I wanted to write a little about why I’ve changed direction.

Diagnosis & early posts

Four years ago I was translating and editing when I received my ADHD diagnosis. It was a revelation.
I’m a little embarrassed by my early blog posts on the topic. My mask firmly welded to my face, I offered “productivity tips” for people with ADHD. It was well-meaning, but so smug and so misguided.
Based on these posts, you would be forgiven for thinking that I had everything sorted and had figured out how to be “productive”. Nothing could be further from the truth. The realisation that I couldn’t strategise my way out of my executive dysfunction was a hard lesson.
I tried colour-coding, reminders, apps, accountability buddies, whiteboards, blackboards, pinboards, pegboards… some of it helped… a bit. But most of it fell down around my ears because to implement a system, you need executive function. And because I was not living on an island: I still needed to use shops, make appointments, and communicate with doctors.
It became very clear that focussing on changing myself is not only harmful, it is pointless without systemic change.

How poor design becomes a barrier

You see, the poorly designed systems and processes that make life more difficult for everyone, are truly debilitating for me. They stop me from leaving the house, seeing my friends, buying what I need, getting healthcare, and even watching TV.
At the risk of airing my dirty laundry, I want to share a snapshot of what ill-considered services, poorly designed products and uninformed staff have meant for me. This is not because I want to do myself down or garner sympathy, but because I want to make amends for sugar-coating how debilitating executive dysfunction can be. Neurodivergent people live with enough shame without neurodivergent bloggers minimising the struggles we face.
I have plenty of skills and a lot to offer (don’t worry – I’ll get to that), but this talent comes with executive dysfunction. This doesn’t have to get in the way of my work, my user experience or my consumer choices, but it does. Here are a few examples:

What’s changing

I know I’m not alone in having suffered in silence and shame, blaming myself for my inability to navigate the world.
But things are changing. We are talking to each other, learning to love our brains, and waking up to the fact that service-providers, employers and businesses are failing to meet our needs.
Neurodivergent consumers are abandoning their shopping carts, unsubscribing from marketing emails, avoiding shopping centres, ignoring notifications, and eating in rather than dining out.
At work, autistic people are seeking recognition for their skills and rejecting the notion that empathy is a one-way street and the responsibility for improving communication is not just theirs to bear.
In short, we are leaving behind the organisations that are laying siege to our brains. Since we are unlikely to have the bandwidth to submit a complaint, respond to a survey or do an exit interview, chances are you probably never noticed us leave.

When it works

Don’t get me wrong, there have been some stand-out examples of neuroinclusive services too. Both Yorkshire Water and Santander have user-friendly portals and sympathetic staff. The Titanic Hotel in Belfast was the most neuroinclusive place I’ve ever stayed. The work of Fazeela Hafejee, Assistant Director of Adults with Disabilities at Bradford Council.
But unconscious bias, empathy, and groupthink have left others unsure about how to support different cognitive profiles in the workplace, design neuroinclusive services and develop products that work for everyone.

Where I’m focusing next

From now on I will be bringing my neuroinclusive approach to businesses and organisations committed to helping every customer and colleague thrive.
In the next few posts I’ll show you how – starting with the workplace.

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