How To Find (& Create) Connection, Belonging & Inclusivity: Blooming Differently ??

I grew up believing that I was unlikable. That there was something wrong with me. No matter how hard I tried to fit in - buying the 'cool' clothes, washing my hair on certain days, copying what other people said - it never seemed to be enough.

I internalised this belief into feeling like I didn't fit into the world. I have spent the majority of my life not wanting to exist, whilst recognising what a waste of a functional body this would be. Feeling suicidal became like an invisible weight around my throat, constantly weighing down every interaction I had.

I was existing, but only as a shapeshifter, trying to figure out how to hide this deep sense of shame about who I 'really' was as I tried to fit in.

The reminder of this was blasted across a national newspaper on Monday, the same day as my 5th book, AuDHD: Blooming Differently was published. I looked at the 23 pictures The Sun had included of me, and felt like the secret was officially out.

"No one wanted to play with me as a little kid

So I've been scheming like a criminal ever since

To make them love me and make it seem effortless."

Taylor Swift - Mastermind

The next day, I walked into the offices of a well known brand in Amsterdam, where I was hit by a memory of being 10 years old. Begging my parents to buy me their clothes, convinced that wearing it from head to toe would make me 'cool'. It didn't - people still didn't like me.

I told the room filled with people that story, and said that now, I felt the opposite way. It may have taken me 32 years, but I'd finally figured out the secret to 'cool' - which was liking myself, instead of seeking this externally.

I said how much fun I'd had in creating the presentation for them. How dying my hair pink and wearing a sunflower filled outfit had made me like myself more, because I wasn't seeking acceptance - I am actually okay as I am. It finished with tears and lots of hugs - a reminder that this invisible weight was not mine alone.

"I'm not the only one who's been through this"

Taylor Swift - The 1?

The next day, I was walking into the beautiful, sky-high offices of Mayer Brown , where I was instantly taken back to my 21 year old self. I felt the waves of insecurity wash over me, as I internalised every second glance as 'what the hell is she doing here?'.

I ruminated over my outfit, before remembering that my hair was unchangeable - I was stuck being me.

Then I remembered that I wasn't there to mould myself into an acceptable presentation of a 'professional' human being, but there to be myself. And there were a lot more colourful people on their way to brighten up the city.

In the lift, I said, 'you haven't even seen the sequinned coat yet', to a woman who burst out laughing, the ice broken.

Then I emerged into a room with people who celebrated my pink-ness and encouraged the full sequin attire. Who were pulling out tables, opening boxes of the books I'd written, and setting up sensory rooms filled with cushions and blankets.

I sat down to sign the wall of books, writing an individual message on every one. A reminder that they are not alone. That their value is not measured by their productivity. That they are already enough, exactly as they are.

A few hours later, the room was filled with 100 people, and more sunflowers than I'd ever seen in my life. I saw my awkwardness reflected in people immediately, who were hovering alone, and pulled them together, seeing them instantly connect.

James Smither 's write up of this made me emotional, reminding me of the strengths in feeling like you don't belong, in instinctively helping others to feel that they do. Going through pain embeds you with compassion and purpose to help others avoid it.

Then I was on a stage adorned with sunflowers, sitting next to Employment Law Partner Miriam Bruce. I never would have even dreamed of being 'good enough' to even speak to someone like Miriam at all, let alone freely indulge in my deep interest in disability law at an event we were co-hosting.

She embodies what every leader should be - curious, compassionate, and collaborative, which resonates throughout the whole of Mayer Brown .

I couldn't believe that I was sitting in the office of one of the world's biggest law firms, wearing a pink sequinned coat, talking about my messy experiences with the world of employment.

I looked back at my dad, remembering how many legal job applications he'd helped me with over the years, all feeling as hopeless as each other.

"It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me":

Taylor Swift - Anti-Hero

Then it was over, feeling like a dream. I spent an hour lying in the magical lavender-scented EventWell? sensory room created by Helen Moon trying to remind myself that it was real.

I eventually pulled myself up to plan the evening session, which I was feeling extremely nervous about. However, I instead found myself putting the postcards I'd designed on the 100 chairs, before repeating this process with mini sunflowers. Luckily Danielle White found me and took over!

I changed into the dress my ex-boyfriend created for the Taylor Swift concert we went to, during his ADHD haze of hyper-focus on sewing (which had since disappeared as quickly as it'd arrived). I felt like a 5 year old child, but reminded myself that if you can't wear a purple princess dress at your own book launch, when can you?

Before I knew it, people had filled the room who were just as colourful, vibrant, and themselves. They were faces I'd only seen through screens, people I knew well but had never met in real life. I'd expected to feel overwhelming anxiety at this, but it just felt like I'd known them all forever.

The first book launch I held 7 years ago felt like going to my own funeral. There were a mix of people there I'd known throughout my life, family, friends, teachers, acquaintances, and so on. I'd felt pretty mortified at the attention, and tried to divert as much of it away from me as I could.

This one felt like a wedding. It was 'invite only'. There was only a handful of people there who I'd known 'pre-ADHD'. I didn't invite anyone just because I thought I 'should', just those that I genuinely wanted to see in 'real life'. It turns out that this is actually quite a lot of people.

This change in my own social circles has made me feel increasingly lonely and isolated in recent years, but I realised then that these people in that room were my people. I could work with them and still be friends with them. Our relationships didn't have to be 'normal', with catch ups over coffee or having known each other since school.

Maybe for the first time ever, I didn't feel lonely in a room filled with people.

I felt accepted, exactly as I was in my purple princess dress. I'd developed a belief since running ADHD Works that I could create environments for other people to connect and make friends, but I would still always be on the outside. This time, I felt like I belonged as much as everybody else.

I ran all of the random exercises that popped up in my head, like asking people to tell strangers the times they'd felt that they didn't belong, and to write their own permission slips on the cards I'd created. I handed the mic to people who read theirs out, such as the one that read:

'I give myself permission to rest without feeling guilty.'

I asked everyone to stand up if that resonated with them, and everyone did.

To see this visceral reminder that you are not alone, that your beliefs of not being enough are shared by so many others, is powerful. So many of us treat others with limitless kindness, compassion, and acceptance, but find it so difficult to apply this to ourselves.

This applies whether or not you are neurodivergent. In all of the events I ran this week, I asked people to close their eyes and stand up if they identified as being so. A few people did (more at the latter, obviously).

Then I asked people to stand up if they knew someone who was neurodivergent, or who they thought might be. In all events, nearly everybody in the room stood up. It was the reminder that neurodiversity affects us all, even if it feels like an invisible bubble that only we are in.

A highlight was meeting the young girls who'd joined and became friends. Various parents had told me how their daughters had expressed an interest in joining, 'the first time they've expressed interest in anything for months'. To create them a space where they feel they belong, and where there was so much limitless hope ahead of them, was extraordinarily healing for my teenage self.

To transform environments that I'd felt were previously off-limits to someone like me and make them accessible to everyone lifted the shame that had built up for years.

Seeing a sensory room in a law firm office felt like an obvious necessity. Conversation cards on tables to aid the awkwardness of 'networking' with strangers felt obvious. Name badges for everybody to avoid the awkwardness of forgetting who other people were was even more so.

Doing 'public speaking' where I wasn't standing, towering over everybody in a metaphorical hierarchy felt obvious. Talking naturally, like a human being, instead of trying to recite a lecture from memory felt obvious. Making simple adjustments, like having David Bedford sit at the front with live captions so he could fully participate felt obvious.

It reminded me of how much these 'professional' norms serve nobody, least of all ourselves. How trying to fit in only make us feel even more so that we don't belong, because the rules are unwritten. How accepting yourself, exactly as you are, enables you to do the same for others.

This was the first Neurodiversity Celebration Week where I feel like I genuinely celebrated it, instead of just writing on social media. It's been the best week of my entire life, and yesterday replaced my 'proudest moment' of getting my law job 7 years ago, with hosting a completely unmasked sunflower-party in a law firm.

Thank you to everybody who joined us, and especially to those who worked so tirelessly to make it happen (in just under a month!): Charlie Champion , Iona Sinclair , Danielle White , Philippa Bradbury , Joanna Sampson , Vanessa A-Acquah , Miriam Bruce , Jorge Paulo Capuras , Karyma E. , Baked Bean Media Danny T. and Helen Moon .

Thank you to everybody who made the effort to leave the house (something I find extremely difficult!) - it was honestly such a joy to meet you. Thank you to everyone who decided to look after themselves first and not join - this is exactly what you needed to do.

Finally, thank you to everybody in this random corner of the internet on LinkedIn . You have all been part of the journey in lifting that weight of shame from my throat, and have helped me to find my voice (as utterly cheesy as this sounds). I am so very grateful to have you along on the journey. ??

Read AuDHD: Blooming Differently here.

Become an ADHD Coach in April here.

Get training here.