What It Actually Takes to Survive a Neurotypical Workplace

The open office. The unwritten rules. The performance reviews about 'culture fit.' A firsthand account.

I have been fired twice. Both times, the listed reason was performance. Both times, performance meant something different than the words on the page.

The first time: I had done the actual work extremely well. My deliverables were consistently on time, documented beyond what was asked, and accurate. The feedback in the termination meeting described me as "not a team player" and "resistant to feedback." I had asked, on one occasion, for feedback to be given to me in writing rather than verbally in meetings — I processed information better that way. I had also, on another occasion, pointed out an error in a process that was causing downstream problems. Both of these, it turned out, were problems.

The second time: similar. The work was fine. The "culture fit" was not.

I am not describing these situations to suggest I was a perfect employee. I made real mistakes. But the mistakes that cost me those jobs were social, not professional. I did not navigate the political topology of the office correctly. I did not perform enthusiasm at the right intervals. I did not go to happy hour.

The neurotypical workplace is a social system as much as a production system. A significant portion of what is evaluated has nothing to do with output. Presence in certain conversations. Alignment with certain informal hierarchies. Performance of engagement, loyalty, collegiality.

For autistic employees, these demands are largely invisible. They were never taught, never written down, and often not understood to exist. You find out you violated one when the violation becomes a performance problem.

After the second firing, I started disclosing. I had not disclosed before — the calculus of risk versus benefit had consistently fallen against it. But I had hit a wall. The masking was no longer sustainable. The burnout was affecting the actual work.

The disclosure was imperfect. The response from one manager was decent. From another it was notably worse. I was offered accommodations — a quieter workspace, written agendas before meetings, the ability to skip optional social events. These helped significantly.

What helped more than the accommodations was finding a manager who understood what I was describing without requiring me to educate them from scratch. That is luck. It should not be luck.

The ADA requires reasonable accommodations. What it does not require is that employers understand autism well enough to not be confused when the accommodations are requested. What it does not prevent is the subtle shift in how you are perceived after disclosure. What it does not address is the open office, the mandatory team-building, the performance of affect that determines who gets promoted.

I work from home now, primarily. It is not a perfect solution. But the removed commute, the controlled sensory environment, and the option to go nonverbal without anyone noticing have made me a significantly more functional employee.

The workplace does not have to be this hard. The specific ways it is hard for autistic employees are identifiable, addressable, and not particularly expensive to change. Quiet spaces. Written communication as an option. Clear expectations in writing. No mandatory social events. Evaluation based on output, not performance of enthusiasm.

We are not asking to do less work. We are asking to do the work without the performance tax.