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Living – and leading – with ADHD and autism in a performance-driven culture

Alexander Normann Jørgensen is a partner at Deloitte Consulting. He leads teams, delivers results, and works in an environment where deep expertise and relentless performance are not goals – they are baseline.

But behind the surface, Alexander carries a reality few ever see.

For the first time, he is sharing what it is like for him to live, work and lead with ADHD and autism, and what it takes to find steady ground in a world that rarely slows down.

Tuesday night in the Deloitte office

It is late. Not the everyday kind of late, but the kind that occasionally come with high-stakes deadlines. Outside, the city is wrapped in darkness. Inside, the white light casts a pale glow on tired faces.

Scattered across the room, a team of consultants is pushing through the final stretch. They have been there since morning, and it is beginning to show. Coffee cups sit half-full. Eyes flicker toward the clock. One person sneaks a glance at their phone.

At the center of it all sits Alexander Normann Jørgensen, partner at Deloitte Consulting and the one leading the pursuit. He is fully focused, clicking through slides, adjusting phrasing, fine-tuning data points, correcting tiny errors that no one else had noticed. His concentration is sharp. Unwavering.

What he does not register is the silence settling in the room. The tired glances. The slow-building fatigue around him. Not because he is indifferent. Quite the opposite. But because it is genuinely difficult for him to notice those signals. The subtle social cues that others instinctively perceive do not always reach him.

This is one of the ways his diagnosis manifests themselves. Not as distraction or impulsivity, but occasionally as an absence of awareness in the room around him.

A delayed answer to a different kind of life

It was not until adulthood, just over two years ago, that Alexander was diagnosed with ADHD and autism. Not because he had hit a wall, or because someone else had pointed it out. But because his son was being assessed for the same conditions.

During the process, Alexander began to recognise patterns – ways of thinking, reacting, working; ways of being – that felt eerily familiar.

It marked the beginning of a slow but defining realisation.

“I started seeing traces of myself in it. Enough to start wondering whether some of this had come from me,” he says.

Until then, he had seen himself as a little intense. A bit more rigid. A bit less socially tuned in.

And in Deloitte, he had found a space where analytical depth and a talent for digging into complexity had taken him far.

I have always thought the way I functioned was just fine – maybe even an asset. I can focus intensely and cut straight to the core, and that has been a real strength in my work as a consultant.

Not a superhero story

It would be easy to tell this as a story of triumph.

But that is not how it is.

For Alexander, this is not about discovering a hidden gift. It is about learning to live and lead with a brain that simply works differently.

Early in his career, his strengths were recognised. He delivered at a high level, excelled at applying logic and structured thinking to solve, seemingly complex problems.

But his performance came at a price. He would be exhausted, bordering depression, for long periods of time.

At times I would feel like I could get two weeks of work done in a day, and at times I felt I could not get a day’s work done in two weeks.

Alexander would often dismiss his exhaustion as a lack of motivation or ability to ‘toughen up’, and blame himself when he struggled to live up to his own expectations. Along came an increasing social anxiety. A lingering sense of not quite belonging.

“When I first presented my partner case, I was told to focus less on achievements and more on ‘who I am as a person’. I am usually confident speaking to key stakeholders about my work, but I had no idea how to present myself authentically. The result was a terrible, nervous presentation. I made it to the next round and prepared for it by rehearsing every word and expression. The result was a much better presentation, but I’m not sure it gave an authentic impression of me.”

Over the years, Alexander’s uneasiness and sense of not belonging led him to more or less spontaneously quit his job with Deloitte on three separate occasions. However, each time his closest leaders convinced him to stay – something he is very grateful for today.

“I am extremely grateful for the patience, acceptance, and understanding from Deloitte in these situations. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to give up on me, be offended, and categorize my behavior as ungrateful instead of helping me find my way back onboard.”

It was not until his diagnosis that he fully understood why certain situations had been so difficult to navigate – especially the ones with unclear rules or expectations.

Getting the diagnosis helped him understand himself better. And medication has improved his ability to maintain focus and structure over longer periods of time.

Sometimes people tend to categorize neurodiversity as a ‘superpower’, but Alexander doesn’t see it that way.

I do not have a superpower. I have a handicap.

And while there are moments – particularly at work – where his intensity and eye for detail gives him an edge, it never outweighs the mental challenges that have followed him ever since his first day in consulting.

Community without the facade

Deloitte is changing, and so is the consulting industry. Depth, precision, and subject matter expertise have always been at the heart of strong consulting work. But today, there is a growing recognition that success does not have to look one particular way.

The classic partner profile – outgoing, eloquent, relationship-driven – is increasingly being complemented by a new type of presence, characterized by profound subject matter expertise.

For Alexander, it is a welcome shift.

“I think the criteria for success in our industry is changing. There is an increased focus on technical depth, on deeply specialized skills and experience” he says.

“That makes it easier for me to find my place – and hopefully for others who might not quite fit the classic consultant profile.”

He has never felt comfortable at networking events, gala dinners, or long partner weekends. Not because he did not want to take part, but because it drained him. Not just for the evening, but for the rest of the week.

While others moved in and out of social events with ease, he was often left with a sense of being out of place. For years, he blamed himself for it. Not because he did not try, but because it wore him out, and explaining why, every single time, only made it harder.

I could go to business dinners and social events, but it would drain me completely.

“In the past, I forced myself to go and I blamed myself when it did not go well. Now I have accepted that the cost is just too high. It takes all my energy for days or even a week.”

Alexander is quick to point out that social capital still matters. It builds relationships. It opens doors. It is a tool.

But the shift also means that organisations like Deloitte need to take more responsibility for creating spaces where people who do not thrive in the traditional game can still succeed.

Not by lowering the bar, but by recognising that valuable skills come in many forms.

A leader with a steep learning curve

When Alexander became a leader himself, it also became clear just how much of his social skillset he had learned the hard way – intellectually, not intuitively.

Picking up on moods, reading the room, sensing how someone was doing – it was not natural to him. Not unless someone said it out loud or confronted him.

“My wife taught me most of it. How to greet people in the morning. How to ask questions to start a conversation. How to show people that you see them”, he says with a smile, leaning back in his chair with a grateful nod.

“We have been together since high school, so I have luckily had time to work on my social skills. And she has luckily had a lot of patience,” he laughs.

He knows there have been times where his lack of sensitivity had consequences. Times when colleagues were struggling, and he did not notice. Just like that Tuesday night at the office where this story started. But it has never been because he did not care about others or wanted to push beyond, but simply because the signals went right over his head.

I cannot always just look at someone and know how they are doing. Not unless they say it out loud. I need people to help me understand – otherwise I might not catch it.

That is why creating a space where people are encouraged to speak up matters so much to him. A place where they can voice what they are experiencing and feeling, long before things reach a breaking point.

It is the same reason he is sharing his story now. To help move the culture – in consulting and beyond – toward more openness. Not just for the sake of employees, but for himself as a leader too.

“We need to build a culture where it is okay to say you are tired, drained, or just need some quiet – before it goes too far,” he says.

“It is not just about people with a diagnosis. It is about all of us.”

A special community that changed everything

An internal community for neurodivergent employees at Deloitte, initiated by another Deloitte partner, became the turning point Alexander did not know he was waiting for.

Suddenly, there was a space. A room where being different was not something to hide, but something that could be shared. Patiently. Quietly. On equal terms.

It meant more than he had expected. Not because it brought him a new role or new tasks, but because, for the first time, he did not feel alone.

“I was surprised by how many – especially younger colleagues – were struggling in silence,” he says.

“It hit me. Because I know exactly what it feels like.”

Until recently, only a few people knew about Alexander's diagnosis. His manager. A couple of close colleagues.

It had been a conscious choice. A way to protect himself.

“I have been afraid of being seen as someone who could not handle responsibility. Afraid that people would hold back on giving me the big assignments, the big and important opportunities. Honestly, I still am.” he says, and adds:

“Half the time, I am not sure this is even the right thing to do. But maybe if I go first, it can create the space for others to do the same.”

And that is exactly what Alexander now hopes to be part of. Not as a poster boy or a feel-good headline, but as an honest counterweight to the silence.

“If just one colleague reads this and thinks, ‘Okay – maybe I can say it out loud too,’ then it has all been worth it,” he says.

Performance begins with trust – and grows through openness

Alexander has always operated in high-performance environments. He fenced at national level, almost qualifying for the Olympics when he was younger, and he has delivered at full speed in consulting for more than twenty years.

But he also knows that the best results come when there is room to be honest about what is difficult.

We absolutely should not get rid of the performance culture – it is what drives a lot of our professional development every single day.

“But we need to make it smarter.”

When Alexander talks about what needs to change in the industry, and at Deloitte, it has nothing to do with special treatment.

It is about recognising that not everyone approaches work with the same capacity for noise, social codes, or energy.

That a social event or dinner can be a pleasant, even productive experience for some – and almost debilitating for others.

We have employees who show up at 6:30 every morning just to get the same seat. Not to prove their worth. Not to impress the boss. But because they need to hold on to the routines that make their day manageable,” he says.

The fact that these – often young – people are compromising so much just to fit in… That is something we need to talk about.”

A choice made for those who come next

When Alexander looks back on his childhood, his youth, his career, and his time in competitive sport, it is not with regret, but with a quiet recognition that things might have been easier if someone back then had said it out loud.

If someone like him had dared to put words to the things that made certain moments harder to navigate.

Today, he is trying to be the voice he did not know he needed. Because when we speak openly about what is difficult, we create room for others.

It is not just for those with a diagnosis, but also for anyone who struggles in silence – for those who never quite feel like they belong.

And for all the people moving through workplaces, schools, and sports clubs with the quiet belief that they are alone.

Because sometimes, all it takes to feel less alone is knowing that someone else has been there too.

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