I have shared parts of my journey with you before, yet there are many things I have always preferred to keep private. Some stories are deeply personal. But there are also stories worth sharing, stories that may inspire and perhaps spark something meaningful for others.
So today, during Neurodiversity Week, I would like to share a part of my own journey, living through the struggle, the beauty, and the complexity of the neurodiverse world.
There were moments when I questioned it. Moments when it felt overwhelming, even isolating, as though I was navigating the world through a lens few could fully understand.
Over time, I have come to see this part of myself differently. What once felt like a challenge has, in many ways, become something I truly value. In its own way, it has been one of life’s greatest blessings.
For anyone who may be struggling, or finding themselves in circumstances that feel difficult or uncertain, I hope that by sharing my story, you may find a small light along the way.
Living with Neurodiversity
I knew from an early age that I was different. At school, I struggled to access education in the way it was being delivered. When the teacher spoke, the words would come, but I could not process and record them in my head quickly enough. Reading and writing felt almost impossible. By primary school, I was often taken out of class for extra help, and even then, I knew something about me did not fit the system.
It was deeply frustrating. I realised the teachers could not reach me, so I stopped expecting them to, and I lost trust in the adults around me. Instead, I began to rely on myself. I discovered that I had my own way of understanding things, slower in some areas, quicker in others, and that when I allowed myself to follow that rhythm, I often found clarity. That is when I first learned to trust myself more than the system, and more than the adults who could not see what I was capable of.
I was formally diagnosed with severe dyslexia in my early twenties, and more recently, with ADHD. I had always sensed it; my mind has always been fast, restless, and full. My thoughts often move quickly, sometimes shifting from one idea to another before I have even finished the first. As a child it could feel overwhelming, as though my mind was always racing ahead of me. The assessment simply confirmed what life had already shown me: my brain is wired differently.
This is where so much of the stigma lies. Too often, dyslexia and ADHD are reduced to what someone “cannot” do. People often perceive difficulties with reading, writing, or focus as a sign of a lack of ability. But that assumption misses the truth. These differences do not mean you are not capable or intelligent.
It is a gift, because being different means you can see things from perspectives others might miss. When your thoughts move quickly, when your process is less linear, you find solutions others might overlook. You troubleshoot instinctively, adapt with speed, and imagine new paths forward. That is what dyslexia and ADHD can offer: a mind that sees differently. And when that difference is understood and valued, it becomes not a burden but a source of resilience, creativity, and originality.
Neurodiversity as Source of Creativity and Innovation
For a long time, I felt only the frustration of my neurodiversity, the endless struggle with reading and writing, the delays it caused, and the way it seemed to hold me back. Yet in parallel, something else was unfolding: I was learning to understand deeply my own brain, to notice how it worked, and to trust the patterns it revealed. I began to see that while conventional paths were difficult for me, my mind could create, solve, and build in ways that were unique, even if they were not conventional.
My thoughts often moved at a pace that did not always align with the structures around me, something I later came to understand as part of both severe dyslexia and ADHD. In time, I realised I would need to create my own path and shape my own opportunities.
During those years, I was living in a girls’ hostel without family to support me, and working part-time at IKEA to keep myself afloat while studying. The balance was demanding, but I had to do it. There's no one I can rely on but myself. That season of my life became my training ground, shaping not just my skills but my character.
I studied fashion at a Polytechnic College, completing a City & Guilds qualification. Looking back, I am grateful that my training happened there, because it gave me valuable life lessons: discipline, efficiency, and the habit of working things through from start to finish. The Polytechnic instilled in me a respect for time, money, and efficiency, with the constant reminder that your skills must create value, that your table must be tidy, your work sharp, and your results professional.
I learned to draft my own blocks, taking measurements of the body, neck to waist, waist to hip, waist to floor, turning them into patterns. As I worked, I began to adjust proportions instinctively, not just to fit the body, but to shape how it was seen.
If a body required it, I would place a seam or line where it would not traditionally sit, carefully repositioning it to create the illusion of balance and proportion. A longer torso, shorter legs, or a shift in posture could all be visually refined through these subtle adjustments. It was never only about measurement, but about perception, understanding how the eye reads form, and guiding it accordingly.
It became an exercise in precision and problem-solving, producing work that was not only creative, but structurally considered and beautifully balanced.
For me, as someone with neurodiversity, this structured, practical way of learning was the best environment. It was hands-on and problem-solving, allowing me to visualise, test, and refine rather than being trapped in theory. While traditional academic environments often demanded sustained reading and quiet concentration, which could be difficult, practical work allowed my mind to focus deeply. When I was engaged in creating or solving a problem, I could work with intense concentration for long periods, a form of focus that many people with ADHD recognise. Every mistake became part of the process, another angle to approach the problem from.
Straight after completing my City & Guilds in fashion, I approached Maria Fidalgo and asked her to take me on and teach me how to sew. She was in her seventies, a master couturière, refined, exacting, and utterly devoted to her craft. Having studied in Paris and Milan and worked for Dior and Chanel, she carried herself with the quiet authority of someone who had spent a lifetime mastering precision.
At first, she questioned me. “A girl like you would be a great designer, why would you want to learn sewing?” She recognised not only my design ability, but the way I approached it, almost like an engineering discipline. I was already developing patterns, constructing garments with intention, even developing corsetry that could shape the body elegantly from within, drawing the torso in with precision, yet remaining invisible, with panels and closures carefully concealed so the piece felt seamless and alive.
But I insisted. I explained that I needed to understand sewing in its entirety so I could guide every detail properly, ensuring it was executed to the highest standard. I told her I would work for free, sweep floors, do the jobs no one else wanted, just for the chance to learn from her.
Eventually, Maria agreed, and I trained with her. Though I insisted she didn’t need to pay me, she did so anyway, an act of generosity that meant more than I could say. I worked tirelessly under her care, often staying late into the night, determined to perfect every stitch. Under her guidance, I learned the craft of French seams, refined pin hems, and the delicate art of working with silks, along with applique lace and many other intricate techniques. To this day, when I wear a garment finished with those techniques, it feels different, almost magical, alive with craftsmanship, discipline, and her enduring legacy of excellence.
The contrast between the Polytechnic and Maria’s atelier was striking: at college, I was taught to think quickly, to be efficient and commercial, sometimes cutting corners to speed things up; with Maria, I learned refinement, patience, and the uncompromising quality that makes a garment timeless. Together, those two worlds gave me a framework, structure, and precision on one side, artistry and excellence on the other.
Within that framework, my neurodiverse mind had space to thrive. Dyslexia allowed me to visualise and interpret things in multiple dimensions, while ADHD brought a fast-moving stream of ideas and connections. My mind does not think in straight lines; it moves in layers, in shifting perspectives, like a drawing that can be turned inside out, upside down, and examined from every angle. While Maria taught me precision, that rapid, associative thinking allowed me to reimagine, troubleshoot, and keep exploring possibilities until the solution revealed itself. That blend of discipline and multidimensional thinking shaped the way I create. It is why I design, develop, and innovate not along a single path, but through a network of ideas, troubleshooting, refining, and ultimately choosing the most suitable direction. And that, I believe, is why so many neurodiverse people flourish in life, in business, and in the arts: we are wired to see differently, and in that difference lies true originality.
Creating Opportunity with a Different Mind
At eighteen, I took my first step into business with the support of The Prince’s Trust. I had just finished my City & Guilds course at Polytechnic, was training with Maria Fidalgo, and I went to the job centre to say, quite simply, that I wanted to run my own business. They directed me to the Trust, and soon I found myself at the Portobello Business Centre, where a kind woman helped me begin the application for a marketing grant.
Prince’s Trust gave me a marketing grant of £250, not a fortune, but to me it was everything. More than the money itself, it was the fact that such a recognised organisation believed in me. For someone like me, neurodiverse and from a difficult upbringing, often told I would not succeed, that belief meant more than I can fully put into words. People often think of my ADHD only in terms of distraction, yet one of its lesser-understood qualities is a strong drive toward novelty and initiative. Individuals with ADHD are often motivated by curiosity and the excitement of creating something new. Looking back, I recognise that instinct in myself. Instead of waiting for opportunities to appear, I felt compelled to create them.
With the grant, I bought fabric and placed my very first advert in The Prince’s Trust book. The page was half an A4, and my advert took up a quarter of it. From that little advert, real clients came through, and with them came the beginnings of my couture wedding dress business.
From there, I began placing adverts in lifestyle magazines, slowly building momentum. Orders came in, and with each one, I learned, improved, and pushed forward. I was doing everything myself, working things out in my own way, because that was the only way I knew how.
Dyslexia made the business plan, a requirement of the grant, feel almost impossible at the time. I couldn’t put it down on paper, not then. It held me back for years, and it was deeply frustrating.
It was never a lack of ideas or capability, but the way my mind worked with structure, organisation, and written detail that made it difficult to bring everything together in the expected way.
But I didn’t stop. I carried on running the business, trusting that somehow I would find a way through it. During that time, I remained in regular contact with the Old Street head office of The Prince’s Trust, and their continued encouragement meant a great deal.
In my twenties, with the help of a friend, I finally managed to complete the business plan. That opened the door to further support from The Prince’s Trust, part loan, part grant, and this time, I paid every penny back. I was also given a mentor, one of the few voices I truly allowed in. The guidance brought clarity, structure, and the reassurance that my vision could grow beyond survival into something established.
It reminded me how powerful the right support can be. When creativity is paired with external structure, the combination can be transformative.
Looking back, I see that this period shaped not only my business but also my confidence. Dyslexia had made the simplest tasks, like writing a plan, feel like insurmountable barriers. But I also learned that barriers can be worked around, re-approached, or tackled in new ways. ADHD often brings a natural tolerance for uncertainty and risk. When you grow accustomed to navigating systems that were not designed for the way your mind works, you learn to improvise, adapt, and find alternative paths. In business, those same qualities can become powerful tools.
The frustration of waiting too long to hand in that plan taught me a lesson I carry to this day: don’t wait. Find a way. Do it your way if you must, but move forward. There is always another way, even if it looks different.
Breaking the Stigma in Business
In business, stigma is often the real barrier, not neurodiversity itself. Too many people see it as a weakness when, in truth, it can be one of the greatest assets a company could embrace. Neurodiverse minds are naturally wired for problem-solving, for seeing patterns, for troubleshooting where others might get stuck. We think quickly, deeply, and broadly, refusing to let go until the answer reveals itself.
I have experienced this first-hand. Over the years, I have often found myself being “studied” by agencies and organisations who wanted to understand how my mind works. At one point, even Unilever was asked to sit with me. Others have told me I would be incredible in the corporate world, because they could see how I think differently, how I visualise the end result, troubleshoot the obstacles, and then work backwards to make it happen. I did not always understand this myself; I was simply doing what felt natural. But it showed me that what once felt like a challenge was actually a skill people valued.
ADHD also plays a role in this process. It is not simply about attention, but about how attention is directed. In environments such as business, where decisions must be made quickly and circumstances are constantly evolving, this way of thinking can become an advantage rather than a limitation.
If more companies welcomed neurodiverse talent, their businesses would flourish. The statistics are already out there: many dyslexics run successful enterprises, often leading with originality and courage. It is almost as though evolution designed us this way, to break rules, to create, to open new paths. Yet stigma still clouds that truth. Too often, difference is mistaken for deficiency, when in fact it is the very thing that drives innovation.
Another aspect rarely discussed is how people with ADHD often develop a strong ability to operate under pressure. When environments become complex or unpredictable, the brain can shift into a state of heightened engagement. What might overwhelm others can sometimes sharpen focus and decision-making. In entrepreneurial environments, where uncertainty is constant, this capacity to respond quickly and adapt in real time can be incredibly valuable.
I definitely believe neurodiversity is a gift, a superpower. Sometimes when I meet people like me, I recognise them instantly, as if we are wired the same way. There is an unspoken understanding, two minds meeting head-to-head, quietly figuring each other out. It takes one to know one. For years, people with neurodiversity were rejected, unacknowledged, and almost invisible in society. Yet when we meet, it feels special, almost like meeting another being with the same power. If education could recognise this early, if it nurtured children instead of leaving them behind, we could become a superpower society, one that embraces every way of thinking, every kind of brilliance.
I believe this begins with how we see and support people from a young age. If children were assessed early and nurtured according to their unique ways of learning, society would be richer, happier, and more productive. Just as we can read genetics to anticipate health and potential, we could learn to understand the mind’s wiring, its strengths, and sensitivities. With the right support, those children could grow into adults who not only thrive but transform the world.
The call to businesses is clear: value creativity over conformity. Create environments where different ways of thinking are welcomed, not silenced. The return is enormous, not only in growth and innovation, but in creating workplaces that are truly alive with possibility.
The Beauty of Different Perspectives
The beauty of neurodiversity is that it widens the lens through which we see the world. Each mind holds a different way of thinking, feeling, and connecting the dots, and it is within those differences that true richness is found. A neurodiverse mind often engages with the world in a way that is layered and nuanced, where ideas are formed through connection rather than sequence. At times this heightened awareness can feel overwhelming, yet it is also where much creativity begins.
Fragrance has always taught me this lesson. A single note, even on its own, can hold remarkable complexity, but it is rarely enough to create something truly unforgettable. It is in the way notes are brought together that a fragrance begins to take form.
Layering is not simply about combining scents. It is a careful balance of structure, tension, and harmony, an interplay between art and engineering. Each note must be considered for how it develops, how it projects, how it lingers, and how it supports or softens another. It is about creating movement, presence, and a sense of cohesion, where nothing feels out of place, yet everything contributes.
Woods with florals, resins with citrus, musks with spices, when composed with intention, they create something far greater than their individual parts. Difference is not a weakness; it is the very thing that gives depth, character, and resonance. In much the same way, when different ways of thinking come together, they create ideas and solutions no single perspective could achieve alone.
I often think of creativity as a composition, each perspective like a note within a wider fragrance. Some are bright and sharp, some are deep and grounding, and others are soft and lingering. Alone, they might seem incomplete. Together, they form a story, an identity, a signature. That is what neurodiverse thinking brings to business and to life: complexity, originality, and a richness that cannot be replicated.
To celebrate difference is to acknowledge its power. The world does not need uniformity; it thrives on layers, contrasts, and blends. Just as a fine perfume would lose its magic without variety, so too would business and creativity lose their spark without the interplay of different minds.
A Call to Redefine Neurodiversity
Neurodiversity is not a barrier to success; it is simply a different path towards it. What once frustrated me has become the very thing that fuels my creativity, resilience, and originality. I have learned that the mind does not need to work in a straight line to reach extraordinary places; sometimes it is the unexpected routes that create the most meaningful outcomes.
For me, learning to work with my neurodiverse mind has been a journey of self-discovery. No one handed me instructions; I had to figure it out step by step, mistake by mistake, until I understood how to use my mind as a strength. That process itself was a gift. From nothing, from zero, I built forward, and I believe anyone can do the same. It does not need to be a sensational story or a sad one. Neurodiversity is not something to feel sorry for; it is simply a different way of experiencing and understanding the world. I have never sought sympathy, only the chance to use my mind the way it was intended: solving problems like puzzles, finding a way through, and creating something new.
What matters is not where you begin, nor whether your mind fits neatly into a system, but whether you trust yourself enough to keep going. Dyslexia, ADHD, or any form of neurodiversity does not diminish intelligence or potential; it simply redirects it.
If we can challenge the stigma, if we can stop viewing difference as deficiency, then we open the door to a society that is more creative, more compassionate, and more expansive in its potential.
That is the invitation of Neurodiversity Week: not to seek sympathy, but to recognise strength where others once saw weakness.
At Chandrika Thomas, this belief is woven into everything we do. True luxury lies in originality, and originality is often born from difference. To honour that is not just to redefine neurodiversity, but to celebrate the beauty of every unique mind.
