Competitive Accommodation in Neurodivergent Workplaces
- Elle Dee
- Jul 13
- 4 min read
Updated: Oct 8
Something unexpected is happening in workplaces where neurodivergent adults are finally gaining a seat at the table. Instead of harmony, there’s friction. Instead of effortless inclusion, there’s tension.
The very accommodations designed to open doors are sometimes colliding head-on. Whose needs get met, and whose don’t? The result is a quiet rift - not just between neurodivergent and neurotypical colleagues, but sometimes within our own communities.
Naming the tension
My brain thinks of it as competitive accommodation.
It happens when multiple people with very real, very valid needs share the same space - and those needs conflict.
One person needs silence to focus. Another needs to pace or vocal stim. One needs dim lighting and no eye contact. Another depends on bright light and visible facial expressions to read emotion.
None of these needs are wrong. But not all of them can co-exist.
The paradox of inclusion
This isn’t failure. In fact, it may be proof that inclusion is working.
For the first time, neurodivergent people are present in numbers large enough that our differences are visible. We’re no longer the only one in the room. That’s progress.
But visibility comes with complexity. And complexity, if not met with care, breeds fragmentation.
What accommodations were meant to do
The original purpose of an accommodation was simple: to remove unnecessary barriers so a person could meet the same performance standard as their peers. Equity, not exemption.
It was never meant to excuse accountability or offer shortcuts. It was a tool to level the field.
But somewhere along the way, “accommodation” began to stretch. In some workplaces, it has become shorthand for I’m excused from this expectation because I’m neurodivergent. That drift doesn’t create safety. It erodes trust.
When needs collide
Picture a meeting with three autistic employees:
One needs a strict agenda in advance.
One needs to jump in without waiting for a pause.
One needs everyone to speak one at a time, with long gaps to process.
All of these needs are real. None of them are compatible.
This is the new frontier. We can’t pretend every need can be accommodated in the same moment. Sometimes, they simply can’t.
And when that reality is ignored, resentment creeps in - not just between us and the systems around us, but between us and each other.
The weaponization problem
There’s also a harder truth. In some spaces, the language of accommodation has been misused.
“I can’t be expected to meet that deadline, I’m neurodivergent.”
“Challenging my behavior is ableist. This is how I show up.”
Neurology can explain why we do what we do. But it doesn’t excuse us from accountability or from considering others.
When “accommodation” becomes a shield from critique, it undermines the credibility of those who rely on it to perform at their best.
Solidarity has limits
The dream of a united neurodivergent community is powerful, and in some ways real. But it has limits.
We don’t all want the same things. We don’t all need the same things. Sometimes, our needs are in direct conflict.
That doesn’t mean we stop supporting each other. It means we stop pretending inclusion is frictionless. It won’t be.
The path forward
So where do we go from here? A few principles to keep us grounded:
Start with purpose. Every accommodation should connect to a clear outcome: This helps me do X task to Y standard.
Prioritize compatibility. Not every need can be met at once. Create transparent systems for navigating conflicts.
Tell the truth about limits. Saying “we can’t meet every need here” isn’t villainy. It’s honesty.
Set expectations clearly. Accommodations ensure equity, not exemption. Accountability remains.
Stop grading needs. More support doesn’t mean “more neurodivergent.” We don’t need a hierarchy of struggle.
Closing reflection
If we don’t get clearer about what accommodations are - and aren’t - we risk turning inclusion into division. We risk creating workplaces where nobody feels fully seen, because everyone is tiptoeing around incompatible truths.
Some are beginning to use the word neuroinclusion for this shift - a framework that accepts inclusion will never be perfectly smooth, but insists it can still be fair, functional, and deeply human. To me, that isn’t just a hopeful direction. It’s a necessary one.
Neurodivergent adults deserve real inclusion. But real inclusion is messy. It requires clarity. Honesty. Compromise.
It’s not about perfect harmony. It’s about learning to live with dissonance - and still making music together.
This conversation doesn’t end here. I’ll be writing more soon about neuroinclusion as the possible future of our workplaces - what it means, why it matters, and how it could move us beyond access into something more alive and sustainable.
If you’d like to be the first to know when that post drops, you can sign up right here.
--Elle
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