Tags
ADHD, anger, autism, brain, chartership, cognitive, colleagues, consultant, frustration, imagery, isolation, lost, mental health, mental health at work, motivation, neurodivergence, professional, sadness, social acceptance, stress, work, workplace, worth
I am told that I have autistic traits and that these errant pathways through the grey matter are the autobahns of my stubbornness. I am told I have ADHD and that this electric chaos is the static in my faraday brain.
I am told that this is me now.
I am told that I have power and uniqueness.
But those are just words that fall like drips of oil upon my clean hands. They sully and stain and smear me with assumption and agenda and false expectation. It’s hard to wash the excitement away when it’s time for Sunday best.
I am enrolled in a programme of accreditation which will lead to the highest professional status in my field. I will be Chartered. It is a doctorate in all but name (oh the sting!).
I want the award. I am too old to care surely, and too removed from the workplace race for it to be relevant. But I want it. And I don’t know why, but I have tied my horse to it.
I have to demonstrate four years of professional and ethical practice. I have to show them that I have become an independent competent professional.
And at every turn I am encountering the lying horseman. The one who smiles and says I am fair, while rolling his eyes and stealing my gold.
“Be yourself, be strong. You can be who you are. You have the right to be who you are.
“But be who we want you to be. Work to become better. Communicate better, remember better, write the words we like to read.
“Celebrate your difference. Your creativity is valuable.
“But suck in your stomach and stick out your hand for the ruler. This is the way, and we don’t recognise the world beyond the path.”
I am a difficult apprentice to the Word because I do not match those faceless, hopeless scarecrows who fill the halls of business.
And this makes me feel less. I have no more challenge to throw at them. I feel 12 again, an outsider to the Way.
Once inside the gates, I can throw off my cape and breathe fire from within. But I fear I won’t be able to hold my mask still while I wait in line. To gain admittance, I have to pass. To pass, I have to walk along a line of instruction. I have to keep my mouth shut. I have to fly straight and not look around at the clouds and stars and lines of possibility.
The hypocrisy of a neurodiversity policy in a neurotypical straitjacket is sour indeed.
I heard some feedback from a client today. They said I had given them the space to talk, given them insight, given them excitement about the future of their company.
When I have all these gifts to give, it is rum indeed to find that the message in this blog hasn’t changed since my first post nine years ago.
“Try a little harder. “ say my peers.
I think about unnecessary things. I make things complicated. I don’t stick to plans. I don’t focus on the process. My notes can be voluminous and read like a novel. I sometimes have to think for days before starting to type.
I get nervous and excited, and forget what I was saying. I swear and wave my arms around. I talk to my clients as though I am helping a friend solve a problem.
When did professional become a synonym for obedient?