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- Completely missed the point of a task because I took the instructions too literally;

- Forgot to eat or drink for nine hours straight last Thursday because I was hyper-focusing;

- Left the dishes in my sink way longer than I should have, even though I worked from home 50% of the week;

- Cried over a piece of harmless feedback;

- Had one interaction where I completely minced my words and spent the whole evening curled up trying to forget it;

- Rewrote a LinkedIn post not once, not twice, but 17 times;

- Realised I had completely blanked a member of my NDLP team for a month;

- Let a TikTok comment affect me so much that I had to come off the app for two days;

- Didn’t sleep for a whole night because I was up thinking about qualification and what comes next, but told my friend it hadn’t even crossed my mind;

- Ended up doing a task at 2 a.m. that executive dysfunction stopped me from doing during the day;

- Barely processed anything in a meeting (Amelia – 0, Transcribing software – 1);

- Missed the return period for a expensive 

jumper, so now I’m stuck with it forever;

- Slept in until noon on the public holiday, even though I was meant to set off early for a trip.

Corporate life is not always polished and perfect, especially for neurodivergent people. It's real, raw and sometimes downright messy. But that is completely fine, just no one is broadcasting this stuff. 

Sharing the highs and lows, flaws and all, because this is life, Linkedin-worthy or not.

At 16, I was asked to leave my 2 week work experience at a nursery because I “didn’t engage enough.”

From 15, I spent 3 years working in a cafe, only finding the comfort to talk with coworkers in my last year there. Another cafe job? I left after three weeks after being left to close on my own and getting so stressed. 

At 17,  I quit a job in a clothes shop after 7 weeks, having been shouted at by a customer over a security tag and struggling to connect with anyone who worked there. 

At 19, I dropped out of a vacation scheme assessment centre because the stress of making conversation on the office tour became too much. I also ran out of my first law firm open day crying. 

As a teenager, it’s safe to say I didn’t see a corporate career in my future, if any career at all. I was so disappointed in myself and just wanted to be “better.”

Looking back, I feel sad for that younger me, a literal child, and autistic, whether I knew it then or not. I was harsh on myself, but many people who were much older than me were too. I didn’t deserve that. No child does.

It took years of building confidence, finding my voice, pushing through discomfort and learning to advocate for myself to believe I could achieve anything. I was rarely told I could. I came close to losing myself, trying to be “employable” and leave that “strange” little girl behind. But she was fine. She just needed to know she wasn’t broken, she needed a little support.

Employers: be gentle with your teenage staff, apprentices and work experience students. You never know what they’re carrying and they’re still growing. Not everyone needs “toughening up.” They may just need some support and kindness.

And to the many teenage students who message me feeling the same as I did, be patient with yourself. You don’t need to have everything figured out and please don’t break yourself trying to become someone you’re not. You can’t fix neurodivergence, but you can find supportive environments, learn your strengths and work with your brain.

It feels like nothing will change at that age, but it will.

Allow me to walk you through how many of my social interactions unfold as an autistic person in professional settings:

1. First, I sift through the countless negative encounters I've had over the years when meeting new people;

2. Then, anxiety creeps in about how I’ll be perceived, and I meticulously script every word I plan to say (but never am able to stick to);

3. Despite my preparation, I often come across as too blunt or awkward, fumbling over introductions or misgauging the amount of detail needed for a simple "How are you?";

4. I start the internal countdown, keeping track of how long I’ve maintained eye contact, reminding myself to look away at intervals to seem "natural";

5. My face begins to ache from forcing expressions meant to convey friendliness or enthusiasm, all in an effort to make the other person more at ease;

6. Meanwhile, I’m mentally repeating their words, trying to stay engaged and keep up with the conversation;

7. As soon as there’s a pause, panic sets in as I scramble to find a link between topics, a connection my brain doesn’t effortlessly make;

8. I either interrupt too quickly or wait too long, both of which make me seem either rude or disinterested;

9. I'm constantly working to decipher hidden meanings in gestures, expressions and tone, applying learned knowledge where instinct is lacking;

10. At some point, I’ll notice that I've been misunderstood, having focused so intensely on all the above that I can’t express myself clearly or worse, I’ve come off as cold or rude. I know the person may now avoid me;

11. Finally, I leave the conversation drained, fully aware that I’ll spend the next several days replaying the interaction, picking apart every mistake, and berating myself.

So, I implore you: stop oversimplifying your advice to neurodivergent colleagues. What might seem like insignificant small talk to you is an entirely different ordeal for me.

A few gentle reminders for interacting with neurodivergent people:

1. Be patient, avoid jumping to conclusions, and always lead with kindness.

2. Ask people about their preferred mode of communication.

3. Consider the dynamics of that method (for example, if the conversation is virtual, some may be more comfortable with the camera off).

4. Be mindful of the environment, as sensory overload makes everything more difficult.

5. Don’t dismiss people or assume they’re not worth engaging based on a single interaction.

6. Please, don’t stare; you won’t learn much about me from my body language or eye contact alone.

I recently made a video about times when I received feedback in previous job roles that I felt was unwarranted because it targeted traits directly linked to my neurodivergence.

I didn’t think this would be particularly controversial, but given the amount of hate comments, it’s clear that some people don’t and may never agree with me.

So here is how I would have responded:

You can tell me to be more social or to communicate in a more neurotypical way—but all that will do is exhaust me through masking. And when I’m masking, my other work will suffer. I already fulfill all the necessary social aspects of my role. What I take issue with is the “extra” stuff that isn’t part of my job description and doesn’t contribute directly to my performance.

You can tell me to process things faster, but I can’t physically change the way my brain works. I already employ strategies like transcribing instructions, taking notes, and asking clarifying questions to process information as quickly as possible. I also can’t make up for poor instruction giving. 

You can tell me to stop getting overwhelmed, but without the right support, and when I’m constantly placed in situations that clash with my neurodivergent traits, I can’t manage that overwhelm. I already attend weekly therapy and have worked for years to maintain your version of “professionalism.” So, if you see me overwhelmed, it’s because I’ve been pushed too far. Also, I will never regulate my emotions in the same way a neurotypical person would, because I’m not neurotypical. I also can’t fully control sensory overload. I do everything I can to limit my exposure, but sensory input isn’t always avoidable.

When I receive feedback like this, what it tells me is that while you’ll employ me as a neurodivergent person, you still expect me to change everything that makes me neurodivergent for your convenience. I’m not ashamed of who I am, but this feedback makes me feel like I should be.

People like to point out that these traits are all mandatory parts of most jobs. But a little open-mindedness would show you that 1) I can still do most jobs, especially if I’m given the support I’m legally entitled to (and no, that doesn’t make me “entitled”) and 2) neurodivergent people, including myself, need to be seen holistically. Yes, I may struggle in some areas, but I excel in others. And while I hate having to justify my challenges by listing my strengths, none of the issues I’ve mentioned are blanket “weaknesses”, there is nuance to all of them.

I am not immune to constructive feedback, I have areas I need to develop on and I will in every role I have. I work hard to work on feedback I receive. But what I won’t accept is feedback that implies my neurodivergence is something to be fixed. 

2015: Performed poorly in AS-levels, resat with a dyspraxia diagnosis and extra time, improving my grades significantly.

2016: Attempted to switch universities due to better grades, but was stopped by UCAS. Attended the same university for three days before dropping out after a breakdown.

Worked in hospitality for a year, which I loved. 

2017: Started at a new university but hated it. Felt lost, spent most of my time crying and ended up in the hospital. Applied for one first-year scheme but was rejected after not knowing what a seat was 👏

Barely scraped a 2.1, with half the grades being 2.2s.

2018: My mental health deteriorated. I applied for volunteer work but often backed out. I started some initiatives of my own.

Applied for multiple vacation schemes but struggled with psychometric tests and video interviews.

2019: Secured a placement year, which boosted my self-esteem despite the field not being right for me. Worked from home during COVID.

Returned to university during lockdown, with improved mental health. Began volunteering remotely, which I could manage.

Both grandparents died, and I was stuck in my room, leading to my worst mental health crisis.

2020: Applied for many vacation schemes and training contracts without success, facing challenges with reasonable adjustments (RAs). Started therapy and explored my neurodivergence.

I needed mitigating circumstances due to severe mental health issues, which I later recognised as autistic burnout. Managed to get a first in my degree (somehow 🥲).

Started an Instagram to share my experiences as a neurodivergent person in law, found a community, and launched a podcast and grew into a group with various projects. 

Applied for numerous paralegal and trainee solicitor positions but faced challenges detailed in my previous post (clue… ✨disabled✨). 

Did a podcast with many autistic women, realising I had been denying my identity. Spoke to my GP (realised I’d be waiting 63 years) and went private for a diagnosis instead (which all but wiped my savings as a graduate). 

Participated in a podcast with a magic circle firm and they asked me whether I’d ever considered applying, I said ✨no, I’m not like your people✨. Decided on a whim to apply last minute. Got an assessment centre invite.

I spent 2 straight months preparing (even doing interview prep on Christmas Day). 

2021: Attended the assessment centre and received an autism diagnosis the same week (✨great fun✨). The AC went badly, RAs not in properly. Provided feedback, was asked to redo the AC and I said ✨no thanks✨. After a chat with grad recruitment, I decided to try again. With proper RAs (better than I would have expected), I got the job 🎉

*Immediately started panicking about the accelerated LPC—another story*

The point is, nothing went to plan and everything fell apart multiple times, but I made it.

1. Struggling is not an autistic trait. You deserve happiness and fulfilment in the same way as everyone else. You don’t get to write yourself off at any given moment. Ask for the support, you don’t need to earn it. 

2. You didn’t fall into the job. You may not have done it in a particularly conventional or glamorous way, but you worked really hard.  You’ve got all the qualifications, skills and experience to do well. 

3. You are not just that ‘autistic lawyer that cries on the internet’ (yes, someone did refer to me this way once). There is so much more to you and to life. 

4. It’s okay to do things in ways that work for you. You didn’t spend your entire life hiding and hating yourself to not embrace it now. 

5. Being autistic isn’t a performance issue. You’ll excel in some areas and not in others. That’s okay. You don’t need to do more than other people. 

6. This was always going to be difficult for you. Be proud of yourself. Value your own definition of success and celebrate it without apology. 

7. Just because there isn’t loads of people exactly like you does not mean there isn’t people that understand and support you. You deserve to be around people that believe in you. 

8. Enforce your boundaries. You can’t pour from an empty cup. Acknowledging and honouring your health is not a failure.

9. Life is too short. Wear the noise cancelling headphones, avoid eye contact, do what you need to do. 

10. Don’t just absorb the things that reaffirm that life is difficult and always will be. Sometimes, even if things are hard, you have to switch your mindset. 

1. Sometimes I end up working through the night to finish things, not because I’m particularly busy, but because of my executive function difficulties. 

2. I cry about work too much and I find it really hard to put things in perspective. 

3. I love doing my advocacy work and running a neurodiversity group alongside. But I hate being used for things and it can often be exhausting. I’ve thought about shutting it all down more than I care to admit. 

4. Sometimes I really dislike being autistic and how every little thing has to become a big deal. Equally, there are still many times where I wish I hadn’t disclosed. 

5. I don’t have a lot of confidence in myself. I definitely don’t love myself and this can have a really limiting effect on my life. 

6. I either don’t share at all or overshare. You’re either getting my whole life story in response to “how are you?” Or “fine”. I can’t really tell what is appropriate for the situation. 

7. I find it really hard to make connections for my actual job (I can, however, make 100s for my neurodiversity work). 

8. I’m not very patient and I’m quite stubborn. I want change to happen yesterday and I find it hard when the solution seems so easy. 

9. I’ve had some kind of mental health episode every year since I was 18. 

10. If you ask me why I have achieved anything in life, I will always resort to luck.

As an autistic 8 year old, I cried hysterically because I forgot where to stand on the stage in my school's rendition of Alice in Wonderland (I played a card but I took my role very seriously). My brain couldn’t cope with the confusion in that stressful moment.

At 14, I upset someone by mentioning that they had eaten four cupcakes that day, and I couldn’t understand why they took offence to a literal statement (which was all it was to me). I missed school for 2 days.

At 18, a customer aggressively told me their latte was in fact a cappuccino, leading to 15 minutes of crying in the bathroom (a mixture of rejection sensitivity and not being able to deal with aggression). 

At 21, I failed to introduce myself on a work call and phoned my parents the next day telling them what my plans were if I was fired, because I felt so bad at the job after that that it felt inevitable. 

At 25 (a mere 3 months ago), I sat alone at a networking event, too nervous to talk to anyone, and cried like a baby on the tube home.

The point is that I’m sensitive (with a tendancy to catastrophise). But I’m not embarrassed about any of these reactions. 

My reactions don’t often imply what you might think—I’m actually quite resilient. They don’t signify giving up; if they do, it's likely because I've been left with no other choice. 

What you may not realise about neurodivergent reactions is that they are much more than a product of the immediate circumstances. It includes:

* sensory overwhelm in most environments;

* difficulty processing emotions and rejection sensitivity;

* constant misunderstanding;

* exhaustion from masking behaviors;

* the need to justify our existence;

* struggles to access most services; 

* untreated mental health conditions and self esteem issues from always feeling not good enough;

* difficulty with change;

* gratitude for employment, yet loneliness and concerns about the future;

* and more.

So before you jump to neurodivergent people being unreasonable, inflexible and overly emotional, simply knowing what happened in a triggering situation means you’ve probably understood about 1% of why that person is reacting. 

Some tips if you do see an ND person reacting or getting upset:

 * avoid bombarding them with questions; 

* use clear and concise language;

* minimise sensory stimuli and offer alternative stimulation;

* refrain from touching or hugging without permission;

* avoid giving instructions or explanations;

* offer remote work or a change of environment if needed;

* afterward, listen without judgment and understand there's more than meets the eye; and 

* collaborate to identify triggers and prevent future occurrences. 

Most neurodivergent people have been more flexible, understanding and have exhausted themselves to accommodate neurotypical expectations than you would ever realise. Be kind, resilience doesn’t look the same on everyone. 

I have often left workplace instruction meetings feeling utterly lost.

Why? Because as an autistic and otherwise neurodivergent person without adjustments or understanding from the instructor, a highly-masked meeting typically unfolds like this:

➡️ Scripting the phrases I’ll use in small talk at the beginning because my brain doesn’t naturally come up with them;

➡️ Counting the number of seconds I’ve held eye contact so it isn’t too much or too little; 

➡️ Readjusting my standing or sitting position and constantly worrying if it looks ‘natural’;

➡️ Concentrating so hard on when is the right time to interject with my own thought that I’ve probably forgotten what I wanted to say;

➡️ Queuing up ‘normal’ responses: 1. Nod, 2. “Right okay”, 3. “Uh-huh”;

➡️ Reminding myself once a minute to smile and look neuronormatively enthusiastic;

➡️ Lip-reading because I can’t hear or focus on you amongst the other noises in the room (something as small as electricity noises);

➡️ Repeating your words in my head to help me process them and probably forgetting half of them;

➡️ Desperately trying to process the information so I can ask questions at the time, but knowing I’ll need to sit down and read my notes first;

➡️ Worrying about whether my question was articulate because my words got jumbled up coming out of my mouth;

➡️ Questioning whether it’s okay to ask about every bit of unclear, indirect language that I don’t get or can’t read between the lines of;

➡️ Spending the hour after the meeting panicking and unsure where to start or what to prioritise but not wanting to go through the same problems again; and 

➡️ Spending the rest of the day exhausted and probably blaming myself for being ‘stupid’ and ‘slow’.

There are simple adjustments that often enable me to perform tasks with significantly enhanced efficiency and accuracy:

💡 Permit recording and transcribing of meetings or even note taking software. 

💡 Choose a suitable and accessible environment to instruct. 

💡 No out-the-blue calls into someone’s office, without time to set up my adjustments. 

💡 Think about not just what you want doing but how you instruct to provide clarity. 

💡 Use explicit language (please stop using ASAP or “whenever you have time” as a deadline) not just tone or body language.

💡Where appropriate provide written instructions alongside verbal ones.

💡 Challenge conventional beliefs on engagement and enthusiasm.

These adjustments benefit everyone, the instructor included,  not just neurodivergent individuals. Let's stop draining people’s energy before the work even begins.

Did you know that if a law firm pays you a high salary, they don’t need to give you reasonable adjustments?  You should just be grateful. 

No need to comply with the Equality Act as long as you pay enough. Apparently, you can just buy neurodivergent people out of needing support.  

...  

Before you report me, this is obviously not true. But I see this argument in my comments all the time.  

The idea that a high salary means you can’t ask for support, or even speak about the lack of it, is baffling. Let’s break down why this doesn’t hold up:  

✔️ Legally, it’s nonsense. High-paying firms, in certain circumstances, may actually be more obligated to provide certain adjustments given their resources, not less.  

✔️ It suggests disabled people should accept lower-paid jobs just because they need support. This limits career progression regardless of skills or potential.  

✔️ It implies support is a ‘nice to have.’ As if neurodivergent employees can just “turn off” their needs if they’re paid enough—this is simply untrue.  

✔️ People work hard for these roles. Firms pay for their employees’ work, knowing they’re human, not robots. It’s a privileged position, but being grateful does not extend to forgoing legal rights. 

✔️ It ignores job realities. Long hours and high pressure often make adjustments critical to prevent burnout and attrition.  

✔️ It dismisses the broader benefits of inclusion. Adjustments aren’t charity, they improve productivity, morale and innovation of the entire workforce. They’re often inexpensive and can lead to more tailored job roles. 

✔️ It confines career choices. If someone is passionate about certain areas that only exist in certain firms, should they be locked out of high-paying firms because they need adjustments?  

✔️ It overlooks lost talent. Some neurodivergent people have exceptional skills that may only be unlocked with the right support. Failing to provide adjustments doesn’t just harm individuals, it means businesses lose valuable contributions.  

✔️ It ignores ongoing (imperfect) progress. Most law firms have some neurodiversity initiatives, even if they’re not fully effective. If firms just wanted to “pay people off” rather than engage, they wouldn’t bother at all.  

✔️ It disregards how rare these opportunities are. These jobs create career-defining chances that neurodivergent people rarely get. If someone secures a high-paying legal job, doesn’t get support, and is fired, should they have just accepted that? Should they be excluded entirely when so few neurodivergent people are even in employment?  

Some roles and firms won’t suit everyone and that’s a conversation worth having (and an information gap I’m trying to help fill). But suggesting neurodivergent people should “put up and shut up” in high-paying jobs? That helps no one.  

This was my absolute worst nightmare. 

I cried for about 2 hours and had to get up and go to the bathroom several times to calm down. I began to stim, and my ability to speak coherently vanished. I also knew that going home was out of the question because taking the tube would only make things worse. 

There was no logical cause to it, I felt supported, but it still happened.

As I wondered around,  worried about what other people would think and annoyed at myself for getting to that point, I had an odd realisation: I've come so far and I have lots to be proud of this week (despite it only being 2 days in!) 

So, in honour of Neurodiversity Celebration Week, here are some things I'm celebrating about myself (because why not!!)

* During a team meeting, I disclosed my autism to the entire team without even thinking about it (strangely in relation to an icebreaker game) 

* I stopped beating myself up about the meltdown about 10 minutes after it stopped. So what if someone saw me crying and tapping my fingers together, it happens. 

* I communicated my needs to my immediate team in such a way that when I had a meltdown, they knew not to ask me too many questions or ask me to do things that would overload me even more.

* Every time I got a little overwhelmed on the tube and had to get in a little later, I just thought to myself, "this is me, people will understand." 

* I’ve listened to my body and deciphered there are lunches for socialising and networking and there are lunches to go and sit in a cafe by myself.  Both are valid depending on what my capacity is on that day.

My first piece of transactional work was taken off me because I was too slow.

Up until a few months ago, I would’ve been too embarrassed to admit that. 

As a nervous first-seat trainee, I didn’t fully understand what was expected. I was terrified of making mistakes and eager to prove I was a good trainee from day one. No one explicitly told me I had to prove myself, but as an autistic person, I thought, “I have a seat at the table, now I need to show I’m worthy of it.” (FYI - just do your best, you’ll be fine)

One slow afternoon, I got assigned a task. I hadn’t disclosed my autism to the instructor, not wanting to stand out, and didn’t realise my aversion to change also included sudden shifts in pace. I stumbled right away.

I didn’t grasp everything immediately and convinced myself I’d fail. Though people said to ask questions, the deadline felt too tight to risk it (don’t fall into this trap). My hands shook as I worked, second-guessing myself the whole time.

As the deadline loomed, panic set in. I sent my work, knowing it wasn’t my best. The instructor kindly asked me to review it, but I was too slow, and they had to finish it to avoid a late night.

They were incredibly understanding, not a single negative word said and I appreciated that more than I can express. Looking back, I completely understand why taking the task back was the right call at that moment.

Regardless, I went home feeling crushed and considered disappearing into a forest out of sheer embarrassment. Sobbing on the phone to my friend, I remember repeatedly saying “why can’t I do anything right?”

1.5 years later, I’m not embarrassed at all. It’s easy to forget that autism can be disabling. It takes me longer to adjust to new things, and sometimes my mind takes me places I don’t expect. But that doesn’t mean I’m incompetent.

Since then, I’ve done that task multiple times, and done it well. I’ve also tackled other assignments more suited to how my brain works and excelled. Now, I know how to advocate for myself, work with my brain and manage my panic (although I am still learning). But that took time, experience and the right mentors.

In that moment, it would’ve been easy for someone to write me off as a bad trainee. But they didn’t and no one should.

Yet many neurodivergent people face that exact situation. So many get fired or written off within months, not because they can’t do the job, but because they weren’t given the time or support they needed to thrive.

Give people time. Provide tailored guidance. Work with them to understand how they perform best. And stop making snap judgments based on moments when their disability actually shows up.