Work Tips

Somewhere in the last three years, your organisation was restructured. There was no announcement. No consultation paper went out. No boxes moved on the chart. The restructure happened one decision at a time, made by people who did not think of themselves as making structural decisions at all. A report drafted differently. A check that quietly stopped being performed.

In this series I have written about what changes when organisations stop managing change and start navigating it. One of those changes concerns the leaders themselves, and I described it this way. The leadership posture changes. Leaders stop performing certainty and begin operating from presence. They become willing to say, in front of their teams, that they do not yet know what comes next, and they remain visible inside that not-knowing rather than retreating from it. The ro

There is a phrase I keep returning to, and I have learned to trust it more the longer I work. Be you and do. Four words, and most people hear them as encouragement, the kind of line that belongs on a wall in a co-working space. Listen closer and the phrase is making a structural claim about where capability comes from, and the claim is precise. When you act from your authentic space, the work carries a force it cannot carry any other way.

In the last article I wrote that change in 2026 is no longer something organisations do, it is the condition they operate inside. The piece described the shift, named what the workforce is now seeing, and made the case that the old playbook cannot meet the people it was designed for.

There is a truth we refuse to betray. Neurodivergent minds are not a problem to be fixed. They are engines of pattern, courage, and original thought. Little Red Notebook exists to make that truth impossible to ignore. Our mantra and our purpose are the same invitation. Unleash the Brilliance.

There are days when I move through the world like an undercover alien. Everything looks almost normal, same air, same streets, same conversations, yet something hums beneath the surface that no one else seems to hear. The lights are too bright. The sounds have edges. People speak in rhythms that never quite match my own. The rules of belonging feel written in a code I was never given the key to.

One of the most grounding questions I carry as an autistic person is this: is what I am experiencing and/or feeling real, or is it an overreaction? At first glance it might sound like self-doubt. But for me, it has become a steadying compass, a way of giving shape to moments that can otherwise feel overwhelming or confusing.