Tag: ADHD

  • Isolation Vs Exposure

    Isolation Vs Exposure

    An AuDHD look at working from home, office life, and what happens when your comfort zone becomes very comfortable indeed.

    One of the great promises of working from home is that you can finally escape all the unnecessary nonsense of the office.

    No commute. No fluorescent lighting. No mysterious person microwaving fish at 11:14 in the morning. No conversations happening three desks away while somebody else is on Teams without headphones and somebody behind you is apparently trying to destroy a keyboard using only their index fingers.

    For someone with autism, ADHD, or the increasingly common buy-one-get-one-free combination of AuDHD, this can feel less like a perk and more like the removal of several dozen small obstacles you previously assumed were simply part of having a job.

    I can work from home quite effectively.

    Increasingly, I do.

    And yet I’ve noticed something slightly inconvenient.

    If I work from home for a long stretch, the next time I go into the office I find it much harder.

    The noise seems noisier.

    The movement around me becomes more distracting.

    Conversations interrupt my train of thought more easily. People appear beside my desk unexpectedly, which is apparently a completely normal thing for humans to do to each other.

    By lunchtime I can feel as though I’ve already done a full day’s work, even if most of the morning was spent doing entirely ordinary office things.

    None of this is particularly surprising. What did surprise me was the contrast.

    I used to cope with it.

    Or at least I coped with it better.

    Which left me wondering whether removing stress from my working life had also reduced my ability to deal with stress when it returned.

    Had working from home made me softer?

    I dislike that wording, because it sounds like something said by my high school PE teacher (Ex Army PT instructor and bane of my youthful existence!) while making me run through freezing mud, but there is something in the question that I haven’t quite managed to dismiss.

    The appeal of the cave

    There are very good reasons to retreat from environments that exhaust us.

    For autistic people, an office can contain a remarkable number of things demanding attention at once.

    Phones ring. Doors open. People walk past. Conversations appear and disappear. Somebody has adjusted the heating to a temperature normally associated with commercial bread production.

    Then there are the social calculations.

    Should I say hello?

    Have I said hello already?

    Was that person talking to me?

    How long am I supposed to stand in the kitchen after making coffee?

    Is someone going to ask what I did at the weekend, and if they do, are they expecting the accurate answer or the approved two-sentence version?

    ADHD adds its own complications. An office can provide stimulation, which sometimes helps, but it can also provide far more stimulation than you actually ordered.

    Working from home gives you control over a surprising amount of this.

    You can choose the lighting.

    You can control the noise.

    You can decide when to speak to people.

    You can arrange your desk properly and leave it arranged properly, safe in the knowledge that nobody from Facilities will suddenly announce that everybody is moving three floors down on Thursday.

    You can sometimes work according to your natural rhythm rather than the rhythm produced by twenty other people existing nearby.

    That control has value.

    It can mean having more energy left at the end of the working day.

    It can mean concentrating for longer.

    It can mean fewer headaches, fewer shutdowns, less masking, and less time spent recovering from things that had almost nothing to do with the actual work.

    For some people, home working may simply allow them to do their job better.

    There is no prize for completing a spreadsheet or fixing a code bug while simultaneously tolerating a noisy air-conditioning unit.

    The problem with becoming too comfortable

    Comfort, unfortunately, is rather good.

    Once you have discovered that work can happen in a quiet room with your preferred lighting, your preferred chair, your own toilet, and access to coffee that costs considerably less than £3.80, voluntarily returning to the office can feel like an administrative error.

    The difficulty is that life rarely agrees to remain inside the environment we have carefully designed for it.

    There are meetings.

    Appointments.

    Family gatherings.

    Training days.

    Conferences.

    Restaurants.

    Public transport.

    People.

    Awful lot of people, actually.

    And my working theory, based entirely on observing myself rather than conducting anything remotely resembling respectable science, is that tolerance can change.

    Things I encounter regularly become familiar.

    Things I avoid can start feeling larger.

    When I was regularly in an office, I expected the noise. I had routines. I knew where I sat, when I took lunch, where I could disappear for five minutes, and which parts of the day were likely to be chaotic.

    After a long period at home, I lose some of that familiarity.

    Then I return and suddenly notice everything again.

    The office itself has not necessarily become worse.

    My baseline has moved.

    That leaves an awkward question, especially for neurodivergent people who have spent years being told to endure environments that were genuinely harmful.

    When does protecting yourself become avoiding something?

    And when does exposing yourself to something stop being useful and start being pointless suffering?

    I don’t think those questions have universal answers.

    Annoying, really. A five-point solution would make this article much easier for me to finish.

    Exposure is not automatically good

    There is a dangerous version of this argument that says we should deliberately make ourselves uncomfortable because discomfort builds resilience.

    Don’t get me wrong, sometimes it does.

    Mostly it just makes Tuesday horrible.

    There is a difference between gradually maintaining familiarity with an environment and repeatedly forcing yourself through something that leaves you exhausted for days.

    If spending one day in the office costs you the following evening and half of Wednesday, that belongs in the calculation.

    If home working means you can concentrate properly, communicate more clearly, and finish the day with enough energy to cook dinner rather than staring into a cupboard for six minutes, that matters too.

    Avoiding unnecessary stress is not cheating.

    We have air conditioning because being too hot is unpleasant and sweating buckets into your laptop isn’t a useful skill to learn. We wear glasses because it transpires that squinting at everything builds character and increases resilience remarkably slowly.

    The fact that just because you can tolerate something does not mean you actually need to maximise your exposure to it.

    Isolation has a cost as well

    At the same time, I know what happens when my own world gets too small.

    Things become easier.

    Then easier becomes normal.

    Then normal becomes necessary.

    A trip into the office starts feeling like a major event.

    Going somewhere after work becomes less appealing because I have become accustomed to finishing the day already at home.

    I have a tendency to become a virtual hermit in my own home on self imposed house arrest. I look out the window and “THE OUTSIDE” in the same manner as Gollum reacts to the Elvish rope he’s tethered to. “IT BURNS US !!”

    Casual conversations disappear.

    I miss information that never makes it into formal meetings.

    I lose those peculiar little workplace interactions that are mostly pointless but occasionally lead to something useful.

    There is also the social equivalent of getting slightly rusty.

    If I spend several days mostly communicating through text and scheduled calls, spontaneous conversation can feel harder when it returns. Not impossible. Just less automatic.

    There is a strange contradiction here.

    Removing friction can give me more capacity.

    Removing too much friction can sometimes reduce what I feel capable of doing.

    I’m still trying to work out where that line is.

    The office is not one thing

    Part of the problem with conversations about remote working is that we talk about “the office” as though everybody is attending the same one.

    They aren’t.

    One person’s office is a quiet room with eight colleagues and decent lighting.

    Another person’s office is an open-plan aircraft hangar containing ninety-seven people, six sales teams, a coffee grinder, and a man called Steve who conducts all telephone conversations at the volume normally reserved for emergency evacuations.

    Likewise, home is not automatically peaceful.

    Some people live alone and have a dedicated office.

    Some work from a kitchen table.

    Some have children, partners, neighbours renovating a bathroom, poor internet, nowhere comfortable to sit, a dog who has appointed itself Director of Incoming Deliveries, or a cat that thinks your laptop keyboard is the most comfortable cat bed ever!

    Some people get energy from being around colleagues.

    Others spend energy being around colleagues.

    Some ADHD brains work better when other people are present because the activity creates momentum and accountability.

    Others experience every passing conversation as a new browser tab opening in their head.

    Autism varies just as much.

    What is calming routine for one person can become claustrophobic repetition for another.

    A universal recommendation starts falling apart quite quickly.

    So what are you actually trying to optimise?

    This may be a more useful question than asking whether home or office working is better.

    Better for what?

    Productivity?

    Energy?

    Concentration?

    Career visibility?

    Social connection?

    Learning from colleagues?

    Mental health?

    Family life?

    Tolerance of busy environments?

    The answer might change depending on what you are doing.

    If I need several uninterrupted hours to write, analyse something complicated, or disappear into a problem, home has obvious advantages.

    If I need informal conversations, quick feedback, or a sense of what everyone else is doing, the office can be better.

    There are also days when I simply benefit from leaving the house.

    I resent this because it means all those people who say “you’ll feel better if you get out for a bit” occasionally have evidence.

    Finding your own mixture

    I suspect the useful compromise begins by treating this less like a question of identity.

    You do not have to be A Remote Worker or An Office Person.

    You can treat location as another part of how you manage your workload.

    A few things might be worth watching.

    What does the day actually cost you?

    Not just whether you survived it.

    Notice what happens afterwards.

    If an office day is productive but you need the entire evening to recover, that is part of its cost.

    If a home day feels comfortable but you achieve very little because the washing machine, fridge, internet, and sudden urge to reorganise a drawer have formed an alliance against you, that belongs in the calculation too.

    What happens after several days of either environment?

    One day tells you something.

    A pattern tells you more.

    Does a week at home leave you refreshed?

    Or do you become increasingly reluctant to leave?

    Does several days in the office help you settle into a rhythm?

    Or does fatigue accumulate until Friday becomes a matter of staring at Outlook and hoping nobody notices?

    Which tasks work where?

    You may not need one rule for every working day.

    Deep concentration might belong at home.

    Collaborative work might be easier in person.

    Routine admin might work anywhere.

    There is nothing particularly noble about doing a task in the environment least suited to it.

    Are you avoiding discomfort or avoiding damage?

    I find this one difficult.

    Some discomfort gets easier with familiarity.

    Some does not.

    If something feels difficult at first but becomes manageable once you settle in, occasional exposure may be useful.

    If repeated exposure consistently leaves you overloaded, exhausted, or unable to function properly afterwards, simply doing more of it may not achieve much beyond proving that you can suffer repeatedly.

    How much recovery do you need?

    Recovery time is easy to ignore because it happens outside the official working day.

    An arrangement can look perfectly sustainable between nine and five while quietly consuming everything between five and nine.

    That seems like fairly important accounting.

    What are you losing by staying home?

    This will vary enormously.

    Maybe nothing.

    Maybe informal learning.

    Maybe friendships.

    Maybe visibility.

    Maybe confidence in dealing with unpredictable situations.

    Maybe just the strange comfort of complaining about the same printer with another human being.

    It is worth knowing.

    What are you gaining?

    The same applies in reverse.

    Better concentration.

    More control.

    Less sensory overload.

    More sleep.

    No commute.

    More time with family.

    The ability to construct a working environment around how your brain actually behaves rather than how office furniture companies imagine it behaves.

    Those gains count.

    An experiment rather than a verdict

    One thing I am considering for myself is treating office attendance less as an all-or-nothing decision and more as an ongoing experiment.

    Maybe I need regular exposure to the office without needing maximum exposure to it.

    One or two days might maintain familiarity.

    Five days might drain me.

    Zero days for several months might make returning unnecessarily difficult.

    That is only my version.

    Someone else might discover that four office days and one quiet home day works beautifully.

    Someone else might realise the office contributes almost nothing useful to their job and that forcing themselves to attend because they ought to be “more resilient” is just a complicated way of becoming tired.

    Another person might discover that working from home slowly turns them into a slightly feral creature who considers answering the door an unreasonable social demand.

    All valid data.

    The useful part is noticing what happens rather than deciding in advance what ought to happen.

    Keep track for a few weeks.

    Where did you work?

    How productive were you?

    How tired were you afterwards?

    How much did you dread the next day?

    Did you speak to anyone?

    Did you concentrate?

    Did you recover?

    Did you enjoy any of it?

    That last question deserves to be in there somewhere.

    Then change the mixture.

    One more office day.

    One fewer.

    Half-days, if they are possible.

    Office days for meetings and home days for concentrated work.

    Avoid consecutive office days.

    Or deliberately use consecutive days because the first day is always the difficult one and the second is easier.

    There are a lot of combinations between permanently hiding in your house and enthusiastically hot-desking five days a week.

    I’m fairly sure my own answer sits somewhere in that untidy middle.

    I like working from home. I am better at some things there.

    I also suspect I need to keep putting myself into the world often enough that the world does not start feeling impossibly loud whenever I encounter it.

    How often that needs to happen is something I am still working out.

  • The Curious Value of Learning Things You’ll Probably Never Need

    The Curious Value of Learning Things You’ll Probably Never Need

    People have asked me all my life why I spend so much time learning things I’ll probably never need.

    To be honest, they’ve got a point.

    I don’t need to know the chemical formula for caffeine. (C₈H₁₀N₄O₂, since you asked.) I certainly don’t need to know that a 2:1 ratio of L-theanine to caffeine is generally considered the ideal combination for alertness without the jitters. I almost certainly don’t need to know how to pick a lock, open a combination padlock, or solve a Rubik’s Cube in under two minutes.

    Yet somehow these things have all found their way into my head. I seem to have developed something of a talent for learning useless things.

    Every time I go abroad, I tell myself I’ll learn a few useful phrases. “Hello.” “Thank you.” “A table for two, please.”

    Somehow that always escalates into learning how to ask for directions, apologise for my terrible pronunciation, explain that I only speak a little of the language, and enquire whether the nearest hospital is within walking distance.

    On paper, none of this seems like a sensible investment of my time.

    Then again, neither do many of my hobbies.

    The First Aid Incident

    Back in 2001 I was living in Aberdeen, working as a software developer for an oil and gas engineering company.

    To be clear, I never worked offshore. I never set foot on an oil platform. I spent my days writing software in a perfectly ordinary office.

    Naturally, I decided I ought to learn some offshore survival.

    I also became a fire warden.

    And, because apparently office life is a dangerous business, I persuaded my employer to send me on a British Red Cross first aid course. You never know when someone might suffer a particularly aggressive paper cut.

    At the end of the course I proudly received my certificate, a basic first aid kit, a copy of the British Red Cross First Aid Manual, and a rather nice canvas shoulder bag to carry it all in.

    Our instructor smiled and said, “With any luck, you’ll never need to use any of this.”

    Famous last words.

    This next part genuinely happened.

    I left the training centre, phoned my girlfriend to tell her I’d passed, crossed the road, and had barely walked a dozen feet when an elderly lady tripped over the kerb right in front of me.

    She landed heavily on the pavement, banged her elbow, knocked the wind out of herself, and split her plastic shopping bag, sending tins and groceries rolling in every direction.

    I don’t think the ink on my certificate had even finished drying.

    Within seconds I was tearing the cellophane off my brand new first aid kit, treating her injuries, calling for an ambulance, and transferring her shopping into my equally brand new British Red Cross canvas bag.

    About twenty minutes later, as the paramedics were helping her into the ambulance, my instructor walked out of the training centre.

    He looked at the ambulance.

    He looked at me.

    Then, with a wonderfully puzzled expression, silently mouthed:

    “What happened?”

    I could only shrug.

    Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure myself.

    When Curiosity Pays Unexpected Dividends

    I’d love to tell you that this was a one-off, a bizarre coincidence that could never possibly happen again.

    Unfortunately, life seems to have other ideas.

    Fast forward to this year.

    My wife and I decided to visit Tromsø in northern Norway to see the Northern Lights.

    As always, I decided to learn a little of the local language before we travelled.

    Well, a little by my standards.

    Most people learn “hello”, “thank you”, and perhaps “two coffees, please.”

    I apparently prepare for every conceivable emergency.

    By the time we arrived I could order food, ask for directions, apologise for my dreadful Norwegian, explain that I only spoke a little of the language, ask for help, and generally muddle my way through basic conversations about the weather and what tourist destinations they’d recommend.

    Then my wife slipped on an icy pavement, broke her wrist (it later transpired), and suddenly I found myself spending the better part of a day in a Norwegian Accident & Emergency department acting as a very enthusiastic, if rather amateur, translator.

    Did I know beforehand that I’d need to ask for medical assistance in Norwegian?

    No.

    Did I learn how anyway?

    Yes.

    Did it turn out to be useful?

    Rather inconveniently… yes.

    Curiosity Doesn’t Care Whether It’s Useful

    The funny thing is, none of these things were learnt because I expected them to be useful. Unlike the Monty Python phrasebook, I very much doubt I’ll ever need to utter the immortal phrase, “My hovercraft is full of eels.” That said, do I know of a website that translates exactly that sentence into almost every language imaginable, including Pig Latin and Klingon?

    Of course I do.

    That’s never really been the point.

    I learnt these things because they interested me. Curiosity has never once asked whether something will improve my career, save me money, or even come in remotely useful. It simply points enthusiastically at something and says, “Ooh… what’s that?”

    Rabbit Holes Worth Exploring

    People still ask why I bother learning things I’ll probably never need, and the truth is that most of the time I never do. Most ADHD rabbit holes lead absolutely nowhere, and that’s perfectly fine. Every so often, however, life presents me with a bizarrely specific problem that can only be solved by knowing a bizarrely specific thing. An elderly lady falls over less than a minute after I complete a first aid course. My wife slips on the ice in northern Norway just weeks after I’ve been enthusiastically cramming conversational Norwegian. Suddenly, yesterday’s apparently pointless hobby becomes today’s unexpectedly useful skill.

    I’ve stopped asking whether something will be useful before I learn it. Experience has taught me that life has an odd sense of humour, and an even odder habit of rewarding curiosity in the most unexpected ways.

    So I’ll keep disappearing down rabbit holes, keep learning apparently useless facts, and if my wife and I ever decide to explore the Amazon rainforest, I’ll almost certainly spend a month learning enough bushcraft and jungle survival to give Bear Grylls or Ray Mears a run for their money.

    Just in case.

  • Two Wolves? No. Inside Me Are Four Petes

    Two Wolves? No. Inside Me Are Four Petes

    There’s an old story about two wolves fighting inside each of us. One represents kindness, the other anger. The one that wins is the one you feed.

    That’s all very profound.

    Unfortunately, my brain has slashed the internal budget, and I can no longer afford the zoo bills for two argumentative Canis lupus.

    I don’t have two wolves.

    I have four Petes.

    They all live inside my head, they all think they’re in charge, and they hold regular committee meetings. Sadly, nobody ever bothers to appoint a chairperson, so very little gets agreed.

    Meet the Committee

    First, there’s Adult Pete.

    He’s the one who pays the bills, books the dentist, washes the car, remembers to renew the insurance, and insists vegetables are an important part of a balanced diet.

    He’s sensible.

    Nobody likes him very much.

    Then there’s Five-Year-Old Pete.

    He wants to visit every museum, gets ridiculously excited by sweet shops, believes every bookshop deserves “just a quick look”, could happily spend an hour staring at fossils, and firmly believes chores should be postponed until after another game of Minecraft.

    He’s also convinced that pudding is a perfectly acceptable main course.

    Autistic Pete is a man of systems.

    He likes routines. Autistic Pete alphabetises things that don’t really need alphabetising. He becomes mildly irritated if someone uses his favourite coffee mug. He’s already planned what we’re doing next Tuesday.

    It’s currently Saturday.

    And finally, there’s ADHD Pete.

    He has absolutely no interest in Tuesday.

    Or Saturday.

    Or chronology in general.

    He’s currently suggesting we learn Norwegian, buy a new soldering iron, reorganise the bookshelves, write half a blog post, and spend the afternoon researching medieval trebuchets because… well… why not?

    Committee Meetings

    This arrangement presents certain challenges.

    Adult Pete decides it’s time to review the pension.

    ADHD Pete has just discovered lock-picking and won’t stop talking about it.

    Five-Year-Old Pete wants to watch Minecraft videos on YouTube.

    Autistic Pete simply wants everyone to sit down, stop interrupting each other, and quit moving the metaphorical furniture.

    Planning a day out requires unanimous agreement.

    In fifty-six years, unanimous agreement has been achieved approximately never.

    For a long time, I assumed maturity meant eventually becoming one consistent person. I imagined that one day I’d simply know what needed doing and quietly get on with it, without internal debate or distraction.

    Instead, I’ve become a reasonably competent referee and arbitration expert.

    Growing Older Without Growing Up

    I’ve written before about growing old without growing up.

    Perhaps this is why.

    The five-year-old never actually leaves.

    He simply has to negotiate with the adult who now owns a mortgage.

    The more I think about it, the less I believe this is really an article about ADHD or autism.

    It’s about identity.

    We like to imagine that healthy adults are internally consistent. They know exactly who they are, what they want, and why they make the decisions they do. They stride confidently through life without ever arguing with themselves over whether to tackle the washing up or spend three hours learning about medieval castle architecture because one interesting fact led to another.

    I don’t think that’s how people work.

    I think we’re all a collection of competing ideas, instincts, responsibilities, hopes, fears, and impulses. Most people have an internal dialogue.

    Mine just sounds more like a committee meeting where everyone insists they’re the chair.

    Getting diagnosed with autism and ADHD didn’t create those different voices. They’d been there all along. The diagnoses simply handed me a couple of name badges. Suddenly the part of me that craved routine made sense. So did the part that could cheerfully demolish that routine because it had discovered an exciting new hobby before breakfast.

    Perhaps that’s true for all of us.

    We’re not contradictions waiting to be resolved.

    We’re complicated people learning to live with all the different versions of ourselves, each convinced they know best.

    The Bookshop Test

    The other day I wandered into a bookshop intending “just to have a look”.

    Those are among the most dangerous words in the English language.

    Adult Pete quietly reminded me that I already own enough unread books to last until at least the next ice age.

    ADHD Pete had discovered three entirely new interests before I’d even reached the history section.

    Autistic Pete was admiring how beautifully everything had been organised. Whoever decided biographies should be shelved alphabetically deserved a small medal. He’d also straightened three piles of books and answered enough questions from other customers that I suspect at least one of them thought he worked there.

    Meanwhile, Five-Year-Old Pete had wandered off to the science section wearing the expression of someone who’d just discovered dinosaurs for the very first time.

    “LOOK! DINOSAURS!”

    I left with two books I hadn’t intended to buy, a bag of jelly beans from the sweet shop next door, and absolutely no regrets.

    Perhaps growing up was never about evicting the child inside us.

    Perhaps it was never about becoming one perfectly sensible, endlessly responsible adult.

    Maybe it’s about learning to let every version of yourself have a voice.

    Adult Pete makes sure the bills get paid.

    Autistic Pete stops life descending into complete chaos.

    ADHD Pete reminds me that curiosity is very rarely wasted.

    And Five-Year-Old Pete still has the wonderful ability to point excitedly at something unexpected and remind the rest of us that the world is still full of amazing things.

    I wouldn’t want to silence any of them.

    I just try very hard not to let ADHD Pete chair the meetings.