Why the Right Workplace Changed Everything for My OCD and ADHD
Living with undiagnosed OCD and ADHD has shaped my entire adult life, especially in the workplace. In my twenties, I was lucky enough to be in a job where I felt comfortable and where my tenacity, interest, curiosity, hyperfocus, and complexity were wholly embraced. It was awesome. I truly loved my job and the small team I worked alongside every day.
When I was suddenly made redundant, I quickly unravelled. It wasn’t long until I realised that the parts of me I thought were valued - the intensity, the attention to detail, the creative leaps, the late-night bursts of productivity - suddenly felt like a burden. I tried more traditional corporate roles, but I felt boxed in. I couldn’t explore different areas or bring in my expertise; I was essentially advised to stay in my lane.
I felt stifled, misunderstood, and embarrassed. I thought it would be easy to find my place again, but instead I was having constant panic attacks, terrified of this change and obsessing over not having found the “right” place. OCD certainly played a massive role there, but the ADHD restlessness, urgency and need for meaningful stimulation didn’t help either.
A huge source of anxiety has always been that my OCD will be on display. I often fear that people will see a side of me that doesn’t make sense, isn’t logical, and feels erratic - and will subsequently conclude that I am less capable.
I experience Magical Thinking OCD; this means that I construct a sequence of consequential events that actually have nothing to do with one another, but I’m fully convinced they do. The compulsion to relieve this anxiety is to confess. “Confess and you won’t have to feel guilt or shame.”
Years of my life have been impacted by this so severely, and now, in the workplace, it feels overwhelming and quite often humiliating. I was blurting out confessions to things I didn’t do. I struggled to speak up when I needed to. I downplayed important things, apologised when I shouldn’t have, and second-guessed my motives over and over. Am I being ethical? Did I do the right thing? What if I have a hard conversation with someone and it hurts them so much that they get depressed and it ruins their life and it’s all my fault?
For me, coming into a new workplace isn’t just “a bit scary at first but you get used to it.” It is rebuilding trust from nothing, terrified I might have an OCD episode before I’ve even told anyone that’s something that happens. And alongside that, ADHD makes transitions feel even bigger, with new systems, new expectations, no structure yet to anchor myself to. It is mentally exhausting.
When I discovered Flying Fox, it felt like a career lifeline. If anyone were to understand, leverage and celebrate my neurodivergence, surely it would be here.
I was right.
From the moment I joined, I felt it. I could confide in my colleagues straight away and it wasn’t met with judgement. It was completely accepted.
Flying Fox truly embraces difference - not just for participants and volunteers, but for staff too. For the first time, I could say, “Hey, I’m having a tough time. [Insert ridiculous OCD obsession] is why,” and not feel like I’d ruined my reputation. I could call my manager during a spiral, needing to “confess,” and it wasn’t met with eye-rolls, misunderstandings or whispers about how weird this random phone call was. It was simply heard, then left alone. No fuss. No judgement. Just support.
That’s rare.
The best part is that as Flying Fox grows, the organisation is staying true to the values it was founded on and continuing to embrace difference. Whether that means being more transparent about how we prefer to give and receive feedback, or recognising that some of us do our best work at unconventional hours (hello ADHD hyperfocus sessions at 11pm), these practices make a real difference in how we function as a team and how each of us values the contribution we bring.
For a long time, I thought my differences were barriers - something to fix, something that made me less capable than the people around me. But what I’ve learned from our incredible community is that those same differences give me perspective, drive and resilience that can’t be replicated.
During my time at Flying Fox, I discovered that the scattered energy, the overwhelm, even the moments I thought were laziness, were actually ADHD. It wasn’t something that needed changing; I just needed a safe space to understand, manage and embrace it.
At Flying Fox, I’ve found that safe space. I can exist with OCD and ADHD openly and honestly, and still be valued for what I bring. My brain can focus on building a new system for weeks at a time, while simultaneously I can be the person my teammates turn to when they’re stuck and need a solution.
This kind of culture changes everything. It changes how you see yourself, how you show up, how you value yourself and what you believe is possible.
You are not “too much” for the right place, the right people or the right purpose.
Sometimes, the thing you’ve spent years hiding turns out to be the very thing that makes you powerful.
