Changing Perspectives... on Neurodiversity

When the MFA asked me to write this, I jumped at the chance. “This is perfect,” I said with an overdose of enthusiasm. “I’ve been looking for something new to write.” I wish I could say that my monologue ended there, yet I’m afraid it passionately went on for some time.

By the end of the day, I was surrounded by A3 paper and different coloured pens; the sprawling scribbles of a mad man in front of me. Topics were organised by colour, connected by lines. Post-it’s highlighted themes, analogies and research questions. It was a scene nestled somewhere between the mailroom in It’s Always Sunny and Russel Crow’s window in A Beautiful Mind.

Over the following days, I found myself rehearsing potential sections in my mind as I went about my daily life. I’d think of things when walking, showering, exercising – even dreaming – and jot them down in my notes app.

But it took weeks for me to finally sit down to write it. The urgency was replaced by other shiny new things that piqued my curiosity: pitches, presentations, MFA EX submissions, learning a Stevie Wonder bassline, trying to play Karma Police on the piano (I don’t, and never have, played the piano) and who knows what else. Most of these received the same devotion in their first few days as this article.

As you may have guessed, what I’ve explained above is one of my many neurodivergent traits – the tendency to jump into something new, overthink it, then underdo it.

I was diagnosed as neurodivergent a couple of years ago. To say that it was a relief is an understatement: ADHD explained so many things I didn’t understand or wanted to change about myself. All of a sudden, medication and therapy could help; life was going to get better! And being told “of course you’re autistic – we’ve always known that” by a good friend with ASD produced a similar feeling of positive reassurance.

I quickly understood the positive impact the diagnosis had on my brain. I didn’t have poor attention; I had an abundance of it.

Edward Hallowell and John Ratey compare ADHD brains to “Ferrari engines with bicycle brakes” – fast brains, capable minds that need the right training. People with ADHD are often more creative, energetic, passionate and curious than most. Those with ASD bring intense focus, pattern recognition, problem-solving, deep knowledge, and a strong sense of justice. I saw all of this as a gift.

And credit to my wife who, from day one called my neurodivergence a superpower – a line I’ve repeated countless times to anyone navigating their own diagnosis.

But I soon realised it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t just getting distracted by shiny new things. It was a tangle of paradoxes shaping how my brain worked, many of which I struggled to understand, including:

• The ability to hyperfocus for hours, days, even weeks on some things while struggling to focus for more than a minute on others.
• A need for familiarity and predictability pitted against a desire for change and difference.
• A lifelong struggle with small talk – yet a tendency to talk too much.
• A love of loud music, new places and experiences, yet a struggle with overstimulation, noise and crowds.
• An instinct for spotting subtle changes in people but not always knowing what they mean.

These came with other traits that affected my personal and professional life. Gaps in executive function meant I didn’t operate like others. For example, what most consider one task – “do emails for half an hour” – I experience as 60+ tasks. Reading each email [task 1], replying [task 2], plus searching for information [3] or scheduling a meeting [4] – each step adds to my mental to-do list. That’s 60+ chances to get distracted, meaning a simple task quickly becomes overwhelming.

The good news is, even before my diagnosis, my life was built on a series of hacks: no phone vibrations to reduce distractions, no pop-ups or notifications on my screen, and headphones (with or without music) whenever I left home.

While I consciously created those hacks to help me function, I had also been unconsciously masking (‘adapting and suppressing neurodivergent traits to appear neurotypical’) to appear neurotypical, especially at work. Masking helped me fit in, build relationships, and grow my career, but it also drained me, slowed me down, and made life harder.

Two years later, the difference is profound. I’m happier, more productive and my relationships seem stronger than ever. I’m still learning, still navigating, but my approach to these hacks has changed. I now use them with intention. I understand the problems I’m solving and can create more effective solutions – even if they’re just evolutions of my old hacks. For example, my phone is fully simplified, I have several tools to reclaim focus and quiet my mind, and I now wear Loop Earplugs in most public settings to reduce overstimulation.