I was made redundant five months ago and I still don't have a job. Why? because most recruitment processes are not neuro-inclusive...
Since sitting in a redundancy meeting and hearing the words, "we have decided to make your role redundant," I have been job hunting. Scrolling job sites. Updating my CV. Making sure my portfolio is the best it can be. I naively thought, I wouldn't have this much of a problem finding a role that feels right for me. I have way more experience than I did two years ago, my portfolio demonstrates what I can do and even includes publishing a book (how many people can say that?!) and I have a few supportive former colleagues who have read through applications, offered advice over the phone and have generally been a lovely bunch. I thought I'm in a much better position than a lot of people, despite the devastating redundancy news and was thankful for that. My profession, communications can also be done entirely remotely. As long as I have a laptop and an internet connection, I can work from anywhere. I assumed this was an advantage and would open up a pool of opportunities further afield, that perviously to remote working becoming more accepted would have been inaccessible to me. But why won't anyone employ me?
Life after redundancy: riding the waves of unemployment and neurodivergence
It is four months since I was made redundant and I still do not have a job. This week I received two rejections from jobs I thought I would be good at. It's always the same story, another candidate more closely matched the criteria or they had more experience - but they never tell you what specific thing you need to also closely match the criteria and score higher. So I'm getting feedback, but it doesn't help with future interviews. My interview technique is generally good, and my presentations are always well received. Any written task I have to do isn't a concern, because writing is one thing I know I can do well. So, I continue going to interviews not knowing what I can do better. And that's the thing, it's always about being better, isn't it? What is wrong with who we are? We wonder, have I answered the question in the right way? Have I understood what they need? Do I look like they would want me on their team? Is there enough eye contact? Is being honest the right thing? Should I have asked for reasonable adjustments? So many questions, with very few answers. And when you've been made redundant in the way I have, especially if your former employer told you your skills aren't valued for their new strategy, the last thing we need, is to be told is that we need to be better. The version of ourself post redundancy should be more than enough.
Redundancy three months on - the neurodivergent burnout we don't talk about...
"I've been made redundant" are words I thought would never come out of my mouth (again), at least not when things seemed to be going so well. I know people say, "It's not you that's redundant, it's the position" but we make a position what it becomes. And for many of us that job is a big part of our lives and identity. A job gives us a routine and purpose, and for that to be suddenly taken away is tough. So, whether it's framed as you being redundant or "the position" - we still feel intense rejection, isolation and often confusion or disassociation. And these feelings are often heightened if like me you have ADHD.
On no longer being needed or useful: the rollercoaster of redundancy
This is a blog post I thought I’d never have to write, at least at this point of my career when everything seemed to be going so well, yet here I am. It’s week two of officially being redundant from my job, a job that I adored alongside the people who worked there, so I thought I’d share some reflections. Although, still incredibly raw reflections as I continue to navigate this sea of uncertainty, and try to get people to want me again.
EXCITING BOOK NEWS! MY JOURNEY TO UNDERSTANDING INCLUSION AND PUBLISHING “NEURODIVERSITY IN THE WORKPLACE”
Almost two and a half years ago, I was lost, confused, and didn’t know where or if I’d ever really “fit in” in at work. I’d worked as a youth worker for years, and had also trained as a journalist, and knew that writing was what I was good at, alongside being able to engage with the young people I worked with. Something, I often described as being my “only strength”. I have a strong sense of justice (literal words from an old school report) and so, would fight for the young people I worked with, to ensure they were supported, listened to and that they felt heard. I often felt under-appreciated by managers at work, and if I was given praise, it didn’t seem genuine. What does work mean for my neurodivergent brain I asked myself? I never found the answer. Until I did. I changed jobs in 2022, and physically felt the anxiety I had inside me from previous workplaces , relax. Almost as if it said, “You’re good now, My job is done. I think you’re going to like it here”. It was a strange feeling. Is this real? When is it going to go wrong? So far, it hasn’t gone wrong, although trauma responses still make me wait for the failure that I am sure is imminent, and will strike at any moment.
Feeling happy at work shouldn’t be unachievable: it’s now time for deeper change to this workplace “norm”
It took me until I was 33 to truly feel happy at work. To finally find a belonging, an employer that felt safe and a line manager who could support me to grow.
I was years into my working life until I found this belonging, acceptance and feeling of being happy at work. Let’s just reflect on this for a moment. It took me twelve years of bad practice, unsupportive managers and psychologically unsafe environments, to then change jobs and experience the opposite. It was only last year when I finally understood what a good workplace should feel like. How colleagues should behave towards you and that work should be a positive place to be. I now understand what inclusion and equity really mean.
Looking deeper into neurodivergent inclusion
Over the last few weeks I’ve been reflecting a lot on what exactly inclusion means, and more specifically how I’ve felt when my ADHD and dyspraxic self have been part of something and I’ve been valued. And the comparison when this hasn’t happened. This isn’t just indicative of work, but everywhere. Socially. In the community. In education. Accessing services. And of course at work. Inclusion is, and should be a fundamental part of life. Although it isn’t, and we know from hearing lived experiences, that it really isn’t top of everyone’s agenda. When I was younger and going through education (and several degrees to try and figure myself out), I assumed, like many of us do, that to be included I had to ask for something or be accommodated in some way. We’re taught to believe that our brains aren’t built to fit in with everyone else. In school we ask for extra time in exams, tuition if we need it, annual reviews to asses our needs. I now realise that all of this stuff, although support offered by schools is often very minimal, is not inclusion.
What I’ve felt when neurodivergence has been hard to talk about at work and the change I’ve felt when it isn’t.
I've been reflecting a lot recently about careers, ambitions, progression and the goals we all set ourselves, whether intentionally or not. I've written about finding an inclusive workplace and the difference it makes when everything feels more accessible. I'm pretty open online and in writing about my ADHD & Dyspraxia these days, but despite years of shouting about this stuff, leading workshops, writing letters to anyone who would listen and speaking on several live radio programmes, sometimes neurodiversity doesn't feel a comfortable topic of conversation. And rightly so, the first rule of sharing anything personal whether online or in person, is that you don't owe anyone all of you.