A network for all neurodivergent employees of the Max Planck Society

My brain is one that, to some people, might seem nearly impossible to operate. When the system “turns on,” there is no familiar screen. Instead, there is a keyboard—but the characters do not resemble any known language. Press the wrong key, and it might feel like the system shuts down. Try too many inputs at once, and the system becomes overwhelmed, responding in ways that can be difficult to interpret.

But from my perspective, this operating system is comfortable. It works—it just requires the right conditions. If someone takes the time to understand it, to look up how it functions, and to create a supportive environment, a kind of translation guide begins to emerge. The unfamiliar symbols start to make sense. In that space, some tasks can be completed more efficiently than on more conventional systems, while others may take longer.

“Be curious, not judgmental. - Walt Whitman”

What matters is this: be the person who comes back to the operating system, not the one who abandons it.

This is also how I experience thinking in science. My brain makes connections that are not always obvious, even to me. They can feel intuitive rather than linear. With my background in music, I sometimes process data—especially things like frequencies—in ways that are not purely visual. Patterns can feel almost audible. I do not always know why a connection appears, but it often leads somewhere meaningful.

On a day-to-day basis as an academic, these differences in how I receive inputs to my system can also come with constraints. I am very sensitive to certain sensory inputs, such as light or specific textures, while other things do not affect me at all. I can enter very deep states of focus, but that depends on having a stable, predictable environment. Interruptions or sudden changes can be overwhelming, not because of the task itself, but because of the way my brain processes disruption. This becomes especially challenging in parts of academia that lack structure. For example, applying for faculty positions often involves completely different requirements for each application—different documents, formats, and expectations. There is no unified system. For me, that kind of inconsistency can be overwhelming, sometimes to the point where I avoid tasks until the urgency becomes unavoidable.

Consistency fosters curiosity and creativity

Even so, I thrive in intellectual complexity, especially when working at the intersection of disciplines. When I am in a space with researchers from different fields, I like listening to the different “scientific languages” and trying to connect them. That process—bringing ideas together across boundaries—is where I feel most engaged. Over time, I have realized that how we structure environments matters just as much as the ideas themselves. For me, science is not only about methods or results—it is about people and the conditions that allow them to contribute.

When we create psychologically safe environments, we allow better ideas to emerge and stronger collaborations to form For me, psychological safety means creating spaces where people do not have to mask—where they can be themselves without constantly adapting to fit expectations. I received my autism diagnosis during my PhD, which was relatively late. For a large part of my life, I was masking in many environments. That takes energy, and it limits authenticity. Looking back, I realize how much I was trying to adapt without fully understanding why certain environments were difficult. 

Improving environments

Sometimes very small, practical steps help both myself and those around me. To protect my own focused work time, I use a “Do Not Disturb” sign and noise canceling headphones. For those who attend meetings I host, I might include tactile activities like clay so people can engage their hands while thinking. For larger gatherings like conferences, I strongly recommend the idea of quiet rooms—spaces where people can decompress rather than network.

Having meetings at the same time each week helps create structure. When schedules constantly change, it can become overwhelming. These adjustments are often described as accommodations, but in my experience, they benefit everyone, not just neurodivergent individuals.  

If I could give advice to younger autistic researchers, I would emphasize the importance of support. For me, therapy has been an important tool—not because something needed to be “fixed,” but because it helped me practice communication. I have spent time role-playing difficult conversations, such as asking to adjust lighting in a meeting room or explaining sensory sensitivities. Being able to express needs in a clear and comfortable way can make a significant difference.

Yet, I recognize that every situation is different. Not every environment feels safe enough for openness, and support systems vary widely. But where trust exists, being honest about needs can reduce a lot of internal strain. 

Another area that I think needs more attention is intersectionality in autism. Questions about how autism intersects with gender, race, sexuality, and culture are not well understood. There are clear diagnostic biases, and many groups are underrepresented in research. To address this, we need better, more inclusive data— collected in ways that are ethical, non-performative, and safe.

Building community — the NeurodivergNet

After giving a talk within the Max Planck Society, I connected with others who shared similar experiences. Together with Rut Martínez Miras (Intelligent Systems) and Caitlin Gillespie (Biological Intelligence), we started developing a network, NeurodivergNet, for neurodivergent researchers.

Our goal is to create a space for exchange, support, and shared resources. Many researchers – especially those moving internationally – face challenges such as navigating healthcare systems or transferring medication. At the same time, there is often a lack of community or understanding.

We want to address both. The network is intended for researchers at all stages, as well as technical and administrative staff. We are working on resources, including multilingual materials, to make the network accessible to a broader group of people. Ultimately, I believe that structure and support enable creativity. When environments are designed with different needs in mind, they allow more people to contribute fully.

On today’s World Autism Day we have an opportunity to reflect on neurodiversity not as something separate from science, but as part of what drives it. Different ways of thinking are not obstacles to overcome—they are perspectives that can expand how we approach problems. Understanding a different “operating system” takes time and curiosity. But that effort creates not only inclusion, but also better collaboration—and, ultimately, better science.​

Co-Founders of NeurodivergNet Rut Martínez Miras​ (left) and Andrew K. Schulz (right)