print dress — and honestly, it feels glorious. No hiding, no hedging, no tiptoeing. Just showing up fully, sparkly, unapologetically me. Because here’s the quiet truth: every time we choose to be a bit more open, we make it safer for the next person to do the same.
The Final Question
To unveil or not to unveil? Maybe it’s not a question of if — but when. Because unveiling isn’t about confession, it’s about alignment. It’s about building a life, a business, and a community where you don’t need to constantly edit yourself.
And when that happens — when you finally stop performing and start existing — that’s when real work, real creativity, and real connection begin. So, whether you whisper it or shout it from the rooftops: your neurodiversity isn’t something to hide. It’s the reason your work has colour, depth, and spark.
And the right people? They’ll love you all the more for unveiling it.
Are You Too Much – Or Are They Not Enough?
Apparently, I can be too much. Too emotional. Too open. Too talkative. Too honest. Too… everything. But maybe that’s not really the problem. Maybe I just feel things deeply in a world that prefers emotional beige.
We’ve all heard it, haven’t we? “You’re too sensitive.” “You take things to heart.” “You talk about stuff that makes people uncomfortable.” Translation: you’re being real, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
So, here’s my reframe: maybe I’m not too much. Maybe they’re just not enough!
A Lifetime of being ‘a bit much’
If I had a fiver for every time I was asked “why are you getting so upset” or told to “stop overthinking it,” I could probably buy a small emotional-support island by now.
It’s not that I’m loud — it’s that my feelings tend to show up before my filter does. I’ll overshare in the queue at the supermarket, cry at adverts about rescue dogs, and then spend three hours replaying a conversation in my head because I’m convinced I made someone uncomfortable. People love authenticity — until it’s messy, vulnerable, or a bit too real. Then suddenly it’s “you’re too intense” or “you need to calm down.” But do I? Do any of us? The truth is, it’s exhausting to keep sanding down your edges just so other people don’t cut themselves on your honesty.
Flipping the script
Here’s a thought: maybe it’s not that I feel too deeply, maybe others just… don’t feel enough. We live in a culture that worships logic and labels emotion as weakness. If you stay detached, you’re “professional.” If you care too much, you’re “unstable.”
But what if empathy, passion, and openness aren’t flaws? What if they’re the very things that make us better leaders, partners, creators — humans? People say they want “authenticity” in business and relationships — but what they usually mean is: “Be real, but not that real.”
The emotional cost – shrinking hurts
Trying to bottle your emotions for the comfort of others is like shaking a can of Coke and pretending it’s not going to explode.
I’ve done it. I’ve gone into social situations thinking, “Right, just be chill. Don’t get too enthusiastic. Don’t overshare. Don’t cry at your own stories this time” (yeah, that’s been a thing!). And every single time, it feels like walking on emotional eggshells — and I still end up saying something like, “Does anyone else overthink their own emails?” (Spoiler: silence.)
The thing is, masking doesn’t make me less ‘much’ — it just makes me exhausted. And it disconnects me from the very part of myself that actually connects with people: my heart.
Dressing the part (Or “what would Pat Butcher do”)
As a teenager, I went through a lot of “phases.” Hippy chick. Goth. Rocker. Confused. You name it — I probably had the wardrobe for it. And while it might have looked like I was exploring my identity, the truth is, it was less self-discovery and more self-defence. Each phase was an attempt to fit into whatever group I thought would make me less noticeable — a very confused chameleon trying to match my surroundings so perfectly that nobody would see how out of place I actually felt.
Fast forward a few decades, and that instinct to blend in hadn’t really gone away — it just got better dressed. I wore what everyone else was wearing, even if it didn’t make my heart sing. But somewhere deep down, the real me was dreaming of leopard print, bold colours, and earrings that could double as small wind chimes.
The day I finally started dressing for myself, and not for the comfort of others, something shifted. It wasn’t just about clothes; it was about permission. Permission to stop apologising for existing in full technicolour. Now, do I occasionally look like Pat Butcher on her way to brunch? Absolutely. (If you know, you know.) But I also feel authentic, comfortable, me.
And that doesn’t mean every day is a glitter explosion. Some days I camouflage in my jeans and sweatshirt because I need quiet. Or I have been known to shuffle around my house all day in my PJs — just because. But the difference now is that I’m choosing it. And every time I reach for something bold, I’m reminding myself that being “too much” isn’t the problem. It’s the pretending that hurts.
Why we feel so much (The science bit — don’t panic)
Here’s the thing: when you’re neurodivergent, feeling things deeply isn’t a character flaw — it’s literally how your brain is wired. For many of us — autistic, ADHD, PDA, AuDHD — our nervous systems are like Formula One engines running on supermarket fuel. We process emotions, sounds, sensations, and social cues all at once, often without any filter to soften the blow.
That means joy can feel euphoric, but embarrassment can feel like an actual physical injury. Rejection sensitivity (RSD) means even a neutral “we’ll circle back” in an email can feel like a breakup. Emotional dysregulation makes tiny frustrations hit like a tidal wave. And because our brains don’t have the same “autopilot” that neurotypical ones do for emotional regulation, we can swing from overthinking a comment to writing a business plan at 2am out of sheer adrenaline.
It’s not overreacting — it’s accurately reacting with a nervous system that forgot to install a dimmer switch.
The gift (and risk) of feeling deeply
For all its challenges, one of the most wonderful things about feeling so deeply is the connection it brings. Because I feel things fully, I notice when others are struggling — it’s like my emotional radar is permanently tuned to “who needs a bit of kindness?”
Over the years, that’s meant people tend to gravitate towards me when they need to talk.
Friends, colleagues, even near-strangers somehow know that I’m a safe place to land. They sense the lack of judgement — the “you can tell me anything” energy that comes from having lived on the sharp end of sensitivity myself. I’ve realised that this is one of the quiet superpowers (a rare occasion where I think that word fits!) of being “too much.” We make space for others to be real, messy, honest — because we know what it feels like to hide.
And if that means I’m the go-to person when someone needs advice, reassurance, or just a bit of compassion… I’ll take that any day.
But of course, there’s another side to all that openness. A while ago, I had a friend I’d only see occasionally — but when we did, our conversations went deep. Not small talk, not “how’s work,” but proper soul-level stuff. The kind of connection where you skip the surface entirely and head straight for the meaning of life. She knew me well, and I knew her. So, when she suddenly stopped replying — no message, no explanation — I was completely thrown. We weren’t in daily contact, but the silence still hit hard. For months, I tormented myself trying to work out what I’d done wrong. Each conversation replayed in my head on a loop, each one another stick to beat myself with. Regretted messages asking, almost begging, to know what I had done and how I could change. Still silence. The checking of messages became an obsession that was pulling me under.
And then, about six months later, I finally got the answer. She told me she’d been going through her own struggles — and that I was, in her words, “emotionally too much.” That hurt but hearing it and having an answer gave me a sense of peace. Because I realised that the ache wasn’t about losing her; it was about the not knowing. And suddenly, I knew. I stopped feeling ashamed for being “too much,” because I understood that it wasn’t about me being wrong — it was about her capacity. I’m exactly where I want and need to be on the muchness scale. It took a while, but I made peace with it. She’s not my person — and that’s okay.
Because when you live life in full emotional colour, not everyone can handle the brightness.
And that doesn’t mean you need to dim your light. It just means you need to shine where you’re appreciated.
Reframing ‘too much’ as strength (without the superhero cape)
Here’s the truth: the people who change things — in art, activism, business — are almost always the ones who got told they were “too much.”
Think about Greta Thunberg, who, for the record, is one of my absolute favourite humans! Documented as an awesome beacon of neurodiversity, she’s been criticised for caring too much — as though there’s an acceptable, socially approved amount of caring when trying to save the planet. Her emotions, her conviction, her intensity — they make people uncomfortable. And yet, they’ve moved mountains.
Or look at Lady Gaga — “too dramatic.” Richard Branson — “too impulsive.” Every one of them turned “too much” into just enough to make history — and a fair bit of money to boot. I’m not saying I’m a global changemaker (unless crying over my to-do list counts as activism). But it’s worth remembering that feeling deeply isn’t a flaw — it’s power. It’s empathy, creativity, connection, courage. The very things that build communities, fuel businesses, and start revolutions. So no, I’m not going to apologise for caring, crying, or sharing too much.
I’m retiring the superhero cape, but I’ll keep the intensity — it’s where all the good stuff lives.
So, This Is my unsolicited advice to you
When you catch yourself shrinking, ask: “who am I doing this for?” Notice the moments you call yourself “too emotional” — would you say the same thing to a friend? Find the people who don’t flinch when you’re honest — they’re your real audience.
Take this as your permission slip to feel deeply, speak honestly, and overshare with pride. The world doesn’t need you to shrink. It needs your whole, unfiltered, gloriously emotional self — tears, tangents, and all.
Episode 5 of the Business Oddcast is now live with more of these types of insights and some funny stories.
Is Marketing Immunity a Neurodivergent Superpower?
Often, I see a company marketing their goods and services and wonder if ANYONE has stopped and thought through their audience’s reaction to the whole effort, or is it just a case of “that’ll do…”?
Big businesses regularly employ very well-respected, highly rewarded ad agencies to do all the necessary work ensuring their ads reach the intended eyeballs and ears of their target market. Far too often, this has clearly not been thought about, or discussed prior to them creating and airing the ad and the evidence is right there on the screen.
But understanding the customer and their needs is my primary line of questioning when I am building a website for a customer: who is the website for? Who will be using it? What are their main motivations, and does your site, messaging, and overall customer journey align with the end user’s desired outcome?
But this seems to be an afterthought for a lot of campaigns and for me the whole approach seems flawed, especially from a neurodiverse perspective.
From the initial concept to the execution of the ad it’s a baffling mess and this can be amplified if you are Neurodiverse and struggle with social context, attention switching and processing communication literally.
I’ve seen a lot of ads that have required me to have repeated exposure to, before I can make any sense out of it or decode the relevance of the ad to the product or service.
Here’s an example: putting up a text-heavy ad that disappears before you have a chance to acknowledge, read, comprehend, and decide if you need to take action or and ad makes a bold assertion and a (supposedly) ‘startling revelation’ about a new thing, process or service.
In our attention-starved, dopamine-seeking times, the need to keep the viewer addicted to their screen is the primary concern of the channel, website, or streaming service. But I’ve often thought that the needs of the channel outweigh the best interests of the advertisers. The adverts are a necessary intrusion if the channel wishes to make an income. sure. However, the brerak from the program gives the viewer the opportunity to switch attention and go make a cuppa, scroll on Facebook, or, if forced to, speak to their partner, child, or pet.
It’s the attention economy, and these days, it is EVERYTHING, I would have thought that advertisers would make their campaigns as engaging as possible. Becuase once you have the audience engaged you can keep their attention on your products or services. But, it seems a lot of campaigns have little or no understanding of how to capitalise on the attention once given.
“Get the eyeballs and the wallets will follow” seems to be the mantra but those eyeballs are highly distracted these days. And, like most things, the neurodiverse needs in this arena are rarely a consideration. Large companies may pay lip service to their DEI policies, proudly exposing how wonderfully rainbow and equitable their inclusivity policies are for staff and customers alike, but then it’s business as usual.
Where Ads Go Wrong
What am I rambling on about? Well, here is a worked example of how advertising and marketing miss the mark for me and others like me.
I realise that most people try to avoid ads and marketing, but there are times when visual or audible communication is vital, and clarity is paramount. So, this doesn’t JUST apply to ads, but ads are where it shows up most frequently and noticeably for me.
Lets start with concept and context switching, which can be a real challenge, especially with ads that start with a bold assertion, claim, or non-sequitur apropos to nothing before.
Example: A man stands in a plastic poncho, struggling to keep dry in a simulated rainstorm, while a gruff male voice states something like; “Still struggling with disposable ponchos? Stop wearing a plastic poncho and use our jacket.”
Now, apart from the absurd notion that there’s a whole slew of people out there, soaked to the skin every time it rains, struggling to stay dry in their plastic ponchos and unable to figure out a more permanent weatherproof alternative, is frankly, laughable. And not laughable in a laughing “with you” way.
But despite these issues, this ad would seem straightforward at first glance. Ah… but…
Let me share the neurodivergent user experience.
A Brutal Transition
The issue starts with how the program transitions to the ad. We used to have ‘bumpers‘ in the UK, small stings or short 5ish second mentions for a product or service associated with the program or channel sponsor.
“‘Six Idiots Spout Absolute Drivel’ is sponsored by Crap-is-Us, providing crap to the public for 250 years.” wipe/cut to commercials…
I’ve not seen a live TV program on a major UK commercial channel for many, many years. These “bumpers” may still exist, but not so much on Amazon Prime or Netflix. No sirree, Bob!
Instead, it’s straight from the program you’re enjoying to the ad without delay. No interstitial wipe, no bumper, no nothing. Just, BOOM! ADS!!
“You’re going to have my baby, Sylvia? My mother’s dying and you tell me now!”
Song kicks in – singer: “DARLING HOLD MY HAND.” Visuals show a laughing young lady, arm stretched backwards, from your POV you seeher running ahead, giggling and laughing on some sun-drenched beach.
Slam cut. Program’s gone. New visual. New scene. No Context.
In an instant, I’m scratching my head, forced to attention-switch faster than a professional whack-a-mole player.
I’ve been luxuriating in the program I’ve chosen to watch, immersed in its story, when suddenly this overly harsh, brash, bright ad bursts in. Imagine you’re having a lovely meal with someone you care about, and suddenly someone runs up and goes “WANNA BUY A PONCHO?”… You’ll rightly have questions, and maybe a few choice words for the individual rudely interrupting your meal. But do you think you’d be spending the rest of the date thinking “Well that’s our poncho needs sorted“?
I am always wrong-footed by this crash cut to an ad. Even if I have seen the ad before. My first instinct is always: “This seems to be a stylistic departure. How does this fit into the narrative? Are these new characters? Is this a flashback, flashforward, or maybe worldbuilding?”
Then, as in the poncho example, I have to figure out what the heck is going on. “Are they selling ponchos? No. Do I own a poncho? No. Do I ever struggle with a poncho? Huh? Why am I even thinking about ponchos? Stop hijacking my internal narrative!”
Now, I’ve said “poncho” too many times, and the word sounds weird. But I can guarantee I’ll be obsessing over the word poncho for about three weeks.
PONCHO!
This rapid-fire switch makes no sense.
Then, before I’ve figured out what the ad is about, BOOM, the next ad begins. It’s like that feeling you get, running downhill a little faster than you feel comfortable about, anxious about losing your footing and face planting. Maybe you’re not even sure why you’re running down the hill in the first place…
All this is going on and therefore the “call to action” is completely missed, and the intent of the ad (to sell stuff) is lost on me. ALL. THE. TIME.
Also, my Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD) and Pathological Demand Avoidance (PDA) mean that as soon as someone tells me to do something, there’s no chance I’ll comply.
“You need to buy X…”
Yeah, and you need to fuck off. Oh, apologies. Reflex action. Do continue…
The struggle is very real.
Confrontational Messaging
The confrontational tone of many ads also gets my hackles up. The formula is usually:
“Do you think/buy/do this? Then you’re an idiot. You need to stop being such a massive idiot and buy our stuff. Or you will continue to be an idiot. Do you really want to be the person who continues being an idiot?”
Followed by some smug line designed to make you feel like “one of the gang” with a sentiment along the lines of: “Buy our crap. Laugh at twats.”
I may have paraphrased somewhat.
Obviously, TV ads are quick-fire by necessity, and I doubt advertisers are likely to make major changes for those who find them difficult to process. But here’s the thing: neurodivergent people are usually very loyal and like predictable routines. It may involve taste testing or other trial runs of the product before committing to it. Win us over though and we may be the most loyal customer you have. Switching brands is a considered step we do not take lightly.
We just need a little more time to think, plan, and switch.
The Bottom Line
So, to all the advertisers out there, all those businesses seeking customers through ads, PPC, or other marketing strategies:
Consider who might be in your audience.
Think about their needs. When you alienate us with your ads, you effectively lose our business, possibly for life. There are brands and companies on my personal “no-fly list” who will NEVER see a penny of my money again. I’m looking hard at you, Google PPC, Tesco Bank, NatWest, you all know what you did.
Marketing is pretty straightforward: Allow your customer to understand the benefit and value of what you offer and tell them the next step if they are interested. That’s it. Sure, dress that up with fancy phrases, in-depth studies, focus groups and the rest of the ad production merry-go-round. But effectively communicating your value and telling the customer the next step is all you do. Yet, most of the ads I see these days are not fit for purpose. It’s as if a lot of ad agencies have allowed the interns to run the place.
If you have a business, whatever the size, I hope that episode Four of our humble little podcast gives you food for thought.
Let us know; maybe I am missing something (not for the first time), or there are considerations I haven’t thought of. Feel free to jump into the conversation, and let’s hear your thoughts on this topic!
Listen to our Podcast Here: https://businessoddcast.com/podcasts/
Is Self-Employment the Perfect Job for the Neurodivergent?
An idea occurred to me in August 2025, but to understand my point, I need to give you some prologue and a little bit* of my own history. Otherwise, the idea I will go on to share will seem like the ravings of a deranged loon. They may still be that, but at least you will have the context.
*OK, it’s not a “little bit”, it’s… a lot, it’s 2000+ words, but HANG ON. Don’t go… believe me, it’ll be worth it, promise. Or leave a comment on our podcast telling me why I am wrong!
I’ve been “odd” my entire life. What do I mean by “odd”? Out of step, not marching to the same tune as others. Space cadet one minute, expert troubleshooter the next. Described as a “left-field thinker” or “eccentric“, I’ll certainly be the most memorable conversation you have today. There are the suits. Yes, I do wear them. Yes. To business meetings. Yes. I do that.
There are the suits. Yes, I do wear them. Yes. To business meetings. Yes. I do that.
And that gives one a certain perspective on life and specifically business, and I have often struggled to understand how other people think. Why do they seem incapable of seeing the logic in the ideas I present? Sure, it may go against 99% of the rest of the world, but at least you tried something different and learned something new!
I play a lot of “what if” in my mind, and I can iterate quickly. “What if we did X instead of Y?“
“But Stuart, EVERYONE DOES Y, because... [Insert wide generalisation or assumption here].”
Often, “normal” people laugh at my ideas and tell me what I am doing has no chance of succeeding—right at the time I am succeeding at doing it. I don’t take unsolicited advice well and choose who I pay for advice VERY carefully. You’d be right to be skeptical of someone who says all this.
“Too full of himself by half, that one!” Not the first time I have heard that sentiment expressed. Yes, I am TOO MUCH… hmmm… we should do an episode about that sentiment…
But, being out of step and doing my own thing has worked VERY well for me, both personally and professionally. I have lived a very lucky life. I take none of it for granted. I understand the privileges I have had due to socio-economic factors (mostly out of my control) but have never really shied away from taking a risk. That’s what life in business is about, managing risk versus reward.
The Backstory to the Prologue
I notified HMRC and became officially “self-employed” for the first time in 1992. I’d purchased an old Transit van from a very good mate. It had a sliding driver’s door, which was fantastic. I think it was an ex-Post Office vehicle, but it was baby blue, so perhaps it was repainted? I kitted it out with a bench, vice and all my tools, and with that this mechanic was mobile. I even got me one of those newly available mobile phones, and still have the same number today!
Over the years, I have evolved what I do; teaching myself to design on Mac and PC, being my own IT department, managing print work and design projects that evolved into web development. I’ve also designed products, posters, gadgets, and novelty gizmos for sale in high streets around the world. I’ve delivered a waste and recycling project for a borough council and performed as an impersonator, lookalike, stand-up, and MC in some of the most well-known venues across the UK and beyond. Co-produced plays and other creative projects including starring as recurring character ‘Crazy Neil‘ in the computer game ‘Not For Broadcast’ by Tiny House Games.
Since that first leap of faith, I’ve never really looked back, apart from a brief stint at an engineering company that almost broke me. But I’ve been gainfully self-employed for over 32 years of my adult life. Raising a family, putting food on our table, and a roof over our heads as the sole income. We tried more conventional schooling, but after a couple of years made the decision to home educate our kids, we saw too much damage being inflicted on their peer group in schools across the country. There’s something sad about seeing a free-range child being shoehorned into a uniform and being sent into a soul-crushing, energy-sapping system that may work for the majority, but it doesn’t work for all.
Home educating our kids was instinctual, an reflex reaction to what I experienced at school: the hate, bullying, ostracising, othering, and mind games. School left me brutalised and raw, hurting in a way I didn’t know how to fix and I didn’t want that to be how they started out in life.
At 16 I left school and adulthood arrived, and of course with it, a job. However, it was more of the same “odd-one-out” in the workplace, ten years in engineering, and I was clinging to a mental precipice. Afraid to do anything different, editing myself, curating my outward facade, all the while moving through a molasses of what I now know is unprocessed trauma. Frozen, unable to move, frightened I’d fail. Then I’d fall…
I fell anyway.
Eventually, inevitably, something gave way, and I collapsed; literally, figuratively, spiritually. My entire being had cratered, collapsing inward, left exhausted in a way I had never experienced before. My brain refused to co-operate. Functioning and getting out of bed was not possible. I hit rock bottom and just lay there. The effort of will required to stand up was just too overwhelming on some days. How do I make my way in the world when I feel like I am at odds with it? An alien on this planet, I tried to leave, I thought of it as being sent for… I had no reason, no purpose. I was alone on an entire planet of six billion people.
The spiritual rift was not repaired quickly, and the scar tissue still tugs at you from time to time. The jagged, raw, and cutting thoughts tear through you like a scalpel into bare flesh. The irony is it’s wielded by someone who knows exactly where all the soft and fleshy parts are. Exactly which rocks to kick over, which door to fling wide and force you to confront your own existential dilemmas. Not great when you’re simply trying to post a letter. All of this, all of the time. Throw in insomnia, and now we’ve got a party.
Quite literally, because distracting yourself with booze, bongs, and babes helps distract you from the pain. Like anaesthesia for the soul. It numbs, but it also cauterises, cutting off vital bits of your personality. Unable to confront the truth and reality of it all, you dodge from one friend group to another. Masked up and mugging along to whatever in-crowd joke de-jour was popular (even if it went over your head). Avoiding actually making too many connections, being friendly but not too personable, not actually letting people in. Fearful they may see just how broken you are, that you’re a human reject, incapable of being “normal.” Just not how the wiring in your head works.
As my dad used to say, when he said something figuratively and I took it literally: “Don’t be stupid, son!“
But Dad, what if “stupid” is all you’ve got?
Now, replace “stupid” with “different”, and that’s what the neurodiverse deals with every day. The entirety of the planet set up against your skill-set, and you’re asked to just get on with it and stop complaining. Usually with some blithe comment like “You don’t look autistic“… Or the passively offensive “Why does everyone need a label these days?” and finally the one that will get you drop-kicked into the next galaxy: “We’re all on the spectrum.” NO. NO, WE ARE FUCKING NOT. Do not expect anything good to come out of these interactions.
Build Back Odder
Therapy and Prozac helped, but mostly doing nothing helped. I started to take things slower, make healthier choices; one day, one meal, one hour at a time. Progress was glacial, and at first, I crawled. Then I bum-shuffled and finally staggered to my feet, some days even managing to get dressed and go outside. I might even speak to another human! Ooof, steady, not too much too soon.
By this point, having a day-to-day job was just not functionally possible. The mobile mechanic business became burdensome, cars became a little more complex and investment in proprietary diagnostic tools meant an outlay I was not willing to make. So I sought employment and reluctantly found a local engineering job. This was the last job I ever had, and the straw that broke me, it stripped all the joy out of my love for engineering and life. I hated it. Engineering was not my first choice anyway, for I was destined to be an ACTOR! And that was it. Eventually I closed my toolbox and swore an oath that I HAD to step away from the tools. No half measures. I wouldn’t turn a wrench, fix a car, or get grease under my nails for 15+ years.
The break I needed was not the one I expected, but I would take anything at this point. The commision only sales “job” seemed a huge leap of faith: we got paid if we made sales and fired if we didn’t. I lived alone in a small flat, and my overheads were minimal so I leapt. It helped focus my day, plus they paid expenses for travelling around the country, standing in PC World and computer shops selling “The Internet” from the UK’s first ISP, NetcomUK.
That sales job taught me more about business in eight months than doing a full Oxbridge degree in sales. Leanring customer motivation, chatting to the public, and actually getting good at face to face selling. This “job” was very flexible, and as long as I gave them a week’s notice, my diary was my own, and I got to choose what days and hours I worked. It was perfect, it gave me a lot of time to (not) find acting work.
That’s when my love of computers ramped up, and taking a chance with a product, a story for another time. But this early start showed me that the thing I prized over anything was being in control of where and when I worked and what time I could give to a “job”. Budgeting became my thing; each meal was a consideration. Shopping late to bag mark-downs, coupons and 2 for 1s became a fun reason to go buy food.
Fast forward 32 years…
And finally, to my point… The BIG IDEA…
I’ve just been officially diagnosed as Autistic. After the best part of two years on the deepest of deep dives into Autism Spectrum Disorder, ASD, I’m comfortable with that diagnosis. That diagnosis makes sense and validates my entire life. I was not broken. I was not “one of one” I had people who were like me, who had similar experiences and could understand the challenges and everyday experiences.
Most of this I have learned through having a family too, seeing what my children needed and finiding it very similar to what works for me. Having a partner who genuinely cares for me and wants good outcomes and accomodates without judgement. She’s got her own tale to tell, one day I’m sure…
I am epically lucky. We live a decent life, not too flamboyant, definitely comfortable, and are both blessed with decent health and happy kids. The roll of the dice, the big “swing for the fences” decision I made to go it alone, worked out… mostly. Not all rolls of the dice went our way, but we won more than we lost.
Not all rolls of the dice went our way, but we won more than we lost.
So, the goddamn point, STUART?!
Yes, my point, thank you. Self-employment is a very viable choice for anyone who is neurodivergent. In fact, I believe that NDs are disproportionately represented in the business owner community. I know a LOT of business owners, and while not ALL will be ND, I can see traits in most of them, the ones out of step with the working world, who dare to be different and just do it!
The flexibility and choice in how you manage your workload, being able to manage your energy and plan around your own personal quirks and preferences, it’s the ultimate luxury. I wake early and enjoy the day before most people are out of bed. I can also be done with my tasks by midday. No hanging about looking very busy but wasting my life. I can be ACTUALLY busy focusing on my special interest or personal project of the moment. Helping my community, ensuring my businesses and employees thrive in a positive town, full of opportunities.
A lot of the work I do is actually using my skills and specialism learned as an engineer, applying the troubleshooting and problem-solving to a business context. (Don’t ask for a specific job title, listen to the podcast and figure it out! It’s complicated.)
I believe self-employment, if managed correctly and for the right person, is a better choice than working in an office, with all the associated travelling, small talk, harsh lighting, and sensory overload. My original “fall from grace” took me to my knees for about two years. It was complete burnout. Shutdown and reboot.
You don’t have to wait for that level of lifestyle disruption, but if you are ND and masking hard to get through 5 days, with 2 days of recovery before ploughing into it all yet again. There will be a reckoning for that at some point. As you age your energy reduces and Father Time rams a crowbar into the cracks and open up those fissures, wider than you can now jump across.
So how do you prevent this?
If I was doing it all again now? I would do it like this. Build yourself a little “war chest”, 6-8 months of living expenses. Start a side-hustle, maybe take on overtime or additional duties, or find some WFH part-time work, don’t burnout, it’s a marathon not a sprint. At the same time, get the household monthly bills down to the lowest you can, think surivial levels, monk mode V2.0.
Then figure out what it is you want to do, or thing you can offer and be rewarded financially for. Could be a service, focused on special interest, or monetise a hobby. Whatever it is be comfortable with the time you will need to devote to it. My preferred working week is 4 on business tasks, 3 ‘resting’, which could be hard landscaping the garden or feet up watching a film. It depends on the energy or ‘spoons’ I have available to give at the time.
Make it your purpose, the thing you do not mind getting up and doing. Base it on things you love doing. Then simply amplify your circle of influence. On and offline, once you have a great reputation locally the work will trickle in. Build this by going networking and make a wide range of contacts, share your passion. Offer more value than you ask for and be kind.
I can 100% recommend self-employment. “Your mileage may vary” but with the Business Oddcast, I can, at last, share some of the inner journey because I now have language, context, and lived experience. My official diagnosis is not for me, it’s for the rest of the world. I know who I am amd what I am capable of, I’ve spent over 50yrs working that out.
I’m hoping the Business Oddcast helps you, let us know if there’s any specific topics you want Hannah and I to cover, and join in with the conversation. We LOVE to hear diverse viewpoints, it helps us grow as humans, your voice matters, you matter.
If you suspect you may have some traits and I’ve raised a few thoughts in your own mind don’t leave looking into all this too late. I can attest that some of the damage is irreversible and the longer you leave it, the worse it gets and the harder it is to recover. It’s taken me a lot of time, and a long road to recovery and reconcilliation with myself, butas I write this I can say I am happy with my life and love solving problems.
Hi, I’m Stu. How can I help YOU today? Perhaps listening to our Business Oddcast Podcast might be a good place for you to start?