I recently heard a story that I have not been able to stop thinking about.

It was told by comedian Janet McNamara in Act Two of a This American Life episode about the power of labels.

Janet spent years working successfully as an accountant. She was good at her job. She worked quickly, identified errors, solved problems, and received regular raises.

Then she got a new manager.

The work itself did not change.

But the workplace around the work did.

Her new manager valued more small talk, more group meetings, and more social interaction among coworkers. Before long, Janet began receiving feedback that she was rude, that her emails had the wrong tone, and that the way she communicated needed to change.

Janet talks about these moments with the timing and honesty of an incredible comedian. I laughed throughout her story.

But underneath the humor is something painful.

Janet was not being told that she could not perform her accounting work. She was being told that the way she moved through the workplace—her communication, her social interactions, and, increasingly, her personality—was a problem.

She tried to adapt.

She tried to make the small talk, attend the group meetings, learn everyone’s children’s names, and play what she described as “the game.”

She could sustain it for only a short time.

Eventually, the effort became so overwhelming that she could no longer function in the job. Over the following years, she moved through several corporate positions, repeatedly doing well until the social and interpersonal expectations increased. Then she would hit the same wall.

Janet had wondered for years whether she might be autistic. She had pursued an evaluation before but was told she did not meet the diagnostic criteria.

As her difficulties at work intensified, the possibility of a diagnosis became more urgent. She was no longer looking for an interesting explanation of herself. She was trying to understand why something that seemed manageable to everyone else was becoming impossible for her—and whether there might be workplace supports that would allow her to keep doing work she was capable of performing.

Much later, after another evaluation, Janet was diagnosed with autism.

One thing she said stayed with me:

“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me. Maybe my brain is just wired different.”

That sentence captures something important about neurodiversity—and about the responsibility we carry in our workplaces.

Too often, we move quickly from observing a difference to assigning a character judgment.

Abrupt becomes rude.

Quiet becomes disengaged.

Direct becomes difficult.

Overwhelmed becomes uncooperative.

A need for predictability becomes controlling.

Difficulty with eye contact becomes disrespectful.

Sometimes an employee does need feedback. A disability does not mean that workplace expectations disappear, and a diagnosis does not resolve every performance or conduct concern.

But we should be careful about concluding that we understand someone’s intentions simply because we have observed their behavior.

We should also be curious when a capable employee who has performed successfully in the past begins to struggle after something in the environment changes.

A new manager.

A different communication style.

More meetings.

A move from written instructions to verbal ones.

An open workspace.

New expectations around social interaction.

A loss of structure or predictability.

The question is not automatically, “Does this employee have autism?”

We should not diagnose people at work.

The better questions are:

What changed?

What is the employee experiencing?

Which expectations are truly connected to the work?

Is there something we do not yet understand?

And is there a way to support this employee in performing the job successfully?

Janet’s diagnosis did not change who she was. It gave her a different way to understand herself.

Near the end of the story, she describes entering a classroom and discovering that another person was sitting in the seat she usually occupied. When the woman noticed Janet’s discomfort, she asked whether Janet wanted her to move.

Janet finally admitted that she did.

The woman moved. She was not offended. There was no conflict.

Janet described that small exchange as one of the first times she felt truly seen.

I keep thinking about how little it required.

One person noticed.

One person asked.

One person answered honestly.

And neither of them turned the other person’s behavior into a judgment about who she was.

That is not the full story of neurodiversity in the workplace. It is not the full story of disability accommodation.

But it may be a very good place to begin.

Notice.

Ask.

Remain curious.

And before deciding that someone is difficult, rude, disengaged, inflexible, or unwilling, leave room for the possibility that there is something you do not yet understand.

Because sometimes the work has not changed.

But everything surrounding the work has.

Until next time,

Rachel

P.S. I strongly encourage you to listen to Janet McNamara tell this story herself. She is extraordinarily funny, candid, and moving. You can hear her story in Act Two, “Diagnose Me, Maybe?” from the This American Life episode “Label Maker!”

[LISTEN TO ACT TWO]