To tell or not to tell, that is the question

Whether (and when) should we divulge a non-apparent disability?

“Thinking is difficult, that’s why most people judge.”

                                                                        — Carl Jung

I just read a newsletter by another disability advocate about hope and it got me thinking. In her newsletter “The View From Down Here,” Lucy Webster says she feels “hope and hopelessness in equal measure.” I can relate though I don’t necessarily feel exactly the same.

Lucy uses a wheelchair for mobility so at least some of her disability is clearly evident. But having a non-apparent disability — anything neurodivergent, for example — has one struggling with the do I disclose question on a constant basis. If you’ve been reading my newsletter for any length of time, you know that I am completely transparent about my ADDled brain even writing an open letter to potential agents about what to expect when working with me (spoiler alert: it’s not all bad and, in fact, there’s a lot of power in neurodivergent brains).

But I wonder. Do people treat me differently because they know about my ADHD? I’ve had more than my fair share of problematic relationships with bosses and coworkers in the past — all before my diagnosis. I believe those challenges were at least partially fueled by a lack in optimal executive functioning — a hallmark of ADHD. In other words, I’m not sure I always thought through something I might want to say but rather just blurted it out. In other cases, my passion for certain things in the workplace was met with disdain at the worst or just simple disregard which was almost more hurtful.

I had an editor who made faces or rolled his eyes when I excitedly pitched a story idea (or any idea for that matter). Not exactly confidence-building. I failed, however, to learn to offer my ideas in a less fervent manner. It’s just how I roll and I think my passion can be infectious in the right environment. So, was it me or him? I’ll never know and, quite frankly, I no longer care.

Hope reigns eternal with a view such as this © 2024 Jodi Hausen

About that hope.

I’ve been seeking meaningful part-time employment in addition to my freelance work so I need to feel hopeful. But I am pondering the question of whether to speak openly about my neurodivergent brain or not and, if yes, then when. Of course, most potential employers will probably learn about it in the vetting process whether or not I reveal it explicitly.

I have not had a “real” job since being diagnosed. So, it is with some trepidation that I ponder entering the workplace world once again. Will I be able to fit in? Will an organization provide me with the accommodations I need to thrive in that workplace (quiet, private space to allow for better focus, for one)? Will bosses strive to understand me and my quirks and be compassionate when addressing me? And will I even get a job given my openness about my disability?

That brings me to the question of disclosure. Disability advocate Tiffany Yu (whose book “The Anti-Ableist Manifesto” was recently released) told me that we don’t need to divulge our disabilities. She recommended asking for what we need by saying something to the effect of “I would benefit from …” and why without explicitly stating our diagnosis. That makes sense and I’ve successfully used it. It is especially empowering for those who are not comfortable exposing their disability. But a warning: If we don’t disclose a non-apparent disability from the start, we are we implicitly giving up our rights under the Americans with Disabilities Act. That leaves some of us in a no-win situation: Disclose and be rejected for a job or don’t negating our protections under the law.

Am I hopeful? Yes. Why? Because I am an eternal optimist — a trait I acquired from my dear father. Do I feel hopeless? Sometimes. The problem with being overly optimistic is a resiliency that has me trying again and again and again to follow my dreams only to be rejected (or ghosted — hello editors and agents) at the same rate. And rejection does tend to wear one down.

But I CHOOSE to stay positive and focus on what I have rather than what I don’t. I have a home, food, clothing, reliable transportation, health and community (several actually). So, I am privileged and like to remind myself that tribulations are only blips in an otherwise fortunate life.

What’s your take on this conundrum? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Post ‘em down below and, I promise, I’ll respond.

In the meantime, be kind to each other, especially yourselves.

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