In 1500 words or less, each post will give you something you can use TODAY to build yourself, your people and your organization whether your organization is a "for-profit" or a "not-for-profit."
Sometimes the problem isn’t what someone said.
It’s the story we told ourselves about what they meant.
Before we judge the person in front of us, perhaps we should turn the lens around, and question what our own assumptions are telling us.
We move at the speed of trust.
I may be one of the few career advisors who regularly encourage job seekers to break the rules.
Not because I don’t understand them.
Because sometimes what we call conventional wisdom is simply something we’ve repeated so often that we stopped questioning it.
I tell people to stand out: Contact employers before jobs are posted. Build relationships. Challenge assumptions. Stop making their résumé look like everyone else’s.
But there’s a catch: You can’t ask someone to take an unconventional path without first giving them a reason to trust you.
Resistance isn’t always stubbornness. Sometimes it’s fear, self-protection, or the weight of years of rejection and being told what they should do.
My job isn’t to convince people that I’m right.
It’s to help them become confident enough to question advice, including mine.
Because the goal isn’t to create followers. It’s to help people trust themselves enough to find their own way forward.
And that’s why: We move at the speed of trust.
I was lying on the ice, staring up at the lights, knowing I didn’t belong.
Everyone else was faster. Better. More natural.
I had no business being out there, and I knew it. In that moment, I made a decision: I was done.
I started to pull myself up, already planning how I’d leave, what I’d say, how I’d explain that this just wasn’t for me.
And then someone skated over.
A job description is more than a list of tasks. It is the foundation of how we hire, onboard, evaluate, and include people.
When it is unclear, inflated, or shaped by assumption, it quietly filters out capable candidates before they ever apply. Not through obvious exclusion, but through language that narrows access in ways most organizations never examine.
When it is clear, structured, and intentional, it does the opposite. It expands access, improves hiring decisions, and helps more people understand where they might fit and contribute.
This is not just a question of wording.
It is a question of design, and of who gets seen in the first place.
Most people don’t go to conferences to change anything.
They go to feel like they are.
They take notes. They nod. They leave inspired. Then nothing changes.
A smaller group does something else. They pick one idea and act, when it’s inconvenient, messy, and unpopular.
That’s the edge.
It’s not access to ideas. It’s the courage to use them.
The difference isn’t what you learned. It’s what you chose to do with it.
Rigidity doesn’t usually announce itself.
It shows up as discipline. As process. As “the way we’ve always done it.”
But underneath, it’s often something else entirely: fear disguised as control.
And the longer we hold onto it, the more it quietly limits what we, and the organizations we are part of, are capable of becoming.
This is a longer read than usual, but it’s written that way intentionally.
Because the way we think about accommodations, fairness, and performance in the workplace is often oversimplified, and those oversimplifications shape how people are supported, evaluated, and sometimes misunderstood.
If you’ve ever questioned whether “treating everyone the same” is actually fair in practice, this is worth your time.
Most of what we see isn’t designed to inform us, it’s designed to move us.
Not toward truth, but toward reaction.
The real skill isn’t knowing everything, it’s knowing when to pause, question, and look a little closer before deciding what’s real.
“Look at my feet while I’m talking to you.”
That sounds wrong. Disrespectful, even. It goes against what most of us have been taught about attention, engagement, and respect.
But what if it’s not wrong?
What if it’s not a correction of the person, but of the standard we’re using to judge them?
Most of the conflict we experience with people living with autism isn’t about effort.
It’s about misinterpretation.
We don’t just see behavior, we assign meaning to it.
And too often, we’re wrong.
I learned that being noticed could come at a cost, so I chose invisibility instead.
At the time, it felt like survival, but it slowly became something else.
You don’t just disappear from other people. You start disappearing from yourself.