This guest blog by Clare Berry, an autistic woman and workplace advocate, is part of our Yellow Ladybugs Mentoring Series. In this insightful and empowering piece, Clare shares how a late autism diagnosis reshaped her understanding of herself, her needs, and her approach to leadership.

Through moments of sensory overload, workplace meltdowns, and navigating forced disclosure, Clare paints a raw and authentic picture of what it’s like to work in systems not built for neurodivergent minds. Her story doesn’t stop at survival—it's a call to action for visibility, mentorship, and inclusive practice. From founding a Neurodiversity Special Interest Group to mentoring colleagues and influencing company-wide policy, Clare shows us what inclusive leadership truly looks like.

Clare’s journey reminds us that autistic leadership is not only possible—it’s powerful. By speaking openly, advocating boldly, and mentoring generously, she’s helping shift workplace culture for good.

Readers will take away:

• A deeply personal account of late diagnosis, burnout, and navigating disclosure in the workplace

• The emotional and sensory realities that can make work environments inaccessible for autistic employees

• The importance of visibility and representation—why “you can’t be what you can’t see”

• Practical examples of workplace change, from inclusive language guides to sensory-friendly events

• A clear, hopeful message: autistic people can thrive and lead—on their own terms, in their own way

Finding My Seat: A Journey Toward Inclusive Leadership and Mentorship

A few years ago, I was navigating the newfound terrain of a later-life autism diagnosis, and I found myself in the midst of an intense period of self-discovery and transformation. I spent countless hours poring over memes, posts, videos, and blog articles—each piece of content an affirmation that I wasn’t alone. It was a validating experience, a chorus of voices echoing the same questions and experiences I had long internalised. Yet, as my understanding deepened, so too did my questions around my job: I was good at my job, but was my job truly good for me? After years of masking and coping, my authentic self was emerging, albeit with a heavy toll—a series of intense workplace meltdowns that left me questioning everything.

Every morning, I stepped into an open-plan office bathed in harsh fluorescent lights and echoing high ceilings. The constant barrage of sensory overload compounded my internal struggle, forcing me to confront the reality that perhaps the role I so loved wasn’t designed for someone like me. I was at a crossroads: Should I find another job? Should I reveal my neurodivergence to a wider circle, risking judgement from those who might not understand? I had already taken that leap with my line manager, whose boundless compassion and unwavering support reassured me. But what about everyone else

Then came the turning point. The announcement of a transition to hot desking sent waves of uncertainty and anxiety through my routine. Each morning became a puzzle: where would I sit? How could I manage my energy—or my spoons, as I fondly refer to them, drawing on Spoon Theory—to navigate an unpredictable environment? In the midst of this transition, I discovered a quiet, overlooked seat in the office and clung to the hope that it might become my sanctuary. However, the challenge soon escalated and a few weeks later I was called out for “not hot-desking”. A moment of escalating emotion and the taunts that came from misunderstandings triggered an instant meltdown and a forced disclosure of being autistic. In front of everyone around me. I wanted to explain to my allistic colleagues that my request for the same seat every day wasn’t a sign of weakness but a necessity to thrive. I wanted them to understand that one perceived “limitation” in one area did not diminish my ability to lead, innovate, or excel. And like many people in a meltdown, in that moment no words could come out. I didn’t have a voice. And I ran out of the room, feeling judged, ashamed… and that I didn’t belong.

In the days after that moment of vulnerability, I wondered: If I was feeling this way, how many voices remained unheard? What else about the workplace isn’t helpful for autistic staff? I realised the invisibility of autism and neurodivergence was possibly a shared experience by others, and there was a glaring absence of neurodivergent visibility in leadership. I decided that needed to change.

Fuelled by creating visibility and raising unheard voices, I championed the creation of a Neurodiversity Special Interest Group for our organisation. As the chair of this group, I set out with a mission: to build a platform for neurodiverse voices, to advocate for inclusive policies, and to foster a community where everyone could feel seen and supported. Over the years our membership has grown as more people are aware of who we are and what we are trying to achieve. Every meeting with this group has been a space where compassion, empathy, and boundless hope flourish. Even when our conversations digress into impassioned discussions about our quirkiest special interests, those moments are imbued with joy and a shared sense of purpose.

Our initial goal was deeply practical – raise awareness. We updated our organisation’s inclusive language guide to incorporate a dedicated neurodiversity section, ensuring our communications resonated with authenticity and respect. In March 2025, during Neurodiversity Celebration Week, we transformed a typically overwhelming meeting room into a sensory-friendly haven and hosted a neurodiversity celebration event. By softening the lighting, adding sound buffers, and arranging comfortable seating, we created an environment where every detail was considered. I championed for senior executives to join us making sure that the messages were heard across all levels of the organisation. We had a panel conversation with lived experience perspectives and launched the production of an insightful video featuring interviews with neurodivergent staff—addressing challenging questions, like “isn’t everyone getting diagnosed now?”, with honesty and humour. The event was empowering, sparking conversations and bringing awareness throughout the organisation.

For me, that celebration was more than a milestone—it was a public declaration of my identity as an autistic leader. As a panellist, I shared raw, unfiltered stories of my journey, emphasising the power of self-advocacy and the transformative impact of mentorship and safe communication. Mentorship, I have come to believe, is one of the most potent tools for creating autistic-friendly workplaces. But you need to track good mentors down, they don’t just land at your feet (or at least they haven’t for me). I worked hard to find my people, and the hard work has paid off. I have been incredibly fortunate to now have mentors and sponsors who recognised and nurtured my unique strengths. In turn, I have embraced the role of mentor to many neurodivergent colleagues across the organisation – and can’t wait to help more.

Through these experiences, I have come to realise that inclusivity isn’t merely a policy—it’s a lived practice so that everyone can truly belong. When you make a workplace safe and supportive for autistic people, you create an environment where everyone can flourish. It starts with compassion, kindness, and flexibility. It starts with understanding that everyone’s energy is finite, that every individual’s needs are unique. And most importantly, it starts with recognising that you can’t be what you can’t see.

If my journey teaches one thing, it’s that visibility matters. By openly embracing my autistic self and advocating for necessary accommodations, I have not only transformed my own experience but also paved the way for others to do the same. My advice to fellow autistic leaders navigating the maze of workplace challenges is this: lean into your authenticity and trust in your strengths. Your insights are invaluable, and your leadership is a beacon for those who might otherwise feel isolated.

I also encourage those of you who are just starting your journey to seek out mentorship and, equally important, to offer mentorship to others. There is profound power in having someone in your corner—someone who champions you even when you’re not in the room. This culture of sponsorship and allyship not only elevates individual careers but also transforms entire organisations. It redistributes the burden of advocacy, ensuring that change is a collective effort rather than a solitary fight.

In every challenge, there is an opportunity to innovate, to reimagine how we work, and to redefine success. My journey, from a place of uncertainty to a position of empowered, visible, autistic leadership, is a testament to the resilience that lies within us all. Every small victory—the quiet assurance of a familiar seat, the breakthrough of a candid conversation, the solidarity found in shared experiences—builds a stronger, more inclusive future.

To anyone reading this who might be walking a similar path, know that your feelings are valid, your struggles are real, and your successes—both big and small—matter. Embrace your unique perspective. Cultivate your inner strength. And remember, every step you take not only shapes your own future but also paves the way for others to follow.

In the end, it’s not just about finding a seat in the office—it’s about finding your place in the world. When that space is filled with compassion, understanding, and unwavering support, every one of us has the opportunity to shine. As I look back on my journey from uncertainty to empowered, visible leadership, I’m reminded that each small victory builds a stronger, more inclusive future.

For anyone navigating work as an autistic person—especially in environments that weren’t built with you in mind—here are a few guiding lights that have helped me along the way: 

1. Find your anchor: Whether it’s a consistent desk that feels like home, a supportive manager, or a routine that centres your day, having one steadfast element can transform uncertainty into manageability.

2. Speak up early—when you feel safe. You don’t have to disclose everything, but sharing your needs before you’re in burnout can sometimes prevent escalation. Start with someone you trust.

3. Embrace small beginnings: Don’t wait for the perfect system to be in place. I started with one conversation, one sensory-friendly space, one updated page in an inclusive language guide—and then it grows.

4. Value mentorship: Seek out mentors or sponsors who see and celebrate your unique strengths. And when you’re able, be that supportive figure for someone else.

5. Trust your way of working: Your way is not only valid—it’s powerful. You don’t need to fit a neurotypical mould to be a great leader, colleague, or contributor. You can lead—and thrive—by being fully yourself.

Each step is a call to build a future where every voice is heard and every individual finds their place to flourish. By leaning into our authenticity and championing one another, we can transform not just our own experiences, but our workplaces. Embrace your journey, trust in your strengths, and remember: your voice has the power to light the way for others.

Clare Berry