Neurodiversity: Help or Hindrance?

Dina Marquardt, Cultural Brand Strategist.

I recently found out that I am neurodivergent and have ADHD, and that made a lot of sense to me. From early childhood I've been extremely curious, creative and just generally very interested in how the world works.

Whilst ADHD, like any other trait or diagnosis, differs greatly in its expression from person to person, many people with ADHD are very creative in our thinking. Our brains fire ideas and analyses all day long. For me this means, I'm able to think creatively and strategically about long term solutions to today's problems (whether at work or on a walk, this just happens), whilst also being able to really hone in on one topic. Personally, I really value these traits and I've always gravitated to work that enables me to be creative and strategic at the same time.

The constant flow of creativity in my brain is a double edged sword, of course. Without structure or purpose the amount of thoughts can be a lot. I have always sought out project based work from starting in events management at Native Instruments, over brand partnership management at Boiler Room to setting up my own business as a cultural insights researcher and strategist. I find that the clear beginning and end, along with deadlines and milestones along the way, bring out my creative, analytical abilities best.

I'd love some more quiet in my brain from time to time, but I would not want to give up the way I'm able to think about the world and its people.

Lia Armitage, Social Media Manager, REDSOFA.

For me, dyslexia is the magical tool that has allowed me to become the creative person that I am. Dyslexia, despite common misconceptions, isn't all bad spelling, and an inability to read well (I'm a chief speller, and I devour books); for me, it affects how I problem-solve, communicate with others, and honestly? My self-esteem.

It can take me longer to catch onto things, although when I do catch on, I'm usually very good at new things — but the interim part where I'm learning can be exhausting, demoralising, lonely, make me feel veritably thick and completely shit at my job/everything.

So, is my neurodivergence a help or hindrance to me as a creative person? Well, actually — I have no idea. I have no idea what it's like NOT to be neurodivergent, so I can't really give you a comparison.

BUT I do know how it feels to be sat in an office, or classroom, or workshop with 15 other people, the clock is ticking, and you have no clue what's going on and you have no hope of reaching the deadline when everyone else is plodding along happily without a care in the world. Sweat falls down your brow as your art teacher leans over and tells you you're going to fail GCSE art and you have no idea why because everything you make in your mind looks wicked but when you come down to making it, it looks like something that got dredged from the bottom of the Hackney Canal.

Oh, wait, this is an insight isn't it — not therapy; back to the bit about being neurodivergent.

After many failed attempts at being creative when I was younger, which I just kept trying to do because I loved it, even if I kept getting told I wasn’t good enough, I was really lucky to have three teachers who taught me to be organised. And you may be thinking, “Hey, what has that got to do with being creative?”, and the answer is, for me, everything.

Being so anally retentive on the organisation front has got me to where I am today, sustaining a living (almost, Cozzie-Livs is not helping) by my mid-20s, off of being creative. If I know where I'm at, if everything is written down and in order, if I know how long I have, what tools I can use and how to use them; then and only then can I creatively flourish.

Because I am so organised, and because I have to think about things differently I come up with some really cool, off-the-beaten-track ideas which wouldn't even occur to neurotypical people. I grew up really struggling with problem solving and logic, but through time, patience, and a lot of really supportive people, I now feel confident in my work, creativity, and brain.

And that, is why I think dyslexia is magical.

I also hate it.

Both.

At once.

On a serious note: for anyone reading this who works with neurodivergent people but who aren’t themselves — the one thing you can do to help people be their best creative selves is support them. They aren't asking you 20 questions to be irritating, they're genuinely trying to learn so they don't mess it up and take up more of your time. We want to be good, and we are good, and we are so worth it.

Adele Doe, Senior Brand Strategist.

My journey of self-discovery regarding neurodivergence, specifically my late-diagnosed ADHD at the age of 37, has significantly reshaped my understanding of creativity. I work as a Senior Brand Strategist in the music/tech industry; The whirlwind of thoughts and internalised hyperactivity sometimes make it challenging to maintain focus on many projects. 

Yet, as I now begin to embrace my neurodiversity, I see such beauty in my unconventional thought patterns. I am gifted with a unique lens through which I perceive the world, and it is evident that my creative capacity, hyper-focus, connecting dots, and ability to think beyond boundaries are invaluable assets in environments that thrive on innovation. My neurodivergence is not just a help; it is a distinctive advantage that sets me apart and allows me to flourish, offering space to bring my whole person in moments of creativity.

Jane Ruffino, Content Designer and UX Writer.

I would never say being neurodivergent is a hindrance to creativity, but I have to admit, it is one in life, more broadly. If I could have a neurotypical brain that just needed to learn creative thinking, I sometimes think that might be less challenging than having a spiky brain and physically sweating because I can't remember my 2-factor confirmation code for the 7 seconds it takes to type it in. Or being able to read a room and fit in socially so that I don't stick out so much.

I'm lucky that I've been able to create some contexts that help me work well, and that I've managed to even overcompensate for a lot of what doesn't come naturally to me.

For example, I'm extremely good at things like prioritisation and time management. People probably think it's my superpower, but it's so, so hard won, and it comes from years of being terrible at it, from losing successive weekends, not to doing work, but to stressing about how much I needed to do work, without actually doing it. I had to learn to see time as a series of boxes on my calendar that I put work into. Once I know what needs doing, I figure out how much time I need for it, then I break it into boxes, put them in my calendar, and I don't think about those boxes until it's time to open one.

Figuring out a routine also helped me get past some of the overthinking and perfectionism that gets in the way of a lot of neurodivergent people's ability (OK, my ability) to actually see an idea through to the end without melting down. I've definitely been able to use this skill as a consultant, which, in my case, is a nice word for "feral".

I like to think of myself as a raccoon. You know, a nice one that lives in your yard and knows how to get your good garbage without knocking the whole bin over. You have a positive, symbiotic relationship with that raccoon, but that cutie pie doesn't live in the house. And I don't say that to dunk on myself. Being scrappy is a hugely valuable skill, but it took a lot of expensive coaching to help me learn to see that and centre it. A lot of companies think they need some FAANG rock star, but they actually need a scrappy scavenger who enjoys mess — that's me!

Another advantage is that I can process quite a lot of information quickly. Once I have a creative idea triggered, I can pretty much sit down and map it out to the end, sometimes with a whole strategy and execution plan. It can freak people out to watch me work when I'm in that kind of flow. I didn't know this wasn't normal until someone told me. Socially, I'm not great at reading a room, but in an organisation, I can usually figure things out rapidly, and I'm very friendly and I desperately want to be liked, so I can be pretty good at getting stakeholders on board. 

Growing up without a diagnosis also means that, unless you're extremely lucky and have a skill or talent people think is cool, you're the weird one. I couldn't understand why kids didn't take things as seriously as I did. Why, fellow first-graders, do you not want to come to the home of the kid with bifocals, so we can play school, when I made all these lesson plans and worksheets? As I got older, I learned to find other weirdos to relate to, but never really lost that sense that I should be making more effort to be legible, that it's wrong to do things my way. I think that, again, being a consultant, I have learned how to be legible enough to do business and be useful. As a facilitator and trainer, I also figured out how to get people to pay me to make lesson plans and worksheets, which is awesome—yay for school! 

The biggest cost comes when I find myself choosing between masking, which takes a ton of energy and I'm not great at, or just being myself, which comes at a pretty high social cost, especially in a very normative culture like the one I live in. Then I feel like I just get to choose between two types of shit sandwiches. I know it will not surprise anyone who has read this far, but for this exercise, I have chosen to eat Shit Sandwich B.

Another downside is that people will sometimes take advantage of my ability to think and work quickly, without appreciating that that speed also comes with a need for rest and recovery. They kind of see my energy and they want to own it, and because I'm so outgoing, it can get treated like public property.

For example, I used to work in a design agency, and a lot of people were very, let's just say, optimistic about how people would use their products, and I was the person who could tell you how something could and would be misused. So I became this person people would invite into the room, so they could show me what they were working on, and I could spend about 5 minutes walking through a few scenarios where what they were building could get someone killed. After a while, not only was it kind of traumatic, I started to feel used, especially when they'd never give me credit publicly. They were just "picking my brain".

So, combined with my desperate need to be liked (please like me!), it felt really bad. I'm still learning how to figure out who to share that creative energy with, and where to draw those boundaries.

I do see it as a disability because, one, it's exhausting, but also because of the energy cost of surviving in a world where we're allowed to exist and participate in so far as we provide novelty. That disables me by preventing me from using that energy to do something cool and exciting, rather than coping with the people who are really committed to enforcing norms, who can come down extra hard on us when we're not convenient. Being disabled is always going to be a hindrance in a context where including us is seen as an "accommodation." We're expected to play on hard mode, while also being grateful just to be there.

But I think my set of life experiences has made me sensitive to people's contexts, good at sitting with uncertainty, good at holding space for other people's struggles, and hopefully pretty funny—all of those important things. The quality of relationships I have, both personally and professionally—I wouldn't give that up for anything.

Heck, I've typed a lot. Please, please like me.

Taylor Handsley, Founder of Tailored.

It’s a huge misconception that autistic people aren't and can't be creative. Even I had that misconception when I was diagnosed. Some of us are extremely creative and others are in non-traditional ways. It makes sense too, many of us are hyper vigilant when it comes to sensories and we develop special interests that we have to fully understand. 

I see things much differently than most people do. The industry is quite siloed in that you've got your creatives and your strategists and your account team, etc...but for me, I see how they all work together and have to understand how they all work together. This helps me to be better at creative — knowing what purpose it will serve to the brand, where it will live, which audience will see it. 

Thanks everyone!