Alyson Smith
MA, CPC
Operations Director
There’s a moment many folks know well. You’re starting a new job, a new semester, or meeting a new friend, and you wonder whether to tell anyone that your brain works differently. Maybe you have traits associated with ADHD, Autism, or sensory processing disorder. Maybe you’ve spent years figuring out what helps and what doesn’t. Now you’re deciding whether saying it out loud will help you or backfire. Let’s explore how you can decide for yourself.
Most people who hesitate to disclose are worried about what other people will do with the information. Will my manager assume I can’t handle responsibility? Will my classmates think I’m looking for an easy way out? Will I become “the neurodivergent one” instead of just me?
Those fears are reasonable. Stigma exists, and some people respond poorly. It’s also common to carry an older, quieter worry: that naming a challenge sounds like making excuses. Many young adults living with these traits have spent years hearing some version of “just try harder.” Therefore, it makes sense that asking for support can feel like admitting you’re not trying.
It helps to separate two things that often get blurred together.
An excuse explains why something didn’t happen. A need describes what helps it happen.
“I have ADHD, so I missed the deadline” is an excuse. “I have ADHD, and I do my best work when deadlines are broken into checkpoints. Could we set a few along the way?” is a need. The second version offers a way forward, and it puts you in charge of the conversation.
You get to decide whether, when, and with whom to share. Some people disclose on day one. Some wait until they’ve built trust. Some share with a single trusted person, or only when a specific situation makes it necessary. Some never disclose and find other ways to get what they need.
None of these is more honest, more brave or more correct than the others. A few questions can help you decide:
At work. In the U.S., the Americans with Disabilities Act lets you request reasonable accommodations (typically done through HR). You don’t have to tell everyone on your team. For day-to-day working style, you might share with your manager in practical terms: “I process information best when I can read it first. Could you send an agenda before our meetings?” You can describe what works without giving your whole medical history.
In school. Colleges generally have a disability services office, and registering is how you access things like extended test time, note-taking support, or reduced-distraction testing rooms. The documentation process takes time, so starting early helps. Your professors usually see only the accommodation letter, not the details of your diagnosis.
With peers. Classmates, roommates, and teammates are a different category. You aren’t asking for permission, moreso offering context. “Heads up, I sometimes need to step out of loud spaces to reset. It’s not about you.” A sentence like that can prevent a lot of misunderstanding.
Good disclosure usually has three parts: what you want to share, what helps, and what you’re asking for.
“I have ADHD, which means I can lose track of verbal instructions in the moment. It helps me to get key points in writing afterward. Would you be willing to send a quick recap after we meet?”
“I’m on the spectrum, and unexpected schedule changes are hard for me to process quickly. If I know a day ahead, I can adapt more easily. Can we try that?”
A few things make these work. They’re specific and easy to say yes to. They frame the request around how you do good work. And they leave room for a real conversation instead of demanding an answer.
It also helps to go in with flexibility. Not every request will be granted exactly as you ask. You can stay open to a workable middle ground while still advocating for what matters most to you.
Sometimes people respond with confusion, awkwardness, or disbelief. “But you don’t seem autistic.” “Doesn’t everyone get distracted?” These comments usually reflect the other person’s limited understanding, not the truth of your experience.
You don’t have to convince anyone your diagnosis is real. You can return to the practical part: “The traits are real for me, and this is what helps.” If a formal setting isn’t responding appropriately, you have options, like going to HR, disability services, or another person in authority. And it’s okay to take a day to feel frustrated before deciding what to do next.
Learning to describe your needs clearly doesn’t come naturally to most people, and it’s usually not taught. It’s a skill that develops with practice, often starting with small, lower-stakes conversations. Each time you say what you need and the world doesn’t fall apart, it gets easier.
It also starts with knowing yourself. What conditions help you focus? What drains you? What would you ask for if you knew the answer would be yes? That self-knowledge is the foundation of every good disclosure conversation, and a coach can help you build it.
Sharing a diagnosis isn’t a plea for leniency. It’s information that helps the people around you work well with you. You’re still responsible for your work and your choices. You’re offering others a clearer picture of how to meet you there.
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