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Last month, I interviewed a candidate for a training role.
Brilliant facilitator.
Deep expertise.
Someone who’d been working in neurodiversity for years.
During the conversation, they mentioned their previous role: working on a council’s neurodiversity team.
They were the only neurodivergent person on the team.
“The expectation,” they told me, “was that I’d sit in the corner quietly and do my thing.”
A neurodiversity team.
Telling their neurodivergent employee to sit quietly.
This is what compliance-based neuroinclusion looks like in practice. Programmes that tick boxes while the underlying systems remain unchanged. Awareness training that doesn’t translate into different behaviour. The appearance of inclusion without the infrastructure to support it.
The performance case hiding in plain sight
Neurodivergent minds — ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia, and others — don’t just think differently. They often think in ways that organisations desperately need: pattern recognition, systems thinking, creative problem-solving, deep focus, comfort with ambiguity.
I saw this recently when I ran a 60-minute workshop on inattentive ADHD. We measured confidence before and after. In one hour, participants’ confidence in understanding and working with their ADHD jumped from 4.2 to 7.8 out of 10 — a 3.6-point shift.
But here’s what really struck me: 87% of participants said they regularly experienced “what was I doing?” moments at work. 65% struggled with shame around asking for help.
These aren’t performance problems. They’re infrastructure problems. Talented people trying to operate in systems that weren’t built for how their minds work.
Compliance thinking vs. capability thinking
Here’s the distinction that matters:
Compliance thinking asks: how do we accommodate neurodivergent employees so we don’t face legal risk?
Capability thinking asks: how do we build systems that unlock the full contribution of every mind in this organisation?
I experienced this difference first-hand when building my own recruitment process for associate trainers.
We needed to assess facilitation capability — but the standard interview format systematically disadvantages many neurodivergent candidates.
So we redesigned it.
Candidates received all questions 72 hours in advance.
We used peer feedback during live facilitation exercises — assessing what actually matters for the role.
We built the process so it was developmental, not just evaluative.
The feedback was striking.
One candidate wrote: “I’ve participated in countless interviews, but I’ve never experienced one that felt so genuinely developmental and supportive. The feedback was insightful and constructive, truly helping me refine my skills and approach, rather than just assessing them.”
Another said: “I’ve never experienced an interview that also developed my skills.”
That’s not accommodation. That’s better design.
What changes when you get this right
I recently delivered neuroinclusion training for a cultural institution — managers from across the organisation, most of whom had never had formal training on supporting neurodivergent team members.
The feedback from the client afterwards was simple: managers were “doing things differently.”
Not just aware. Not just informed. Actually changing their behaviour.
In the breakout rooms, managers shared what they were taking away:
“We spoke about the importance of creating psychological safety first.”
“Reassure them that this isn’t the only conversation we can have together.”
“When supporting, ask what kind of support they need rather than making assumptions.”
Clear communication benefits everyone. Flexible working models benefit everyone. Performance management that focuses on outcomes benefits everyone. Recruitment that looks beyond standard interview performance benefits everyone.
This is the part that gets missed: neuroinclusive design makes organisations better for all minds, not just neurodivergent ones. It forces you to be clearer, more intentional, less reliant on unspoken assumptions.
The intersectional dimension
Here’s what most neuroinclusion programmes miss: neurodivergent employees don’t exist in single categories.
A Black autistic woman faces different barriers than a white autistic man. A working-class dyslexic person navigating a profession that assumes certain educational backgrounds. A disabled single parent whose neurodivergence intersects with caregiving demands.
Single-axis inclusion programmes — “we have a neurodiversity initiative” — miss these intersections entirely. They treat identity as neat boxes when real people live at the intersections.
The organisations building real capability don’t just ask “is this neuroinclusive?” They ask “who might this still exclude — and why?”
Where to start
If you’re a leader reading this and thinking “we should probably do more on neuroinclusion,” I’d invite you to reframe the question.
Don’t ask: what neuroinclusion programme should we run?
Ask: where are our people systems currently optimised for one cognitive style — and what would it take to build for cognitive diversity by default?
That’s a harder question. It requires looking at recruitment, performance, leadership, communication, and culture through a different lens. It requires building infrastructure, not just running initiatives.
But it’s the question that leads to real change — and real performance.
Neuroinclusion isn’t about being kind to a minority of your workforce. It’s about building an organisation that can access the full range of human capability. That’s not a DEI initiative. That’s strategy.
