If I were just autistic or just broke, I would have been fine. But I was both, so I was starting my new job sleep-deprived.
I was finishing my dissertation and had just moved across the United States for a full-time university teaching job, making sure to pick a fully walkable town as my new home.
I wish I could say I wanted to walk for health reasons, but, in truth, I did not have a car or a driver’s license. In grad school, I was able to get around by bus despite the infrequent and sometimes unreliable service. My new town had no public transportation, but I thought I had it all planned out—walking should have worked.
What I did not know when making my move was that the academic year kickoff would be held out of town. In a kids’ summer camp in the woods. Only accessible by car.
This was long before Uber, Lyft, and similar ridesharing services. And, in any case, I only had $90 in the bank, which had to last until I got my first paycheck—in two weeks or so.
This was not good.
Another thing that was not good is that most of my summer camp experiences involved being bullied, getting sick, and leaving early. I am extremely sensitive to noise and the presence of strangers. And there was no way I would be able to sleep in a room with several new coworkers.
There was an option to stay in a town a few miles from the camp, but that required having money and a car, and I had neither.
Finding good colleagues to give the newbie a ride was not difficult. Getting the powers in charge to understand that I really, honestly, can’t sleep in a room with strangers was a no-go. Admittedly, my self-advocacy was limited to a very meek inquiry. That was many years before I knew I was autistic or spoke the language of accommodations—and even if I did, I don’t know if I would have brought it up in a new job.
At that time, I was still trying to fit in.
Except I did not fit. Or, rather, the experience did not fit me.
The event was clearly not designed for autistic people, but money could have provided a workaround. In fact, if I had the money for transportation and a motel room, I would have enjoyed the beautiful natural setting, as others did.
The event also was not designed for first-generation academics with tight budgets. But at least the sleeping arrangements would have been more manageable for a neurotypical.
Money can buffer some of the challenges of neurodivergence, and neurotypicality can make poverty a little less painful. Conversely, disadvantages stack up and beget more disadvantages. And this is why I started my new job sleep-deprived.
This is also why inclusion must be intersectional.
Onboarding is the process of integrating a new employee into an organization. It is more than a new employee orientation. The onboarding process is often defined as the first 90 days of employment, but it can be much shorter if an organization defines it largely as task training. It can also last up to a year or longer, especially in organizations highly committed to culture-building.
The significance of onboarding cannot be overstated; it shapes employees’ commitment to their roles and is a foundation of future performance.
Key elements of a quality new-employee experience, such as a well-organized first-day orientation and technology kit, are the minimal courtesies that should be extended to all employees. Adjustments based on various factors that may affect the employee experience, such as neurodivergence, disability, or socioeconomic background, make the process truly inclusive. One-size-fits-none is as applicable to onboarding as it is to all aspects of the employee experience.
For example, as organizations increasingly expect employees to bring their own technology, it is important to consider that this requirement could be a work barrier to some of the most vulnerable. At the very least, provide an option of borrowing equipment for a transitional period. As eventful as my sleepless employee orientation had been, I was most grateful I was provided a laptop—a standard university practice. Otherwise, I would not have been able to do my job.
Here are other examples of considerations for intersectional inclusion:
Individual needs based on disability, caregiving, means, and the availability of a safety net, immigration, long-distance moves, and many other factors may influence an employee’s transition, experience, and retention. Specific language needs such as translation are also important, including spoken language, sign language, or the use of communication devices.
Not everyone is comfortable sharing their requests early in organizational entry, and the most disadvantaged might be the least likely to self-advocate. Providing a menu of available support options to all employees and normalizing differences might be particularly important to those dealing with multiple challenges. This is yet another example of how creating workplaces welcoming to the most marginalized, as described in my book, The Canary Code: A Guide to Neurodiversity, Dignity, and Intersectional Belonging at Work, makes them more welcoming for all.
A version of this post also appeared in Fast Company and is an edited excerpt from my book, The Canary Code: A Guide to Neurodiversity, Dignity, and Intersectional Belonging at Work, Berrett-Koehler Publishers.
References
Ludmila Praslova. 3 Things That Might Be Missing From Your Inclusion Efforts. Fast Company. November 1, 2021.
Ludmila Praslova. To Build a Healthy Workplace, You Need a Toxic Culture Alarm. Fast Company. March 14, 2022.
Megan Carnegie. Are Gen Z the most stressed generation in the workplace? BBC. February 16, 2023.
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