I lead differently, and it took me a while to own that

I don’t lead like most people. And for a long time, I thought that was a problem.

I’ve been in leadership roles for well over a decade. From central government services to high-growth tech companies, I’ve led teams, scaled products and dealt with the messy middle that leadership often requires. On paper, it’s a solid track record.

But if I’m honest, a lot of that time was spent performing. Not in a dishonest way, but in a survival way. Over-preparing. Scanning for dynamics. Second-guessing my tone, my delivery, even my presence in the room.

It turns out there was a reason for that. I’m autistic. And once I was diagnosed, so much of my past leadership experience started to make sense.

I lead differently because my brain works differently. And since I’ve stopped fighting that and started embracing it, something really interesting has happened: I’ve become a better leader.

I don’t think fast in meetings. I reflect, process and circle back with clarity. I don’t care about power plays, I care about what’s not being said and who’s being left out of the conversation. I don’t lead with noise. I lead with intention.

In one of my recent LinkedIn posts, I said: “That’s not indecision. That’s a different kind of leadership.”

And I meant it. Because that kind of leadership builds trust. It makes room for people to be themselves. It’s calm. It’s clear. It’s consistent.

It’s not about being the loudest or the fastest or the most charismatic. It’s about being someone people feel safe around. Someone people trust to back them, not just manage them.

Since leaning into that, I’ve noticed:

• People communicate more openly
• Teams progress faster because they’re not playing social chess
• Decision-making gets sharper because there’s less posturing

I used to think my approach needed adjusting. That I had to become more like “those” leaders. Or being left with the question of “Why do I do it so differently?”.

Now I know I was just building towards a version of leadership that actually works. For me. For others like me. And honestly, for a lot of people who’ve been quietly faking their way through broken norms.

A week of honest posts and what they reminded me

This week, I decided to do something I hadn’t done before. I stopped posting polished advice and started telling the truth.

Not the vague kind. The real kind. I talked about:

• Being diagnosed as autistic as an adult
• Hitting burnout (twice)
• Learning to lead in a way that finally works for me

The reaction blew me away. Not because it went viral, but because it was real. Comments. DMs. Quiet likes from people I respect. Little messages that said, “same here.”

It reminded me why I started writing in the first place.

In my LinkedIn post I wrote:

People don’t want perfect leaders. They want leaders who reflect, learn, and adapt. They want clarity over charisma. Substance over noise.

And I stand by that.

We’ve all seen leadership dressed up in buzzwords and frameworks. But what people really respond to? Honesty. Humanity. The moment someone says something you thought only you were experiencing.

When I started talking about impostor syndrome years ago, I ended up giving 120+ talks on the subject. It became a bridge, something that let people breathe out and go, “Oh. Me too.”

This week felt like that again.

It’s why I’ll keep writing the way I write. Plain. Candid. Reflective. Not because I’ve got it all figured out. But because writing like that creates space for other people to show up too.

That’s what I want to keep building. Online. In teams. In leadership.

Not perfection. Connection.

Always on, until I couldn’t be anymore

I’ve always been someone who gets stuff done. Not in a hustle-bro, badge-of-honour way—but in a steady, dependable, “Gavin’s got it” kind of way.

I can carry a lot. I can show up no matter what’s going on. And for years, I did exactly that. I’ve often used the phrase “Drop me in the centre of chaos”.

Until I burned out. Twice.

And both times, I didn’t even see it coming.

In a recent LinkedIn post I talked about how I used to think that being “always on” was a strength. How I could keep going long after others had run out of steam. But the truth is, that came at a cost. And the cost was me.

What I know now, post-diagnosis, is that autism played a role in how I burned out. It wasn’t just work. It was the masking. The constant unconscious effort of trying to pass as neurotypical in high-stakes environments.

When you’re autistic and don’t know it yet, you develop ways to cope. Mine looked like:

• Extreme preparation
• Hyper-vigilance
• Saying yes to everything
• Avoiding rest because “I’ll rest when it’s done”

But it’s never done.

So now, I lead differently.

• I set clearer boundaries
• I build recovery time into my weeks
• I notice when I’m masking and try not to

And I talk about it, because too many leaders suffer in silence.

Burnout at senior levels is still taboo. There’s a fear that admitting to it makes you look weak or incapable. But that silence just keeps the cycle going.

Here’s the reality: high-performing doesn’t mean never resting. And great leadership isn’t about personal sacrifice. It’s about being well enough to support others sustainably.

If you’re reading this and you’re close to the edge, pause. Reflect. Adjust.

You don’t need to break yourself to prove you’re built for this.

My best decisions come after the meeting ends

I’ve been in meetings where I was the quietest one in the room. Not because I didn’t have thoughts, but because I wasn’t ready to say them yet.

That used to make me feel like I wasn’t “strategic” enough. Like I needed to be faster. Sharper. More immediate.

But the truth is, I process differently. And it turns out, that’s a superpower.

In a post I wrote on LinkedIn, I talked about how my best leadership decisions often come after the meeting ends. When I’ve had space to:

• Reflect without noise
• Untangle the dynamics
• See the thing no one else saw in the moment

Give me 20 minutes and a quiet walk, and I’ll bring clarity. Give me a night, and I’ll surface the real issue. That’s not indecision. That’s deliberate decision-making.

It took me a long time to stop apologising for that. To stop trying to match the pace of others instead of owning my own rhythm.

Now I know:

• Speed isn’t the measure of leadership
• Reflection leads to fewer regrets
• And pausing is a skill, not a flaw

If you lead people, don’t assume the quiet ones are disengaged. Some of us are just thinking it through, and we’ll bring you gold once we have.

My brain doesn’t work like yours and that’s helped me lead better

I used to think I was just “overly detailed.” That I was “too intense.” That I cared about edge cases more than I should.

Now I know I’m autistic. And that everything I just described is part of how my brain works.

And I wouldn’t change it.

Because the way I think has made me a better leader. Not a typical one. But a better one.

In a post I shared recently, I wrote about how:

• I spot what others miss
• I care deeply about clarity
• I ask questions that get to the core of things

That’s helped me build trust. Spot risks. Deliver outcomes that don’t just “work” but actually serve people.

It’s also helped the people around me. When I’m open about how I think, it makes space for others to do the same. I’ve had interviews where candidates visibly relax when I mention I’m neurodivergent. I’ve had team members who’ve told me, “Same here,” after months of masking.

That’s the power of leading differently.

It’s not about trying to be the norm. It’s about reshaping the norm so more people can thrive inside it.

I don’t want to be the best leader in the room. I want to be the one who makes it safe for others to show up, speak up and do their best work.

That’s what I care about. That’s what I’ll keep writing about. And that’s the kind of leadership I’ll keep showing up for.

Because the world doesn’t need more leaders who’ve got it all figured out. It needs more leaders who are willing to figure it out with their teams.