Neurodivergent Workers Aren’t Struggling—We’re Surviving a Hostile System

For years, I thought I was broken. I certainly felt broken.

I thought the reason I was always overwhelmed, behind on delivering, panicked by admin, making small errors, or ‘not getting things’, was because something was wrong with me. I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t uninterested. I was trying, really trying, to be what I thought a “good worker” was supposed to be. I desperately wanted to be that capable go-getter, go-to guy, but no matter how hard I worked, I still ended up feeling like I was utterly not good enough. The silly one. The problem. I was the person people liked but didn’t quite trust to lead a project, though Kieran was a good laugh. The one who got praised for being full of ideas and creative in problem-solving but somehow wasn’t quite right for the promotion. And underneath it all, I felt ashamed. Like I was secretly just... bad at being a person.

It wasn’t until I was diagnosed with ADHD that the whole illusion fell apart. Suddenly the pieces clicked into place. I wasn’t lazy or fragile or dramatic. I was navigating a workplace model that was never designed for someone like me in the first place. School and university was very much the same. Because let’s be honest, what most people call an “ideal worker” is really just someone who performs neurotypicality convincingly enough not to raise eyebrows. The ideal worker is always on time, always emotionally regulated, always self-motivated, socially skilled but not too intense, focused for long stretches, never needs help, and apparently never needs a lie-down in the stationery cupboard after a long meeting. And if you can’t match that profile? You’re seen as a risk. A bit of a nuisance. Maybe someone who’s “not quite the right fit” (a phrase I’ve come to absolutely loathe).

What I’ve learned is that this mythical “ideal worker” isn’t just unrealistic. It’s fundamentally ableist. It rewards people who can mask, conform, and regulate in very specific ways, and it penalises anyone whose mind or body doesn’t work that way. It’s not about capability, it’s about compatibility with an outdated system. That system quietly but powerfully filters out neurodivergent people, disabled people, chronically ill people, anyone who doesn’t fit the neat little package. And then it turns around and calls us difficult.

I’ve been in workplaces where I poured myself into projects, came up with ideas that other people took credit for, stayed late, skipped breaks, and still got marked down for being “scattered” or “too reactive.” I’ve had managers tell me I’m a “big personality, a character” (which, in context, was definitely not a compliment). I’ve also had jobs where nobody asked how I worked best, but everyone had an opinion on how I should behave. At the time, I thought I was just rubbish at being an adult. Now I can see it clearly: I was being measured against a standard that didn’t account for me (or people like me) at all.

What if being inconsistent sometimes is just how a variable nervous system works? What if taking longer to respond isn’t a flaw, but a sign that I’m actually thinking about it properly? What if needing structure or support or a different sensory environment doesn’t make me less capable, but actually helps me do better work? (Way out idea, I know.)

And here's what puzzles me: the same traits that get penalised in neurodivergent employees, passion, honesty, unconventional thinking, are celebrated in entrepreneurs and creatives. It’s only a “problem” when you’re lower down the food chain and expected to just get on with it quietly. So I wish people would stop pretending this is about professionalism. It’s about control. It’s about comfort. It’s about maintaining a workplace culture where certain types of minds are always in charge, and the rest of us are left to burn out trying to keep up.

If I have to mask, suppress my fidgeting, and pretend I’m not on the verge of collapse to be seen as “professional,” then it’s not inclusion, it’s assimilation. I want to work in places where I don’t have to trade authenticity for acceptance. Where success doesn’t mean silence. Where I don’t have to prove my worth by pretending to be someone I’m not.

So here’s the question: do you actually want different thinkers in your team, or do you just want people who think differently in a way that still makes you feel comfortable? Because people like me, we’re not broken. We’re exhausted. We’re excluded. We’re still here, showing up, despite everything. But we shouldn’t have to keep shape-shifting to earn our place.

If you really care about inclusion, then maybe it’s time to retire the idea of the “ideal worker” altogether—and start building workplaces that work for actual humans instead.