There is a certain kind of discomfort I get when I am feeling misunderstood. Deeper than the annoyance of miscommunication, for me, it’s physical, like a restless leg or an activated nerve. I’ve had this my entire life, so I understand that I operate at a different frequency than most. I can be intensely focused one moment, tuning everything else out, and then restless and distracted the next. Because I’m used to a rapid flow of ideas with a tendency for mind wandering, I find relevance in the relationships between unrelated things and ideas, making me good at synthesizing large amounts of information but bad at brevity.
Hello, I’m your neurodivergent boss.
It wasn’t until adulthood that I realized these two motivating anxieties — wasting time and being misunderstood — weren’t liabilities. They created the foundational behaviors of our company culture. My unmuted urgency led to a culture of momentum and quick wins. My over-communication created a culture of transparency and trust. My “weird” was a basic ingredient for our collective achievement. Whether you are that leader, or you’ve sat across from them, this perspective is for you.
An internalized sense of urgency is hard to explain to someone who doesn’t have it. It isn’t necessarily a body that won’t sit still, but a mind that won’t quiet. It’s a persistent awareness that time is fleeting, and a constant need to optimize. But urgency that isn’t panic is contagious in the best way. It pulls people along, keeps them focused and directed, and creates a pace to lean into.
For leaders like me, urgency is a strength, but its value must be clearly articulated. This isn’t frenzied activity; this is specific action. Urgency requires direction, purpose and clarity. It should move you forward with intention, not by spasmodic accident.
That same urgency looks different from the other side of the desk. For employees of a neurodivergent boss, it may feel as though an unrealistic pace is being set, with little tolerance for the status quo. But this isn’t about you, it’s just how we’re wired. As neurodivergent leaders, ADHD object permanence means we can unintentionally tune-out everything and everyone not in our eyeline. With that in mind, proactive communication matters. If you need something, ask. Strong team members take initiative, seek clarity, anticipate needs and reinforce what matters.
But cultures don’t thrive or fail on pace or urgency. It’s communication they depend on. And this is where the neurodivergent hyper-communicator shines. We know in our bones that communication voids are never neutral. They’re often filled with the worst version of the perceived truth and by the last person you would want filling them. Avoiding the discomfort of misunderstanding means communication must be both passive and direct, across monitors, bulletin boards, newsletters, message boards, one-on-one conversations and team meetings, so that little is left to interpretation. As leaders, it’s our responsibility to give our team the information they need to be successful, to never assume they know something they weren’t told or told recently.
And part of our responsibility is communicating what we need. A lifetime of self-reflection clarifies not only who you are, but also who you aren’t. At some point you recognize that shoring up weaknesses is wasted effort when you could be amplifying your strengths. Communicating this builds trust and asserts a belief in your team’s ability and importance, invites honesty and candor, and provides permission to act.
Neurodivergent leaders have no interest in bland competence. We delight in the brilliance of others, and whenever possible, we hire for it. ●
Jennifer Ake-Marriott is Owner and CEO of Redmond Waltz
