Neurodivergence Is My Superpower
I’ve never fit the mold of a “typical” engineer — or a typical student, for that matter. Growing up, I often did poorly in school and frustrated my teachers, my parents, and myself. I failed timed math tests and was always the first one out in spelling bees. I rarely turned in my homework — but somehow I’d still get A’s on the tests, often without studying. It was confusing for everyone. How could a kid who couldn’t finish a worksheet ace the exam?
The truth is, I wasn’t a bad student. I was a neurodivergent one.
According to family lore, I was speaking in full sentences by age two — polite, articulate, and unintentionally startling strangers at the grocery store. An older woman once asked if I wanted a cookie, and I answered, “Yes, thank you. I would love a cookie — chocolate chip is my favorite.” By three, I was reading full sentences. My parents, being progressive and concerned, hired tutors and educational psychologists to figure out what was going on. They discovered that I had an incredible vocabulary and a knack for puzzles. In elementary school my reading comprehension was at a 12th grade level, and my IQ tested around 140.
But they missed one crucial piece: I had a form of dyspraxia, a neurological difference that affects coordination, processing, and sometimes the seemingly “simple” things — like spelling, handwriting, or remembering math facts. It wasn’t a lack of intelligence. It was a different way of processing the world.
Even today, dyspraxia shows up in my work. I struggle with spelling and handwriting, especially under pressure. I forget basic math facts like multiplication tables, even though I can grasp complex calculus, systems thinking, and logic at a high level. I have an excellent memory — especially for systems, conversations, and how things connect. I don’t think in straight lines, but I think deeply. I may not be able to rattle off math facts or diagram an idea on a whiteboard in the moment, but I can see how pieces fit together, where a system will break, and how to build something that lasts.
These differences have shaped the way I lead, too. I don’t assume that the loudest voice has the best idea or that speed equals skill. Because I’ve been misunderstood and underestimated, I lead with empathy. I make space for different communication styles and thinking processes. I’ve seen what happens when people are given the psychological safety to show up as they are — and I work to create that for my team every day.
I focus on strengths, not just outcomes. I don’t expect everyone to be good at everything — because I’m not either. I coach people toward roles that align with their natural talents and give them permission to build on those instead of chasing someone else’s version of “well-rounded.” I lead best in complex, ambiguous spaces — the messy middle of legacy systems, human dynamics, and large-scale transformation. That’s where my pattern recognition, deep memory, and big-picture thinking shine.
Yes, dyspraxia comes with real challenges. But it’s also a quiet superpower. It’s made me more compassionate, more flexible, and more innovative. It’s helped me see that success doesn’t have to look one way — and that brilliance often comes from the people who think differently.
So no, I may never win a spelling bee. But I will lead your team with care. I’ll architect your systems with clarity. And I’ll help build an environment where every kind of brain — neurodivergent or not — has the chance to thrive.
