There’s one topic that has come up repeatedly in Q&As following recent speaking engagements on neuroinclusion at work – and I don’t think we talk about it enough because it can so easily slip into victim-blaming territory:
The role of personal accountability.
What do I mean by that? Why is it important? And how do we balance it with the right support and understanding from others?
Here’s what I’ve observed:
A big part of the conversation on neuroinclusion at work focuses on breaking down barriers for neurodivergent people – whether those barriers prevent them from finding suitable work, or hold them back once they’re in a job. The focus is on the environment, and on the many ways it isn’t designed with us in mind.
This is, of course, critical, and I wouldn’t want to diminish its importance in any way. To do so would be to ignore the systemic and persistent realities of stigma, bias, and exclusion in many organizations – especially for those who are most marginalized, including neurodivergent women and people of color.
But it’s a fine line between acknowledging that it’s the environment that’s holding us back, and denying ourselves any kind of agency. The latter can easily lead to a feeling of being stuck, with little room to influence our own lives.
As one manager recently asked me after a talk:
“What’s the responsibility of the individual in articulating what kind of help they need?”
I realize this can be an uncomfortable question to answer. It can be read as implying that the full burden of responsibility for change rests on the shoulders of the neurodivergent individual, when they’re already facing uphill battles. This is, of course, not fair or reasonable.
But we can’t dismiss the question either, or ignore the individual’s role in articulating what they need. Doing so would risk unintentionally disempowering neurodivergent people by denying their capacity to shape their own reality.
There’s a balance to be struck here.
Neuroinclusion is most likely to succeed when accountability is shared: when managers and organizations remove barriers and create a supportive environment, and when individuals take an active role in developing the skills to articulate their needs.
Let’s take a practical example of what that can look like.
When people first learn they are neurodivergent, they may struggle to articulate to their manager what practical support would help them. This is entirely understandable. Yet we also need to acknowledge that it can be genuinely difficult for a manager to know what to do when someone shares a diagnosis. We can’t realistically expect busy managers to become experts in ADHD, autism, dyslexia, or any other form of neurodivergence.
Saying something like, “I’ve learned that I’m autistic and would benefit from accommodations,” can be a start, but on its own it can leave a manager unsure what to do, and it’s unlikely to get the person the support they need.
That’s where the role of personal accountability comes in.
Through trial and error, we can gradually build the self-awareness that is needed to understand what helps us and what doesn’t. And we can develop the language to translate that self-awareness into concrete and practical requests.
For example, we may discover that being able to review information ahead of time, at our own pace, makes it easier to contribute ideas during meetings or brainstorm sessions.
We can then frame that request in practical terms, highlighting the benefit for the team: they get better-quality ideas from us in return.
By shifting the conversation from diagnoses to specific and practical things that others can do to support us, we can take greater ownership of our day-to-day experience at work.
Crucially, these conversations need to be met with safety, openness, and support from others. The responsibility can never rest on the shoulders of the individual alone.
But when (and only when!) those conditions are in place, appealing to someone’s sense of accountability can actually be empowering, and it’s not something we should avoid for fear of getting it wrong.
I’m personally forever grateful to the mentor who, when I was struggling in my twenties as a newly diagnosed autistic person, asked me somewhat bluntly, “When will you start taking responsibility for your own life?”
It was tough to hear at the time. But because this comment came from a place of genuine support and belief in my capabilities, it nudged me to start focusing on the parts of my life that I could influence, even if it was just a little. And in hindsight, that helped me throughout my career.
To be clear, this is not a call to “just toughen up”. Systemic barriers are real, and you may not always have the safety or space to advocate for yourself. But when you do, learning to understand and articulate what you need can be a helpful way of reclaiming agency over your world – and that’s something we should all encourage and support in others.
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