On a recent holiday, I finally had the space to slow down and process—a rare luxury in the rhythm of modern work. While recharging (easier said than done, for me at least!), I was reflecting on what remote work really means for neurodivergent people like me. I’m autistic and dyspraxic, and full-time remote work has been transformative in many ways. It removes the sensory overwhelm of office spaces, reduces social masking, and gives me more control over my environment. But it also made one thing clear: the issue was never just where we work—it’s how we work, and who the systems are built for.

Remote work offers more flexibility—but flexibility alone isn’t enough. Without intentional design and understanding, remote workplaces can still reproduce the same barriers and burnout we face elsewhere, just with less visibility.

So what does genuinely inclusive remote work look like for neurodivergent people?

1. Let People Work in the Ways That Work for Them

Remote work shouldn’t mean “on-call 24/7” or “replicating the office at home.” One of the greatest strengths of remote work is that it can support different rhythms, routines, and sensory needs—if people are trusted to do their work in the way that suits them. That might mean working in silence, using adaptive tools, or structuring time differently. Neurodivergent people thrive when we’re trusted, not micromanaged.

2. Make Communication Clear, Structured, and Optional

Without the physical cues of an office, remote communication needs to be intentional. For neurodivergent team members, vague or unspoken expectations can be a major source of anxiety. Be clear. Write things down. Don’t assume everyone will “just know.” And give multiple ways to contribute—because not everyone processes information best on live calls or in fast-moving chat threads.

3. Understand That Burnout Isn’t Always About Tasks

For neurodivergent workers, burnout often comes from the constant mental load of translating our thoughts, masking our behaviours, or navigating unclear systems—not just from the volume of work. Remote work can ease some of that, but not if we’re expected to be “always on” or constantly proving our output. Respect energy levels. Encourage recovery. Build in breathing space, not just bandwidth.

4. Rethink Meetings by Default

Remote meetings can be especially draining. They demand focus, multitasking, and often social performance—all through a screen. Don’t assume meetings are the best or only way to get things done. Where meetings are necessary, make them optional when possible, camera-optional always, and share clear agendas and follow-ups in writing. Give people time to process and respond in their own way.

5. Build Accessibility In—Not Just for Those Who Disclose

Not everyone who is neurodivergent has a diagnosis. Not everyone feels safe disclosing. And not everyone will ask for accommodations, even when they desperately need them. That’s why accessibility needs to be the default, not a response. Clear communication, flexible hours, quiet work time, and neurodivergent-aware practices don’t just help a few of us—they help everyone.

The Bottom Line

Remote work can be a powerful tool for inclusion—but only when it’s backed by empathy, flexibility, and systems that respect different ways of thinking, communicating, and being.

As a neurodivergent remote worker, I’ve experienced both the relief of getting to work in ways that suit me—and the quiet burnout that creeps in when systems still demand we conform to invisible norms.

Inclusion isn’t about grand statements. It’s about the small, deliberate ways we make space for different kinds of minds to do great work.