Neuro-Earnest Confessions

Sometimes it’s okay to quit. Sometimes it’s what you need.

This is true for many things in life; sometimes you need to quit a certain vice, a habit; other times it’s certain people that take more from you than they give. Whatever the obstacle; if it does not add value or perspective to your life in any meaningful capacity, or feels like it is holding you back from achieving your dreams, there is no shame in letting things go. This includes your job.

In our modern culture, your job and career are a fundamental part of your identity. From an early age, we ask children what they want to do when they grow up, and build our entire educational system and economy around the concepts of training oneself for a future career. Jobs do a play a big role in our lives; for better and worse, they are how we make money, access resources, and support ourselves and others. But they can also give purpose and provide meaning where it would otherwise not exist. Sometimes that purpose is as simple as ‘not starving’ or ‘keeping the lights on’ but for others it can be ‘change the world’ and ‘save lives’ or other similar lofty ideals. This is especially true for neurodivergent folks. In a world where the very core of identity is a buzzword, a topic for debate, and analyzed in such contexts as to further alienate us from our perceptions of self and others; having a career (or a stable job that pays the bills) is often a monumental task that requires a significant portion of our mental and physical resources to upkeep, yet fundamentally shapes our relationships to self and society. In a time where an estimated 30-40% of neurodiverse individuals face unemployment, it’s no wonder the prospects of finding (and keeping) a job can induce sentiments of anxiety, fear, and inadequacy. The truth is that like most things in modern society, the job market (including the hiring process, vocational education/training, and the base ideas surrounding what constitutes ‘labor’) is not just broken, but crucially designed not to accommodate the needs of a neurodivergent populace. In this world, we are told, either consciously or not, that we should be grateful to even have a job and need to learn how to put up with unfair labor practices at the expense of our health and well-being; otherwise we are a burden to society for being unproductive.

I’m here to tell you that is not the case.

If you have the capacity to participate in the modern workforce, but feel your current situation is not serving your life the way it should, you have every right to walk away.

I understand it takes a certain level of privilege to be able to leave an uncomfortable work position due to various financial obligations and other factors (like health insurance and skills demand). I also understand the urge to say ‘fuck it all’ and leave an unhappy workplace in a glorious spectacle with guns figuratively ablaze and middle fingers astride; or with a simple, no-frills no contact Irish goodbye (if someone has a less offensive way to say that, I’m all ears). I’m not saying quit your job right this second, but think about it; odds are, your gut and heart have been telling you something and it’s high time you listen. Even if you consider yourself lucky; where you feel your work is valuable, and you enjoy your bosses and coworkers, and you feel adequately compensated; if something feels off, it means it probably is. I recently had to make this decision, after holding down a job for almost 2 years (longer than any other job I had), in a setting I enjoyed (geriatric long-term care for assisted living and skilled nursing), where I felt I was making a difference (speech therapy for language, cognition, voice, and swallowing). I worked hard to get myself to this point (speech was my second formally-educated career, and third overall) and spent countless hours battling imposter syndrome, taking continuing education courses, and refining my skills to do the best job I could. Speech is one of those careers where many in the profession make it their whole life; car and office adorned in speech-themed memorabilia, and entire Instagrams dedicated to speech influencers selling the hottest new courses and materials. If you don’t live, eat, and breathe speech, you are unworthy.

Just like with the food service jobs, and just like with teaching, I could feel myself burning out. The productivity standards were unrealistic for most neurotypical people, let alone me (unless I was willing to commit fraudulent billing, which, no thank you). The opportunities for growth and a career trajectory were limited; no matter if I was 3 years or 30 years into the profession, I’d be doing the same thing for the same pay, day in and day out. I felt myself stagnating. I felt myself getting bored. And I felt myself slowly growing to resent myself, my coworkers, and my patients, which was unfair to all of us. It’s not my fault that most elderly in nursing homes aren’t going to get better no matter what I do, anymore than it’s not my fault progress with disabled children might plateau after years of slow and incremental growth. It’s not my coworkers fault they can pull groups into the gym for occupational and physical therapy while I run across the building from room to room for individual bedside services because the hard-of-hearing can’t hear in the commotion of the exercises, or the cognitively-impaired are easily distracted and can’t make the trek without risking a fall. Ultimately, what was burning me out ended up outpacing what filled my metaphorical cup, and I had a choice to make. Today, I started my first day of training at a new roofing sales position, excited and eager for the novelty while putting my existing skill set to good use. I have no regrets, for even if this job doesn’t work out, I am confident another will come. It’s been…less than fun, explaining to friends and family over the holiday season my sudden shift in career, but most seem to be understanding when I frame it as “I needed a break from XYZ” or “I wanted to challenge myself to something new.”

So I’m hoping someone, anyone, finds this and learns they aren’t stuck to their 9-5, or whatever their working hours currently are. There are opportunities in this brutal, beautiful world to make the change, even if only for a bit, to escape the drudgery and inject new meaning into your life. In no particular order, I’ve learned over the years some helpful tips for making the most of one’s work in a world where our worth is measured not in love and impact, but in dollars and productivity. They are as follows:

1. Find meaning outside of work – sometimes a paycheck is just a paycheck, and what we do off the clock gives us our purpose. For neurodivergent people, this can be difficult to accept, as it feels our work becomes a waste of time, but it can provide a mental reprieve (even if only temporary) while you work on the longer project/journey of finding a meaningful job.
2. Reach out to your network – so much of the job hunt is not what you know, but who you know. Ask around friends and family, utilize a career center or temp agency, or just network on the street if you’re feeling bold enough. You never know who might have a position that you’d be the perfect match to fill. I know it’s easier said than done of ‘don’t be shy’ but even connecting with strangers on the internet can open avenues you otherwise would not have access.
3. Take an honest but creative skills inventory – while much of job searching is who you know, what you know is probably deeper and more robust than you give yourself credit. The biggest assets during my interview process for sales positions was not my experience as a teacher or speech therapist, but my work in food service and history of improv comedy performance. Of my speech therapy, what worked was not talking to hiring managers about aphasia or stuttering treatment techniques, but rather building client rapport, explaining complex medical information in simple language to caregivers, and keeping my documentation organized. These are skills that can transfer to most any job, and can help you narrow or widen your search parameters as you look for that position.
4. Start your own business – I will admit I do not have much experience in this area besides a short stint as a pet sitter. BUT many neurodivergent people often find starting their own business to not just be a rewarding and worthwhile endeavor, but truly the only method of maintaining stable employment. Running a business is not easy; it requires a significant level of discipline and accountability that many of us struggle to keep, not to mention the logistics hurdles that throw even neurotypical people for a loop. But being your own boss, not answering to anyone else, setting your own hours, and being solely responsible for all decisions provides a level of freedom and flexibility you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere else.

Whatever you decide to do, know that your self-worth is not reflected by the paycheck you bring home. But if you can earn a wage (or salary, or commission, or whatever), there is no shame in demanding more of your job besides the money. We spend almost half our waking hours on this blue marble working; there is nothing wrong with demanding to find something emotionally, spiritually, and financially worthwhile for that time.

For more unhinged neurodiverse life hacks, check out the following pages:
Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hygiene Hellscape
Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Hyperfocus Management
Unhinged Neurodiverse Life Hack – Circadian Rhythm Who?