Guest Article by Jonathan Scripps MSc, CMgr FCMI, combining his MSc research on neurodiversity in the construction industry with lived experience of the same.
When I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 43, I wasn’t shocked. In truth, it answered questions I had been asking myself for years.
Why did I lose my train of thought halfway through a sentence? Why did busy meetings leave me mentally exhausted? Why did I interrupt people despite knowing it could come across as rude? Why could I spend hours hyper-focused on solving a complex problem, yet completely forget to reply to a simple email?
Like many adults diagnosed later in life, I had become an expert at adapting. I developed strategies, consciously and unconsciously, to fit into environments that weren’t designed for the way my brain worked. Looking back, I realised I wasn’t just doing my job; I was also spending a huge amount of energy trying to appear as though I thought like everyone else.
What surprised me most, however, was how closely my diagnosis aligned with the research I had spent the previous year undertaking as part of my MSc.
My dissertation explored neurodiversity within the construction and infrastructure sector, an industry more commonly associated with engineering, safety and delivery than conversations about cognitive difference. Through interviews with senior leaders, managers and neurodivergent professionals, supported by wider industry survey data, I wanted to understand whether organisations were truly creating environments where different ways of thinking could thrive.
The findings challenged many of the assumptions I had held.
The barriers experienced by neurodivergent people were rarely linked to competence or capability. More often, they stemmed from environments, processes and leadership behaviours that unintentionally expected everyone to think, communicate and learn in the same way.
One theme emerged repeatedly throughout the research: the hidden effort required simply to fit in.
Many participants described constantly monitoring their behaviour. They spoke about trying not to interrupt conversations, rehearsing meetings in advance, replaying interactions afterwards, hiding sensory overload, masking anxiety, suppressing impulsive ideas and worrying that asking for support would somehow be viewed as weakness rather than self-awareness.
This wasn’t simply tiring; it was mentally expensive.
Every ounce of energy spent trying to appear “typical” is energy that cannot be invested elsewhere. Creativity, problem-solving, innovation and collaboration all compete with the invisible workload of masking. Over time, that cognitive burden becomes significant, yet it is rarely recognised because it is largely unseen.
Reflecting on my own career, I realised I had been carrying that hidden workload for years without having the language to describe it.
I’ve been fortunate to build a successful career in sales and business development, fields that have rewarded many of the strengths often associated with ADHD. Curiosity, enthusiasm, relationship building, resilience, creativity and the ability to think quickly have all helped me throughout my career. Yet those same strengths often came alongside challenges I couldn’t explain. I would become defensive when receiving constructive criticism, not because I rejected feedback, but because it felt intensely personal. I would leave meetings frustrated that I’d spoken over someone or forgotten a point I desperately wanted to make. I often questioned why tasks that seemed effortless for others could require so much mental effort from me.
Receiving a diagnosis didn’t remove those challenges overnight, but it did remove something else: self-blame.
Understanding why my brain worked the way it did allowed me to stop seeing these experiences as personal failings. More importantly, it made me reflect on how many other talented people might still be asking themselves the same questions I had been asking for decades.
Perhaps the most encouraging aspect of my research was that the organisations making the greatest progress were not necessarily those with the biggest neurodiversity programmes or the most polished inclusion strategies. They were led by managers who were curious enough to ask better questions.
Rather than asking, “Why can’t this person do things the way everyone else does?”, they asked, “What helps this person perform at their best?”
That shift is subtle, but it changes everything.
It moves the conversation away from trying to “fix” individuals and towards designing environments where different thinking styles are recognised as assets rather than obstacles. Flexible communication, psychological safety, clear expectations and managers willing to adapt their approach often had a greater impact than expensive initiatives or standalone awareness campaigns.
The construction and infrastructure sector faces significant challenges over the coming years, from skills shortages and an ageing workforce to increasing demands for innovation and productivity. My research suggests that overlooking neurodivergent talent is not simply an inclusion issue; it is a missed opportunity. Organisations cannot afford to ignore people who bring different perspectives, creative problem-solving and the ability to challenge conventional thinking.
The question, therefore, is not whether neurodivergent people can succeed in demanding industries. Every day, thousands already do. The more important question is how much potential remains untapped because so many are still investing enormous energy into fitting in instead of performing at their best.
Looking back, my diagnosis gave me clarity. My research gave me evidence. Together, they reinforced something I now believe wholeheartedly.
Neurodiversity is not about lowering standards or creating exceptions. It is about recognising that high performance does not always look the same. When organisations create environments where people no longer have to hide how they think, everyone benefits.
Perhaps the real challenge isn’t changing neurodivergent people.
Perhaps it’s changing the environments that have quietly been asking them to fit in all along.
