Anne spent most of her life feeling misunderstood until she was diagnosed with Autism later in life. Everything started to eventually make sense, even more so, when her family was all diagnosed with ASD and they begin this new journey together. She wants to write about all of this because sometimes one’s struggles are silent and only through efforts towards inclusion can we all be more comfortable to communicate our struggles. And as someone who is rejection sensitive, she often fails to communicate her struggles because she anticipates that her struggles will lead to further rejection and the cycle continues. She hopes that sharing her vulnerabilities leads to at least one person better understanding themselves or an Autistic loved one. She is looking forward to sharing more specifics about her struggles as a neurodiverse family residing in Pennsylvania.
View all postsThe Fragility of the Dream: Facing a RIF as a Neurodivergent Professional
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After twenty years, I finally attained the job I have dreamed of since high school.
Back then, I spent a good chunk of my time avoiding social interactions especially in the cafeteria and getting passes to eat my lunch in the computer lab. I never really ate lunch – just jammed a piece of pizza or sandwich into my mouth in the hallway walking to the computer lab. The lab wasn’t just an escape from ridicule; it was a quiet, cool place to imagine the possibilities.
In my junior year, I helped a teacher by submitting my student work to a grant project. That work helped the school district earn a $75,000 technology grant. I had made things easier for them, so if I wanted a pass to spend the day in the lab – it was easily granted.
Fast forward to now: I manage an area of IT that I have worked in for nearly two decades, granted not at the same organization but enough for equivocal senior leadership experience. While there’s no official word yet – just whispers – I can feel it. That familiar sense of impending doom. I’ve been through layoffs before (I’ve even written about them here), but this one feels different. This is the job I love. The one that made me feel like I finally belonged. And now I don’t know if it will be here tomorrow.
My emotions are all over the place – and often misplaced on situations that are unrelated. I am short with my children. I am hyperaware of every email, every meeting, every pause in a conversation. I am reading between all the lines in every experience. When I am stuck in a loop of anticipatory loss, it’s overwhelmingly heavy.
For neurodivergent people like me, change doesn’t just alter the surface of life. It rewrites the script in my head. I don’t adapt quickly – I pre-feel every possible future, all at once and it leaves me in a state of paralysis. I revised my resume and begun contemplating the hard journey of applying for other jobs. But that process brings its own weight.
The broader issue with RIFs is that most don’t consider the emotional and sensory impacts on neurodivergent staff. The uncertainty phase alone is enough to overwhelm the system – between spiraling thoughts, disrupted routines and anticipatory grief, just existing through the workday is exhausting.
A RIF isn’t just about job loss. For some of us, it’s an identity crisis, a sensory minefield and a forced crash course in emotional regulation – all while trying to act “normal” at work. We’re expected to be mentally present, to justify our roles, and not let on that we’re afraid for our own wellbeing or job. But that’s not me.
I am worried. I’m worried about my job. I’m worried about my family of five and our long-term wellbeing. Because when you’re the sole provider and that income vanishes, everything crashes and burns.
I don’t know what comes next. Trying to stay grounded when you feel the rumblings of a volcano in the distance – wondering if the earth will quake and swallow you whole – is difficult. I know I am not alone. I know others face this fear every day, and I know I’ve lived through it before.
The only solace I find is remembering that last year I had the best year of my life. I didn’t worry about how I’d pay for things. We lived just above paycheck to paycheck. I will treasure the feeling of enough – before this downward spiral – and hope I’m somehow lucky enough to avoid falling into the 10-to-15% cuts.
Anne Brown
