Enough: Why I'm Building a Neurodivergent-Led Practice, and What Comes Next
Me sitting on a chair under my garden arch
By my best estimate, I’m in my 39th year of working life. That number sits heavily in my body. It carries decades of effort, silent endurance, too many masks, and more endings than I can count. If I’m honest, only about ten of those years were actually manageable. Not easy or joyful, just survivable.
My story is not unique at all. So many of us in the neurodivergent community have been through it. The bright beginning, the slow unraveling, the eventual burnout, and the abrupt exit.
It’s not because we weren’t capable or qualified. It’s because the environments we were placed in asked us to erase parts of ourselves just to stay afloat.
What the Numbers Don’t Say
According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, in 2022, the unemployment rate for Autistic people of working age was 18.2%. That’s more than double the rate for disabled people overall, and almost six times the rate of non-disabled people.
But statistics like this only tell part of the story. They don’t reveal how many of us move from job to job trying to stay safe. They don’t reflect the underemployment, the burnout, the years spent in casual or precarious work. And they certainly don’t speak to the trauma so many of us carry from being told, directly or indirectly, that we’re too much, or not enough.
If you widened the lens to include all neurodivergent people, not just those formally diagnosed with Autism, those numbers would only grow. And if you asked how many of us have left work entirely to preserve our wellbeing, you’d uncover an even deeper issue.
The Pattern I Know Too Well
My own work history mirrors that of so many neuro-kin. It often goes something like this:
I apply for a job. On paper, I shine. I speak clearly in written applications. My ideas and passion come through. I look like the perfect fit.
I get the interview. I stop sleeping. I start rehearsing my lines and controlling my tone. I show up masked and exhausted. I smile too much. I try to pass.
If I make it through, I start the job and throw myself in. I’m eager to learn. I take initiative. I bring creativity, compassion, strategy and insight. All while trying to decode the social rules that no one teaches you, and pretending that the lighting isn’t too bright and the noises aren’t too loud.
Eventually the mask starts to fray. I stop being able to keep up. The questions become harder to ask. The effort required to be "normal" becomes too much.
If you’re neurodivergent and reading this, you know what I mean.
And so many of us leave. In my earlier years, it wasn’t uncommon for me to pack up my desk, write a note, and never come back. Other times, I would become so physically and mentally unwell from the strain that I would end up in a doctor’s office, barely functioning. My internal alarm system kicks in and tells me when it’s time to get out.
That’s not a failure of effort. That’s a survival response.
A Quiet Declaration
So now I find myself here, in year thirty-nine of work, saying something I probably should have said much earlier.
Enough.
I am no longer going to squeeze myself into places that were never designed with me in mind. I am no longer going to prove my worth by pretending to be someone else. And I’m no longer going to work under conditions that cost me my health, my identity, or my joy.
I know that being able to say this is a privilege. I’ve gathered degrees and training. I’ve worked across sectors. I’ve saved just enough to buy myself some space. Many don’t have that option, and I hold that awareness close. That privilege comes with responsibility.
I want to use it.
Building Something Different
What I’m building now is more than just a new job. It’s a new way of living, working, and showing up. It’s a practice built on values that feel true to me. A practice led by a neurodivergent person, for neurodivergent people and those that care for us.
Through counselling, advocacy, education, and consultancy, I want to create a space where people like me can feel safe enough to unmask. A space where our challenges aren’t pathologised and our strengths aren’t weaponised. Where we can speak freely about our needs without fear of being labelled as difficult.
I want to work with neurodivergent people who are tired of trying to survive workplaces that don’t care about their wellbeing. I want to support families and colleagues and workplaces to understand neurodivergent experiences in ways that are compassionate and empowering. I want to walk beside others who are navigating our broken systems. I want to advocate for our right to be seen, heard, and treated with dignity.
This isn’t just support. This is solidarity.
What Needs to Change
Work is a hostile environment for many neurodivergent people. Not because we can’t work, but because the norms, expectations, and unspoken rules are based on a narrow idea of what competence looks like. And for those of us who experience the world differently, those norms can feel like barriers we must constantly climb over.
Recruitment processes often eliminate us before we even get a chance. Performance reviews reward conformity rather than innovation. Professional development assumes one learning style fits all. And despite endless rhetoric about inclusion, most workplaces are still designed with neurotypical assumptions at their core.
It’s not enough to ask us to “disclose” and hope for kindness. We need structural change. We need policies that guarantee access to adjustments. We need leaders who are trained in what neurodivergent inclusion actually means in practice. We need to be in the room where decisions are made (or on the other side of the screen for those of us that need to work remotely!).
And we need more neurodivergent-led spaces, where support doesn’t come at the cost of dignity.
How I Can Help
If you’re neurodivergent and feeling lost, I’ve been there. If you’re burned out, misunderstood, or isolated, I see you. If you’ve been masking so long you barely remember who you are, I understand that too.
If you're a family member or partner trying to support someone you love, I want to help you do that in ways that build trust, not tension.
If you're an organisation wanting to do better by your neurodivergent staff but unsure where to begin, I can help you move from intention to action.
My work includes:
One-on-one online counselling that centres your lived experience and unique needs
Disability advocacy and education to support your rights and access
Online workshops and consultations for communities, businesses and organisations
Everything I offer is grounded in lived experience, formal training, and a fierce belief that we all deserve to take up space as our full selves.
Moving Forward
This isn’t a polished success story. I am still unlearning decades of shame. I am still learning how to work in ways that honour my body and brain. I am still figuring out how to rest, how to take up space, and how to trust that I’m allowed to do both.
But I do know this. I am done waiting for the world to make space for me. I am making space myself. And I want to make space for you too.
This blog marks the beginning of a new chapter. One where I don’t have to hide my struggles to be seen as capable. One where I don’t have to choose between authenticity and survival. One where I can contribute meaningfully, sustainably, and on my own terms.
I want this to be more than just a business. I want it to be a gathering place. A homecoming for all of us who’ve spent too long trying to belong where we were never meant to stay.
If anything here resonated with you, I’d love to hear from you. Whether you’re looking for support, partnership, or just someone who gets it, you are welcome here.
Let’s build something better. Together.
