Please Let Me Use My Weird Brain

By Feryx Lim.

I have a confession to make. In meetings, I often look like I'm not listening. I don’t make eye contact, my eyes might drift around the room. I might be doodling in the corner of my notebook. I might seem, to the untrained eye, slightly checked out.

Here's what's actually happening: I'm listening to everything. I'm hearing your words, and the words of the person next to you, and the faint hum of the fluorescent light above me, and the typing from three desks over, and the conversation happening behind me that I'm desperately trying to ignore. I'm processing all of it at once. And if you give me a minute, I'll give you an idea that actually works.

This is my brain. It's neurodivergent. And the advertising industry, for all its talk about loving diverse thinking, doesn't quite know what to do with me when I'm not being useful.

Open plan = open day for distractions

I work in an open plan office. You know the one. It's all exposed brick and pot plants and long communal tables designed to look like a trendy café, except no one here is relaxed and the coffee is from a machine that hasn't been descaled since 2019.

For me, this space is not collaborative. It is loud. It is bright. It is a sensory obstacle course. There is always someone talking near me. There is always someone walking past me. There is always a phone ringing, a Slack notification pinging, a colleague appearing at my elbow to ask if I've got a second (I do not have a second; I have not had a second for three hours).

By lunchtime, I am tired. By mid-afternoon, I am running on fumes. By the time five o'clock rolls around, my social battery is not just drained – it has ceased to exist entirely. It has left the building, caught a train somewhere, and is not coming back.

And this is where it gets awkward. Because agency culture loves an after-work drink. It loves a "quick pint to debrief." And I get it. I do. Bonding is important.

But here's the thing: I have spent all day pretending to be fine in an environment that fundamentally fights my brain. I have nothing left for small talk. I am not being antisocial. I am being empty.

Briefin’ on a prayer

Then there's the work itself.

I cannot tell you how many times I've been handed a brief that says something like: "We want something bold but accessible. Edgy but not too edgy. Make it fun. You know the vibe."

I do not know the vibe. I do not know the vibe at all. And when I ask – politely, genuinely – what "edgy but not too edgy" actually means, I am met with a sigh. A look. A slight edge in the voice that suggests I am being difficult.

Here's what's actually happening: I am trying to do my job well. I cannot prioritise if I don't know what the priority is. I cannot deliver if the feedback contradicts itself. I cannot read your mind. I need you to tell me, clearly, what you want. That is not a failing on my part. That is a failing in the brief.

And when you give me unclear instructions and then get upset that I'm asking for clarity, I am left spinning. Stuck. Unable to move forward because I don't know which direction forward is.

Meet me some of the way

Look. I'm not asking for the world here. I'm not asking for a private office with a door and a silence policy and a personalised lighting scheme. I'm asking for a few small things that would make a massive difference.

Let me work somewhere quiet when I need to focus. That might be home. That might be a bookable room with a door. That might just be permission to wear noise-cancelling headphones without people assuming I'm being rude. I am not being rude. I am trying to think.

Give me a brief that makes sense. Write it down. Tell me what matters most. If two people want two different things, sort it out between you before it reaches me. I can execute a vision. I cannot execute three conflicting visions simultaneously.

And when I ask a question, don't sigh at me. I'm not questioning your authority. I'm not being difficult. I'm trying to understand. If the instructions were clear, I wouldn't need to ask. The confusion isn't the problem—it's the symptom.

Also, let's be honest about the social stuff. If you want to build team connection, do it during the day. Order pizza for lunch. Go for a walk in the afternoon. Let me go home at five without feeling like I'm letting the team down. I like my colleagues. I just need to be alone now.

10,000 spoons but what I need is a knife

The irony is that the advertising industry genuinely values what my brain produces. It loves the lateral thinking.

It loves the (sometimes) obsessive attention to detail. It loves the way I spot things other people miss. It just doesn't love the conditions I need to produce them.

You can't have the thinking without the thinker. You can't celebrate "out of the box" ideas from someone you've put in a box all day. Accommodation isn't a favour. It's not a special treatment. It's just good business.

Sort the environment out. Give me a clear brief. Let me go home when I'm done. And I'll give you the ideas you say you want.