My podcast interview with Kit Slocum felt the most personal of many I’ve conducted. Maybe because she’s a neurodiversity coach who works with people like me — and she happens to be neurodivergent herself. Perhaps that’s why I kept saying “that’s me!” so often during the interview.

Kit is the Neurodiversity Lead at Flown (flown.com), a platform built around something called body doubling — which I’ll explain later in this article — and she also does one-on-one ADHD coaching. When I saw her high energy-glowing picture on Flown’s website at 3 a.m. during one of my sleepless nights, I just knew she was the right person to have on the show.

I spoke a great deal on the podcast because Kit was gracious enough to let me share my own stories, and she related to them. That doesn’t happen every day.

Growing Up Neurodivergent in the 1960s

I went to grammar school in the 1960s. Strict Catholic school. Uniforms. Nuns with rulers. And if you weren’t paying attention — or if your brain just didn’t work the way others did — you suffered for it. Literally. You didn’t get picked for teams, and you got a ruler cracked on your desk or your hand by a nun who had zero patience for a kid who couldn’t sit still and focus. For me, it was any attempt at math that humiliated me, and a nun who shook her head in disbelief when she saw my feeble answers instead of offering me help.

I didn’t know at the time that I was neurodivergent with two of my monikers being ADHD and GAD (Generalized anxiety disorder). Nobody did. What I knew was that I felt different, I felt ashamed, and somewhere along the way I started calling myself stupid because there was no other explanation for my ineptitude. That label stuck with me for a very long time. If I’m being honest, it still sneaks back in sometimes.

I barely graduated high school, then didn’t go to college until seven years later because my experience had been so bad I never wanted to see a classroom again. When I finally went back as an adult, things were different. I was motivated. I had maturity. I eventually earned an MBA — though I’ll tell you, online schooling was the game changer for me. Working at my own pace, without the pressure of everyone around me and strict unforgiving teachers, made all the difference.

My son is also neurodivergent. When he was young, we were fortunate to live in a part of New York state that provided at home services. When he grew older, people told us, “Don’t put him in inclusion (teacher-assisted classes). Once he’s in, he’ll never come out.” We ignored that advice. He graduated from two colleges. I think about that often when someone tells me what a neurodivergent person can or can’t do when given the proper support.

From “Something’s Wrong with You” to “Your Brain Is Different — Not Broken”

Kit brought up something I had heard previously from another neurodiversity person and that is there’s a difference between what she calls the pathology paradigm and the neurodiversity paradigm. When I heard what she said, it reaffirmed conclusions about myself.

From my experience, neurodivergence was treated as something to be fixed. ADHD, autism, dyslexia — these were seen as defects that needed to be corrected so you could fit into the status quo. That’s the pathology paradigm. And if you grew up in it, you know exactly how much damage it can do.

The neurodiversity paradigm says something different. It says our brains aren’t wrong — they’re just different. There’s no one “correct” brain. Kit used a beautiful analogy: eye color. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes — they’re all beautiful. But if you have blue eyes, you might be more sensitive to sunlight and need darker sunglasses. That doesn’t mean your eyes are broken. It just means you need a different kind of support. That’s all.

She also talked about a pattern she sees often in her clients — mostly folks in their mid-40s to 60s — when they receive a late diagnosis. Some feel relief. Finally, it makes sense. But others experience a kind of grief: Who could I have been if I had known this sooner? If someone had supported me properly? It’s a retroactive grief for the version of yourself that never got the chance. I used to do that to myself. I would use a parade of “what ifs”. Today, I realize my growth occurred a harder way, but it happened and I am grateful. I wonder if a lot of people listening will feel that way too.

Let me back up and explain Flown, because it consists of a process that initiated that very thought, “Where would I have been if I had this growing up?” And that process is called body doubling.

Body doubling is the practice of working alongside another person — not necessarily talking, not necessarily collaborating, just being present together. For many people with ADHD, working completely alone leads to distraction, avoidance, and paralysis. But having someone else in the room (or on screen) can make an enormous difference. It reminded me of the inclusion program my son entered during grammar school. An extra teacher helped him stay on task so he could get his schoolwork done. And Flown offers opportunities around the clock to enter a focus group.

Kit also runs facilitated sessions — structured, hosted sessions designed specifically for neurodivergent brains — and ADHD-focused power hours where participants share tools and strategies. She offers one-on-one coaching as well, starting with what she calls a “chemistry session”: a free, no-pressure meeting to see if you’re a good fit for the program. Note Kit did not come to advertise a product. I brought the products up.

Dopamine, Adrenaline, and Why ADHD Brains Thrive on Stimulation

Here’s where it got relatable for me. I spent my career in IT — at IBM and JPMorgan Chase — working alongside some of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met. They are people who designed the systems that run the world, and I saw first-hand when they approached a whiteboard and outlined a legacy system that processed billions of transactions. And yes, I sometimes felt inadequate standing next to them. “How can I possibly compete on this level?” But I also thrived in that environment, even when it was hard, because it was stimulating. Looking back, I think many of those brilliant colleagues were neurodivergent too. I just didn’t know the word for it yet.

Kit explained something that connected all of that for me: people with ADHD are often drawn to high-stimulation environments because adrenaline pairs with dopamine. When your adrenaline spikes, your dopamine follows. It’s a survival mechanism — if you’re face to face with something threatening, the dopamine rush helps you act. For ADHD brains that run low on dopamine, high-stakes, high-energy work can feel more manageable than sitting in a quiet room trying to concentrate.

The flip side? We’re also prone to burnout. Kit described it as a battery issue. Neurodivergent brains, she said, often come with a smaller battery than neurotypical folks — and it runs out faster because we’re constantly working to emotionally regulate, filter stimuli, and manage what’s happening beneath the surface. Add in anxiety, chronic illness, or any other factor, and you’re draining that battery even faster.

I burned out from my IT career. I experienced long-running headaches that split my head in two and lasted for months. And my stomach burned as if on fire causing me to go for uncomfortable tests. I also suffered from eye issues from the strain of reading white papers and studying for my master’s in the middle of the night. Was it worth it? I think so. But I also know now that I was running on empty for a long time without recognizing it.

Ironically, today I’m retired, but the pattern continues. I haven’t slowed down. I’m on two non-profit boards. I volunteer for several organizations, run this podcast, write books and produce plays. Why? Because I need to, not for the money but I need to stay active. My wife looked at me the other day and said, “Are you back at work again?” She wasn’t wrong. It’s just the way I’m wired. The question I’m learning to ask myself is: am I thriving, or am I burning out again?

Who Your Partner is May Matter More Than You Think

Kit and I discovered something interesting: many of her clients with ADHD have partners who are opposite personalities — steady, grounded, measured, low energy. I shared how my wife is that way and Kit said the same is true of her own partner.

Observationally — and she was careful to say there’s no empirical study behind this, just years of watching patterns — neurodivergent people seem to pair naturally with people who can anchor them. It makes sense. The spontaneity and energy of a neurodivergent partner meet the stability and consistency of the other, and together they stretch into a space that works for both. It doesn’t mean it’s always easy. I may want to go to Italy next week. My wife wants to plan for six months. But we’ve been together long enough that we know how to let the friction go.

Toxic Positivity Is Real, and Mindfulness Isn’t Always Accessible

Here’s something I’ve wanted to say for a while, and Kit backed me up completely: mindfulness as a luxury is a real thing.

I have nothing against meditation. I do it twice a day — put on the headphones, shut out the world, let my nervous system settle. But when someone on social media tells me to “just sit with the stillness” and “let go of the noise,” I want to remind them that not everyone lives in a monastery. Some of us have mortgages, kids, doctors’ bills, and New York’s Long Island Expressway. You can’t pull over and watch the sunrise when you’re already late for a customer presentation.

Kit put it really well: mindfulness and stillness are often a luxury that the neurodivergent community — especially those also dealing with chronic illness — simply can’t access in the same way neurotypical people can. Our bodies and brains don’t let us rest that easily. Stillness is something we must work for, which often just feels like more work.

And toxic positivity — the endless stream of “here’s what you need to do to feel better” content from people who make it look effortless — is not helpful. It’s not honest. And as Kit pointed out, people with ADHD are often almost allergic to inauthenticity. We can feel it immediately. Our whole body cringes. We’re living in a time when the online world is saturated with performed wellness, and it’s exhausting.

Social Media Is Junk Food for the Brain

Kit offered what I thought was the best framing I’ve heard for social media: nutrition.

When you scroll through an app and feel awful afterward, that’s like eating a greasy bag of fries — kind of satisfying in the moment, but you feel terrible when it’s over. She said she’s been treating her social media consumption the way she treats her diet: asking herself what am I feeding my brain right now? And if an app consistently makes her feel bad, she deletes it.

I’ve done the same with Facebook. I still have the account, but I limit my activity. People may think I’m ghosting them. I’m not — I just can’t keep up with 500 lives. None of us can. And there’s actual science behind that. Kit referenced a book called The Moral Animal that makes the case that our brains are essentially the same as they were five hundred years ago, wired for a small tribe, a local community. Now we’re absorbing global politics, global tragedy, global outrage, all day long. Our brains aren’t built for that load. And for neurodivergent people who are already overstimulated? It compounds everything.

She also made a sharp observation about these platforms: they’re not accidental. There are teams of psychologists working full-time to keep you on these apps as long as possible — using rage bait, FOMO, and the architecture of the scroll. We can choose to step back, but it’s harder than it sounds because these platforms are extraordinarily good at what they do. The antidote, she said, is education. When you understand what’s happening in your brain, and what these apps are designed to do, you get a little more autonomy back.

“Get Curious”

Kit’s closing advice was simple and, I think, exactly right: get curious.

Whether it’s about your diagnosis, your brain, how these platforms work, or why you behave the way you do — educating yourself is one of the most empowering things you can do. It gives you the language to understand yourself. It helps you make better decisions for your own life. And curiosity, she said, is one of the most innate qualities of the ADHD brain. We’re hungry for knowledge. We’re wired to wonder. That’s not a flaw — that’s a gift worth using. And I learned once again, to not dwell on my issues but to dig for solutions. An example of that effort is this article and my podcast!

What’s Next for Kit

Kit’s ADHD Mastery Program — a six-week, six-module course covering ADHD challenges, strategies, community discussions, and interactive workshops. It runs twice a year and is built from everything she’s learned through her life experience, her time in behavioral neuroscience labs, and her work with clients. If you missed this round, keep an eye out for the next one.

You can find Kit and everything Flown has to offer at flown.com — including free body doubling sessions, facilitated sessions, and one-on-one coaching. Search Kit Slocum on YouTube to find her other podcast appearances as well, including a deep-dive conversation with a neuropsychiatrist that gets into the science in real detail.

I said it at the end of our conversation, and I’ll say it here: people like Kit give me hope for humanity. She’s young, she’s brilliant, she’s chosen to give her energy to helping people understand themselves better. That’s noble work. The world needs more of it.

Thank you, Kit.

You can find the complete interview on YouTube, Spotify, Apple Podcasts, Audible, and wherever you listen to podcasts. If this episode resonated with you, share it with someone who might need it. That’s how we grow.

Copyright Passadino Publishing LLC

This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit lensofhopefulness.substack.com