Neurodiversity Week may have sparked this blog, but the truth is, we don’t wait for a week to celebrate neurodiversity. We live it every day. It’s our purpose, woven into everything we do, from the people we support, to the colleagues we work alongside. So rather than write about neurodiversity from the outside, we invited our colleagues to help shape this blog by sharing what mattered most to them. What came back were honest, personal reflections of their experiences.
Inclusion, particularly when we talk about neurodiversity, is something that shows up in most workplaces in one way or another. Sometimes it’s talked about a lot, sometimes not enough, and sometimes it hasn’t quite translated into how it actually feels to be neurodivergent in the workplace.
Across organisations, there is a growing focus on understanding and supporting neurodiversity. But one of the biggest challenges is knowing how to move from intention to action, and how to gain the kind of insight that actually shapes culture in a meaningful way.
We’ve taken a more intentional approach. Through our diversity, equity, inclusion, connection and belonging platform, SeeUs, we actively ask the question, creating space for colleagues to share who they are, in a way that feels safe and supported. That insight doesn’t sit in isolation; it informs how we show up, how we support our teams, and how we continue to evolve as an organisation.
Inclusion around neurodiversity isn’t something you implement once and move on from. It’s a lived experience, something people feel every day. It shows up in the way people speak, the way they’re listened to, and whether they believe they can bring their full self into the room without having to edit who they are first.
This feels particularly important in social care, where so much of what we do relies on understanding people. It is estimated that around one in seven people in the UK (over 15 per cent) are neurodivergent, But that figure only reflects those who feel able, ready, or have had the opportunity to identify as such. It doesn’t capture those who are undiagnosed, waiting for assessment, or who may not yet recognise it in themselves.
Through our diversity, equity, inclusion, connection and belonging platform, SeeUs, we can see that around 37% of our colleagues identify as neurodivergent. This reflects years of building a culture where difference is recognised, understood, and genuinely welcomed, not something people have to quietly navigate on their own and where we actively ask the question in a way that allows people to feel able to answer it.
For many neurodivergent people, work has historically meant masking. Learning how to present in a way that feels acceptable, even if it doesn’t feel natural. It can mean suppressing, second-guessing yourself, or constantly adjusting how you come across. Over time, that consumes a lot of energy.
One of our colleagues shared with us:
"I'm an example of late diagnosis of ADHD in women. Three years after telling my doctor I very likely had ADHD, a stranger on the phone finally confirmed it, just before my 58th birthday. I'm also an example of masking in women. This is the first workplace where I've felt comfortable enough to actually be and therefore see my true self. Just because I don't present like an over-energetic young boy doesn't mean I'm not hyperactive. I can't keep up with the thoughts inside my head."
Another colleague described what it felt like to finally have the space to talk about something they had kept hidden for years:
“For years I knew that I was different, but I couldn’t show that I was overwhelmed and I didn’t know why. I developed ways of masking at times when I wanted to run away or for things to just stop. I remember my first SeeMe Big 5, it was the first time I had the chance to talk about a part of me I’d kept secret because I didn’t understand it. I felt like I had permission to be me for the first time in my working life. I can’t tell you the difference this has made.”
When that kind of psychological safety exists, something shifts. The energy that once went into masking doesn’t disappear, it’s redirected. It shows up in how people think, how they connect, and how they solve problems.
One of our colleagues who is dyslexic talks about it not as a limitation, but as a different way of seeing the world:
“I’m a dyslexic person, and I feel that as opposed to being a difficulty, it’s a strength—a different skill set and a different outlook on things. I’m really happy with the support I get from my colleagues here at Glassmoon Services, whether that’s learning support or access to AI for dictation. Glassmoon Services as a whole helps me be the best version of myself. As a colleague group, we have so many differences, quirks and oddities which come together to give the people we support a great quality of life.”
What stands out in reflections like this is the pride in difference and the connection to impact.
We also hear honesty that doesn’t try to simplify neurodiversity into something neat or easy.
One colleague described their experience of ADHD in a way that holds both strength and struggle at the same time:
“I was diagnosed with ADHD at 47, when menopause stripped me of the ability to mask and I ran out of shits to give. ADHD makes me resilient. I’m a problem solver, nothing is ever impossible. Crisis management is my forte and I can pre-empt issues before they happen. My gut feeling is never wrong; I can read a room instantly. But ADHD does have some positive traits… ultimately, it is a fecking curse.”
That honesty matters. To be truly inclusive, we don’t need to reframe everything as a strength or a “superpower.” We need to recognise the full experience and create environments where people are supported in all of it.
For some, that support shows up in small, everyday adjustments that make a big difference.
One colleague shared:
“I’m autistic, and I’m currently on the ADHD waiting list too. My colleagues support me really well, especially as I can struggle with sudden or loud noises. One adjustment that makes a big difference for me is during fire check days—if I need to, I’m able to go outside and put my noise-cancelling headphones on before the alarm sounds.” “They’re also really accepting of things I never thought I’d feel comfortable doing in a workplace, like regulating myself by spinning or using sensory toys, even when they’re a bit noisy. For a lot of my life, I thought I would have to ‘fake it till I make it’, but it doesn’t feel like that here. I feel like I can be my authentic self without judgement.”
For many of us, it not only shows up at work, but also in our lives, our families, and our experiences.
One colleague shared:
“My son was diagnosed with ADHD at 9, he’s now 16. I’ve always told him it’s his superpower. He’s thriving, happy and fully himself. We’re now looking at medication to support his focus at work, but his confidence in who he is has never wavered.”
Another spoke about their brother:
“My brother has lived a traumatic life, in and out of mental health hospitals and even spending years homeless. Now he’s been living independently for nearly two years and says he finally feels content. It feels like we’ve got him back after years of grieving someone who wasn’t really there.”
These are the stories that sit behind the work we do. Each person with their own lived experience.
When delivering care and support, we don’t start with diagnoses or labels. We start with the person. Each individual has their own Pathway of Life, shaped by their intersections, their experiences, and what matters to them, past, present and future, as well as what they like and what they don’t like.
Tools like our proprietary in-house platform SeeUs help us open up these conversations, but more importantly, they give us the insight to act. They allow us to move beyond assumptions and into understanding, shaping how we support our colleagues and, in turn, the people we support. It’s in the quiet “me too” moments, the shift from hiding to belonging, and the small changes that allow someone to show up as themselves without hesitation.
Neurodiversity Celebration Week gives us a moment to pause. But the people in this blog don’t get a week off from their experience and neither should our commitment to them. This isn’t something we return to once a year. It lives in our culture, our conversations, and in every moment someone feels they no longer have to hide