One in three autistic adults in the UK is in work – which includes all those who work a few hours weekly, through to those working full time. That’s compared to over 80% of the country’s adult population overall. There will be many reasons for this employment gap, among which lack of desire to work is not one – 75% of autistic adults want a job. For a more detailed breakdown of this situation, you can read the UK Government’s Buckland Review, published in February 2024.

I’m better placed to talk about my experiences in work, which have included many challenges, given I’m autistic. Of course, I can’t speak for the majority of UK autistic adults who are out of work; I am incredibly lucky to have a CV with no gaps. Still, the struggles remain.

Undiagnosed, I thought I’d make a decent corporate lawyer. This idea was grounded in little reality and originated from the fact that, in my final year at university, most of my ambitious fellow humanities students I knew were applying to law firms. So, for lack of a better option and keen to progress my prospects for the following year, I applied to them too. I had a ‘winning formula’ of a covering letter handed down to me by someone who already had their job secured, and I got some interviews.

In hindsight, the expectation that I dress formally – in heels and a skirt suit – for these interviews should have told me everything I needed to know about how unsuitable this career path was for me. I deeply dislike office wear as it is impractical and uncomfortable. The court shoes I bought in preparation for the interview were too big and I felt like a child playing dress-up as I presented myself in water feature-adorned reception areas. In one of the interviews, I was asked about my willingness to compromise my ethical beliefs in favour of securing a favourable outcome for a client. I answered the question honestly, so, obviously I was deemed a poor fit for the role. I thought being a solicitor would complement my strong sense of justice (common, I would later learn, among autistic people). I was very wrong. (Although I’m sure there are many amazing neurodivergent solicitors out there.)

I then finished university and felt burnt out. I didn’t want to rush to find a job because I knew that would be ‘it’ then, until retirement. I thought I was owed a decent chunk of respite from obligations, but my parents had other ideas – completely fair given it was their roof I was living under, but I felt the pressure to land a role doing something they would approve of. (I’ve always been a bit of a ‘fawner’, which is a common autistic trait too – it’s basically the same as people-pleasing, in that the goal is to avoid conflict and gain others’ approval at all costs). I got a job that lasted three months because the guy I worked for had essentially no business plan. I despised the lack of direction and spent hours during the day beside myself with anxiety at ‘not having enough to do’.

I’ve always hated feeling purposeless. Even if I’m relaxing at home of an evening, I would prefer to have my list of TV programmes to watch drawn up ahead of time, perfectly aligned with whatever mood I happen to be in. I like free time because I can do things like write and read and go for walks but too much free time and I’m panicking because I’ve ‘done’ my hobbies and now I’m bored. Jobs have often turned out that way for me – the scope of my role isn’t as extensive as I was expecting, so I’m twiddling my thumbs and not ‘achieving’ as much as I hoped I would.

Finding a role that adequately stimulated me resulted in me being far too overstimulated – this is a balance I struggle to strike outside of work too, as the above paragraph suggests. I’m sensory-seeking, like many neurodivergent people, but also sensory-sensitive. Unfortunately, in this imperfect world we inhabit, too much of a good thing often comes about. In the context of this job, it was long hours, too much autonomy and frequent solo international travel. (Sounds exhilarating, was actually exhausting and lonely). My mental health has always been complicated – as it is for many autistic people – and sadly, this very full-on job exacerbated my issues, especially my eating disorder. (Without routine, enough sleep, enough time in my comfort zone of ‘being at home with the TV on’, my brain could not cope). I quit the job, although it had kept me on my toes and forever learning. Bittersweet.

I was diagnosed autistic last year and have switched jobs since. As I wrote in my previous blog post I experienced significant autistic burnout post-diagnosis, which left me unable to work for a few months. However, once I had re-established my mental and physical energy reserves, I vowed to myself that I’d find work that was properly fulfilling for me – not a job I thought I ‘should be in’ based on my degree subject, or one that ‘fit’ with my existing profile on paper. It took a while to figure out how to sell myself in a brand-new type of interview, but I’ve now moved on from journalism/copywriting/communications to working in a patient-facing hospital role. That’s what I figured out ‘meaningful’ meant to me, so I set about making it happen. (Determination is one very positive autistic trait.)

Naturally, a novel setting, different working hours, no more homeworking, loads of new colleagues and picking up a practical job from scratch has been difficult. It would be for anyone, but I would say that my autism has made it even more so. The interpersonal relationships I am building present the greatest challenge. Not those with the patients as our interactions are nicely ‘controllable’ in the sense that we have goals for our sessions and I can read up about their personalities and preferences in the medical notes beforehand. With colleagues is when it’s tricky for me: I don’t know how to seamlessly strike that balance between laidback and diligent, cracking jokes while knowing my place as a new arrival no one knows. I dislike eating with others, but at this workplace, we all have lunch together – how soon can I excuse myself from such duties and stick my noise-cancelling headphones in? I’m still trying to ‘make a good impression’ which is a normal response to joining a new team, but it’s agonising to compromise on my needs in favour of conforming to the whims of people I barely know. I’ve been overfamiliar and icily distant with colleagues and lost sleep over it. I’ve tried so hard with eye contact but am aware that mine must seem less natural than other people’s.

In summary, new jobs are stressful and uncomfortable – onslaughts of unpredictability. And old jobs – while predictable – leave me wanting more. Being autistic feels very ‘all-or-nothing’ much of the time, which makes for high highs and low lows. I wish I cared less about my professional trajectory and pinned less of a sense of self-worth on what I do between the hours of 8.30am and 4.30pm. But the fact is, this is how I am, so I all I can do is work out how to put my dedication to helping patients and my determined streak to good use.