Changing Perspectives... on Neurodiversity

When I think back to being a little girl in the ’80s, there’s a memory that never leaves me. My mum, sitting across from my teacher, her voice steady but firm. “Hayley is dyslexic, not stupid.” The teacher shook her head and replied, “Nope. She’s just lazy.”

Mum kept pushing. She knew it wasn’t a lack of effort. She’d watched me spend hours trying to make the letters stay still on the page, getting frustrated and exhausted. She never stopped fighting for me to be understood.

Even then, I could express my ideas easily in class, but the moment I picked up a book, the words would wobble and appear fuzzy on the page. For years, I thought I needed glasses. It wasn’t my eyesight after all. My brain just works a little differently.

School was a struggle. Exams, essays, even reading for pleasure felt impossible. I grew up believing education wasn’t built for people like me.

By my 20s, the anxiety had followed me into the workplace. Emails, birthday cards, anything written down made me panic. What if they thought I wasn’t smart enough? I’d quietly ask colleagues to proofread, hoping no one would notice how much I was overthinking it all.

Some did. I had managers who handed back pages covered in red pen, followed by lectures about grammar. They held me back from opportunities and refused to let me use the tools that could have helped. It left me feeling constantly defeated. I remember thinking, what’s the point in trying when they’ve already made up their minds?

All I wanted was to be seen, to be heard, and for someone to recognise my value.

Thankfully, I also had leaders who were curious and kind. They gave me space to talk about how I worked and encouraged me to lean into my strengths – empathy, storytelling, and connection. I discovered that public speaking was a strength. So was helping others learn. Creativity, problem-solving, and noticing patterns others missed became part of how I added value.

That’s when things really started to shift. I began to feel confident, even powerful. I knew what support I needed and started asking for it without apology. Technology became my ally, helping me expand ideas quickly and clearly. My anxiety at work began to fade, replaced with a sense of excitement. I stopped wondering whether I could keep up and started thinking, “What’s next? The world’s my oyster!”

I walked into new roles with clarity about what I brought to the table and the tools I needed to do my best work. And slowly, the layers of masking began to lift. I stopped hiding. I found my voice and I became an advocate for people like me.

These days, I’m in a role where I get to champion learning and thinking differently. As ANZ Learning & Development Director at Publicis Groupe, I’ve seen firsthand the power of inclusive environments. Places where people can be themselves and still thrive.

I’m proud to work alongside people who genuinely care about building accessible, supportive workplaces. Whether it’s through employee-led programs, like Publicis Groupe’s disability-inclusive EnABLE committee; partnerships with Hidden Disabilities; or policies and resources designed to empower managers, progress is happening. And I get to be part of that ripple effect.

Bias, both conscious and unconscious, still exists. It’s why so many people my age keep masking, even when it comes at a personal cost.

This is just a snippet of my story. Every neurodivergent person will have their own. If you’re reading this and still masking, I see you. I’ve got you. And if you’re a leader, know that you have the power to help us stop hiding and start thriving.