In this rich and deeply personal experiential and opinion piece, CDA Trustee Priscilla Eyles tells us how a society geared towards the needs of non-Disabled, non-minority people has let them down, partly by failing to recognise, understand or adapt to their attention-deficit, hyperactivity and autism conditions, a situation that caused her to struggle with relationships, jobs and service providers (including therapists) and even propelled her into the clutches of a cult.

Chapter 2 From traumatised beginnings to unhappy times at school and work

Social services and schools fail to spot the signs of my conditions or step in

A few incidents stick out from my school years which would’ve made me a prime candidate for an ADHD/Autism Spectrum Condition (ASC) diagnosis, if they had been better understood as something that doesn’t mainly affect white boys and as co-occurring conditions.

At about age 7, and preferring the company of adults to my peers as a child, I once got so excited at the babysitters, that I took my knickers off, an act I did impulsively with no thought as to how inappropriate or risky this was for me.

The next day a social worker came to take me out of my class and told me to draw a picture of my family and asked me some questions to determine if any familial abuse had occurred.

And then…nothing.

It’s true they had realised that no abuse had happened, but for there to have been no follow up even though there was clearly something out of the ordinary about my behaviour, seems in hindsight to be neglectful.

In secondary school, my messy handwriting was such a constant cause of frustration that it prompted a humiliating public telling off from one of my history teachers in front of other teachers and a schoolmate.

Here again there was no sense of support or any interest in looking into explanations; all the teachers left me with was a feeling of shame. I later found out that fine motor challenges are a common issue for neurodivergent people.

Teachers could also not work out why I had so much talent in the arts and humanities subjects but struggled in maths and sciences – the classic neurodivergent spiky profile. (It was only because my half-brother was a maths tutor and privately tutored me that I was able to get a B at GCSE levels; how many others like me without this privilege slipped through the cracks or ended up dropping out before college?).

 

The world of work – bosses and colleagues choose bullying over adapting

I graduated from my prestigious Journalism MA at City University into a string of unpaid media and public relations (PR) internships, where I was often shouted at, bullied and reprimanded for my lack of organisation, tardiness, or inability to read between the lines.

I also failed to understand what I needed to do to be liked or noticed beyond fulfilling my direct responsibilities, so that I could be even considered for a paid role.

Much of my struggle at work was undoubtedly due to the failure to recognize and adapt to my neurodivergence and to my lack of confidence at being able to ‘fake it till I made it’ like my peers could, as well as the invisible barriers I already faced as someone who wasn’t a privileged cis white man (cis = person who identifies as the gender they were labelled with at birth).

I then took on two unsuitable customer service administrative roles, followed by a two-month digital PR role. In the former roles I was inevitably let go after a series of neurodivergent-related mistakes, and in one was bullied again, offered zero support by the manager and had emails sent about me calling me ‘scatty’.

My mental health was often determined by how willing the manager was to understand and accommodate for my neurodivergent challenges, skills and interests.

Whilst in the latter role I was passed up for a longer-term role in favour of a of a white, more put together and organised colleague, who could ‘fit in’ to the existing office culture better than I ever could.

In between the former roles, I also endured a series of seasonal retail jobs that I mostly felt completely unsuited for and where I felt painfully bored and underutilised. Meanwhile LinkedIn would frequently show me how well my MA peers were doing and the senior editorial positions they were obtaining.

I would later enter a series of short-term, insecure charity/public sector roles, where my mental health was often determined by how willing the manager was to understand and accommodate for my neurodivergent challenges, skills and interests. In the worst cases, they would use my challenges against me and turn me into a convenient scapegoat for their mistakes, whilst taking credit for my ideas.

I often felt like a charity case or the token queer weirdo.

Roles were also made better or worse by the support or lack thereof of my colleagues – some of whom could be particularly vindictive and patronising, highlighting my mistakes in emails with my manager copied in, or emails that made me feel like I was being treated like an errant child.

Further, I had to endure workplace mobbing that reminded me of being back in school, ever the perpetual outsider . (The ones that did want to take the time to understand I will always remember as showing me how much better things can be with a little empathy, care, patience and trust in a person’s abilities).

At the same time, I was struggling to be in long-term healthy intimate relationships or feel secure in my friendship groups, where I often felt like a charity case or the token queer weirdo.

I really can’t blame my mum then for wanting to me feel better and thinking that a self-development weekend course could get me out of this hole.