The drive to the Diocese office was, as usual, a noisy one.
Not because of the radio, but because of the frantic rehearsal happening in my head. If you’re neurodivergent and in discernment, you know this “Noisy Drive” well. It’s that internal monologue where you try to pre-empt every possible question, building a fortress of “suitable” answers to hide the fact that your brain feels like a browser with fifty tabs open.
I was heading to meet the Bishop’s Adviser. It’s a meeting that carries a lot of weight—a moment where your calling feels like it’s being weighed in the balance.
The “Rehearsed” Paradox
I walked into that room carrying a bit of baggage from my Stage 1 interviews. Back then, I was told I sounded “too prepared”—almost rehearsed.
It’s a funny accusation to throw at a dyslexic brain that can’t hold a scripted five-minute answer in its head if its life depended on it. What the interviewers saw as “rehearsed,” I knew was just me talking around an idea, circling the centre until I could finally fetch the right word. For us, the “preparation” isn’t a script; it’s a survival mechanism. We rehearse because we’re terrified that if we don’t, the words will simply vanish.
As I sat in that classic, slightly bland magnolia room, I decided to try something different. I decided to let the mask slip, just a little.
The ADHD Tax
The sun was crisp and bright through the window, but my brain was inside, stuck on the coasters.
They were bright and colourful, and honestly, they became a major distraction. While we were discussing the deep, spiritual nature of my calling, a part of my mind was doing a deep-dive analysis of a ceramic square. It’s the ADHD tax: trying to articulate my heart for ministry while my brain is wondering where the Adviser bought her tea set.
But here’s the thing—I didn’t hide it. When I felt my brain take a detour, I just owned it. I’ve spent years trying to pretend my brain works in a straight line, but in that magnolia room, I realised that the Church doesn’t need “super-human” priests with linear, perfectly-indexed brains. It needs mere humans who know how to navigate the mess.
From “Label” to “Leader”
The Adviser already knew about the Dyslexia and the ADHD; it was all there in the DDO notes. But there’s a massive difference between a label on a page and the reality of the person sitting across from you.
We talked about how I work. We talked about how I’ve built my own systems and sought support. It wasn’t about “fixing” my neurodiversity; it was about showing how those traits—the hyperfocus, the non-linear thinking, the sensitivity—are actually spiritual gifts.
I left the office feeling exhausted (the “Social Hangover” is real), but for the first time, I felt like I hadn’t just been assessed. I had been seen.
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