When I was named one of EN’s 30underThirty, I promised to use the platform to raise awareness of neurodiversity within the events industry and show the value different ways of thinking and working can bring. That means speaking honestly about the environments that help me and perhaps many others thrive.
I know my experience isn’t unique. If sharing it helps one person feel less alone at work, or helps one manager approach a conversation differently, that’s enough.
I wanted a career in events. I wanted to build something, be part of this fantastic industry and be good at what I did. That part was never in question. What I didn’t have was an explanation for why getting there sometimes looked different for me.
The events industry is built on people and relationships. Timing, tone, and picking up on things nobody says out loud. Many people absorb those rules instinctively. I worked them out through trial and error.
I discovered I was neurodivergent well into adulthood. By that point, I had already built a successful career in event marketing and developed my own ways of working in this wild but wonderful industry, without fully understanding why they worked for me.
What changed was how I understood myself. Having that explanation gave me the words for why certain situations took more energy and what helped me flourish and do the work I’m proud of.
Talking about needs is absolutely essential. But I also started asking myself a different question: what will help me thrive?
Take group brainstorms. I do my best creative thinking when I have time and space to develop ideas independently. Give me that opportunity and I will come back with more ideas than we could ever realistically use.
When I told my manager
Soon after receiving my diagnosis, I called my manager. I was fortunate to feel able to speak openly with her.
Her response was: “This doesn’t change how we value you. You are still the same person you were yesterday.”
She was right. I was already the person doing the job and, may I add, doing it well.
Whilst my experience was positive, I know that won’t be the case for everyone. It is normal to wonder: Will people see me differently? Will my ability or value be questioned?
Disclosure is personal. Nobody should feel pressured to share a diagnosis before they feel safe or ready.
But not disclosing can come at a cost too. You can end up in an environment that makes it harder to reach your potential, without being able to explain why.
Reasonable adjustments are not special treatment
Reasonable adjustments can sound clinical, like something from a policy document rather than part of ordinary working life.
But let’s not forget that events are anything but normal sometimes, and we love them that way. They can mean long days, crowded venues, last-minute changes and being switched on from the first briefing to the final networking drink.
For me, reasonable adjustments were never dramatic. They were small, practical things that enabled me to produce great work, consistently.
That meant working remotely or timing my journey into the city so I wasn’t packed onto a train at rush hour. On some days, it meant starting earlier when my focus was sharper. It meant being able to step away from my desk or go for a walk without that being treated as a disappearance.
I am still doing the same job, with the same expectations. These small changes just help me do it well.
If someone tells you
If a team member discloses a diagnosis, don’t make the conversation bigger than it needs to be. Remember that they may have spent weeks, if not months, thinking about telling you.
Everyone is different. What helps one neurodivergent person may not help another, even if they share the same diagnosis.
You do not need to research your way to an answer on their behalf. Give them time to think about what would genuinely help and champion those changes when they tell you.
Responding well in that moment matters, but what happens afterwards matters even more.
Follow through. Make sure what you have discussed is reflected in how you work together day to day.
Over the coming months, I’ll be writing more about what it looks like to be neurodivergent in our wonderful industry, and how small, practical changes can help neurodivergent employees do their best work and managers build stronger teams.
