Imagine you walk into an office, and everything looks normal.

There are desks. People have mugs with inspirational quotes. There’s a plant that’s technically alive. Someone has put a “Wellbeing” poster next to the microwave like that cancels out the fact the microwave smells like fish.

But then you start working… and you realise something:

This place is set up like someone built a workplace based on vibes, tradition, and a dare.

Not badly on purpose. Just backwards. Like you’ve walked into a parallel universe where the rules are invisible and the clocks are optional.

Let’s follow Jamie. Jamie’s neurodivergent. Could be ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia. It doesn’t matter. The point is: Jamie’s brain isn’t broken. It just processes the world differently.

And today, the workplace is about to make that feel like a full-time extreme sport.

Level 1: The office that’s loud in ten different ways

Jamie sits down. Immediately: fluorescent lights. The kind that don’t flicker enough for other people to notice, but flicker enough that Jamie’s brain goes, “Ah yes, the buzzing. Excellent. Love that.”

The office is also doing that special kind of noise where nothing is loud, but everything is happening:

• Teams pings
• keyboard tapping
• chair scraping
• someone doing a conference call like they’re auditioning for a podcast
• someone eating crisps like its percussion

Jamie hasn’t even opened an email and they’re already spending energy managing the environment.

A neuroinclusive workplace doesn’t magically become silent and dim like a spa. It just offers options for supporting neurodiversity in the workplace:

• quieter spaces that aren’t treated like “special treatment”
• a normal culture around headphones
• flexibility on where you sit if lighting/noise is an issue
• fewer unnecessary sensory “surprises” built into the day

The message becomes: you don’t have to suffer to be seen as professional.

Level 2: The meeting invite that explains absolutely nothing

Jamie checks their calendar.

There’s a meeting called:

“Catch up.”

No agenda. No purpose. No notes. No idea if Jamie should prepare. No hint whether they need to speak. It could be:

• a quick update
• a serious decision
• someone venting about a spreadsheet
• a surprise performance review
• the launch of a new project nobody mentioned

Jamie joins anyway. Because refusing mystery meetings is apparently a political act.

Five minutes in, the conversation has jumped across six different topics. People talk over each other (politely, but still). Someone says, “We’ll decide that offline.” Another says, “Jamie, can you take that away?”

Take it away where? To the bin? To the other side of the office? To a project plan Jamie hasn’t been shown?

In a neuroinclusive workplace, meetings shouldn’t be chaos with a calendar invite.

They are:

• titled clearly (“Project X – decisions needed”)
• given an agenda (even three bullets are fine)
• clear about what preparation is helpful
• followed by written actions

This isn’t a neurodivergent accommodation. It’s basic adult teamwork.

Level 3: Time is treated like a personality trait

Here’s a big one because this is where so many people get quietly or more openly judged.

Jamie’s day is built out of time traps.

Time is communicated like this:

• “Can you do this quickly?”
• “End of day” (which end? whose day? what time zone?)
• “Let’s jump on a quick call” (meaning 45 minutes, no warning, no break)
• “Just a reminder…” sent 3 minutes before the deadline

And the thing is: timekeeping isn’t just about effort.
For lots of neurodivergent people — and especially for people with dyspraxia/ADHD time can be slippery. Not because they don’t care, but because:

• estimating time is hard
• transitions take longer than people think
• working memory is juggling too much
• “Small tasks” aren’t small when they require switching tools, logging in, finding the right file, remembering steps, and regaining focus

So, when someone says, “this won’t take long”, Jamie’s brain goes: “We’ve heard that one before”.

Inclusive workplaces stop treating time like a moral character test.

They make time visible and kind:

• deadlines are specific (“Thursday 3pm” not “ASAP”)
• tasks are broken down (“first draft by… final by…”)
• priorities are explicit (“must / should / nice to have”)
• buffers exist between meetings
• it’s normal to ask, “how long will this take?” without judgement

If you want people to be on time, you design for time. You don’t shame them for struggling with it when you’re supporting neurodiversity in the workplace.

Bonus level: Teams/Zoom — the juggling act nobody acknowledges

Now Jamie is asked to run a session on Teams.

Which means Jamie is now doing five jobs at once:

• presenting
• watching the clock
• keeping an eye on the chat
• launching polls
• moving people into breakout rooms
• checking who dropped off
• monitoring the rooms
• bringing everyone back
• answering questions
• staying calm while Teams decides today is a fun day to glitch

If you’ve ever done this and thought, why does this feel like landing a plane while someone throws post-it notes at my face? Then you’re not alone.

For neurodivergent people this can be a perfect storm:

• time pressure
• split attention
• switching tasks constantly
• social performance expectations
• unpredictable technology

A neuroinclusive workplace doesn’t say, “Well, everyone finds that hard.”

It says, “Okay, how do we help you succeed?”

That might look like:

• a co-host to monitor chat
• clear roles (“you present, I manage breakouts”)
• pre-written scripts for transitions
• a quick run through beforehand
• reducing the number of moving parts
• permission to slow down and be explicit (“Give me 10 seconds to set up breakouts”)

Inclusion looks like making work doable, not heroic.

“Okay but what if they’re just disorganised?”

Ah yes. The classic.

This question usually comes from a good place. Managers and colleagues want to be fair. They don’t want to “make excuses”. They don’t want to treat someone differently if the issue is simply… them.

But here’s the problem:

“Disorganised” is not a diagnosis. It’s a description of what you’re seeing.

It tells you what’s happening, not why it’s happening.

And loads of things can sit underneath “disorganised”:

• unclear priorities (“everything is urgent”)
• constant interruptions
• switching between 12 systems
• unclear processes
• anxiety/overwhelm
• poor onboarding
• working memory load
• difficulty judging how long things will take
• fatigue
• sensory overload
• neurodivergent processing

So, before we jump to “that’s just their personality”, it’s worth asking a better question:

What is making organisation hard in this environment?

Here’s a practical, non-diagnostic way to handle it:

Step 1: Make expectations visible

Not “be more organised.”

More like:

• “Here are the 3 priorities for this week.”
• “Here’s what good looks like.”
• “Here’s the deadline and what needs to be included.”

Step 2: Reduce the hidden admin

Sometimes “disorganisation” is just “too many steps living in someone’s head.”

So, you make the work easier to hold:

• templates
• checklists
• shared trackers
• a written meeting recap
• agreed handover points
• one place where tasks live (not 6 platforms and whoever last touched it)

Step 3: Trial one change and review

Instead of a moral judgement, do a small experiment:

• “Let’s try a 10 minute check-in twice a week for two weeks.”
• “Let’s switch to written actions after meetings.”
• “Let’s agree one task board for everything.”

If it helps, then great. You’ve improved performance without needing labels.

If it doesn’t help, then you’ve learned something and can try a different approach.

And here’s the key line:

If someone is disorganised, give them an organisation system and not a personality verdict.

Because the workplace goal isn’t to win the argument about why.
It’s to get the best work out of people fairly and consistently.

The big shift: stop blaming the person for struggling with the system

In workplaces built “backwards,” the pattern is predictable:

The system creates friction and then the person gets blamed for reacting to the friction.

• “You’re too sensitive.”
• “You’re disorganised.”
• “You’re not proactive.”
• “You need to manage your time better.”

But neuroinclusion flips the question:

What if the person isn’t the problem? What if the setup is?

Instead of “what’s wrong with Jamie?”, we ask:

• What’s getting in Jamie’s way?
• What can we change in how we do things (process, environment, communication)?
• What’s one small adjustment we can trial?
• How will we review whether it helped?

You don’t need a diagnosis to do this well. You need decent working practices and a willingness to notice barriers.

Three tiny changes that make a massive difference

If you want to start tomorrow, do these:

1. Every meeting gets an agenda and written actions.
2. Every deadline gets a time and a priority level. (“must”, “should”, “nice to have”)
3. Every “quick call” gets a length. (“Can we do 10 minutes?” and then actually stop at 10.)

That’s it. That’s the beginning of doing work the right way round and supporting neurodiversity in the workplace.