I came across some fascinating statistics the other day about thinking styles and how neurodivergent brains actually tick. For me, being autistic means my internal monologue is a constant, non-stop stream of data. I am always talking to myself inside my head, but I have realised I am not just tuned into one channel. It is not just an inner monologue; it is thinking in pictures too. In fact, at any one time, I am likely having many different conversations with myself at the same time. 

For example: When I am reading a book, I am narrating the story in my head and visualising the scenes in high definition, all while simultaneously having a completely separate conversation with myself about what I am reading and processing all the external stimuli around me at the same time. As it turns out, some people do not have an internal monologue at all. Honestly, I cannot even begin to imagine what a quiet life would be like.

It is a bit of a shock to realise that when I am explaining a complex, multi-layered thought, the person I am talking to might only have one loop where electrons are flowing. My brain is not broken; it is just running a multi-looped parallel circuit. This is a far more complex system architecture than the standard series circuit.

Looking at the research, here is how the "circuits" seem to break down:

• Verbal (70-80%): These thinkers primarily "hear" their thoughts as a voice. It is a fairly standard, linear internal narrator. This is a series circuit.

• Visual/Spatial: These thinkers process through pictures, maps, or "feelings" rather than sentences. This is also a series circuit.

• Simultaneous Multi-Track (15-25%): This is where I seem to sit. Verbal and visual channels run at exactly the same time. It is high-bandwidth and, frankly, pretty exhausting. This is a parallel circuit.

• Aphantasic/Anauralic (1-3%): A very small group with neither pictures nor a voice in their heads. They describe it as being "blind and deaf" in their inner mind. Spooky!

I recently referred myself to my GP to start the process of an ADHD assessment because I suspect I am AuDHD. It would explain why my brain feels like an electrical circuit with many, many parallel loops. It is the same battery and the same potential difference (voltage), just with the current split into multiple paths. I am constantly looping thoughts and over-analysing every tiny situation in both words and pictures. It feels like my mind is running a continuous, high-frequency signal at all times.

This multi-channel processing is perhaps why I thrived in the "chaos" of a busy classroom. While some people are stressed by the noise, my brain was in its natural element, finding equilibrium. My brain runs at a hundred miles per hour with 10 parallel loops open. When my brain is fed by engagement, with children freely sharing ideas and diving into class discussion (perhaps not always with their hands up!), it provides enough data to actually match my processing speed. Sometimes this led to the most random conversations that took us way beyond the standard curriculum. I was not overwhelmed; I was finally stimulated enough to feel focused. The input signal was finally strong enough to power the whole board.

But you might be thinking, "Curtis, surely autistic people cannot stand noise or chaos?" This is where the electrical analogy perfectly explains the difference between structured engagement and sensory overload. In an unfamiliar, unstructured, and noisy environment, like a crowded party, a football match, or a busy market, my brain goes into overdrive. The input is completely unpredictable. I cannot find that sweet spot where the current matches the voltage. The system experiences a massive overcurrent. Because there is no clear focus to channel the electricity, the circuit becomes overloaded, the wires start to overheat, anxiety spikes, and burnout commences. It is the neurological equivalent of blowing a fuse to stop the whole system from catching fire.

In those quiet classrooms everyone else seems to love, the external signal is cut off. My anxiety peaks in the silence because my brain maintains a high potential difference with nowhere for the current to flow. It is like a high-voltage system with too much resistance; the pressure builds up internally because the circuit is effectively 'open' and the energy has no outlet. Too much resistance, in a system designed to process input. When that input drops to zero, my mind starts over-clocking itself to find something to do. This manifests as a restless, skin-crawling feeling and an explosion of racing thoughts. I end up over-analysing what every child is doing, the ticking of the clock, the hum of the lights, and the scratching of pens.

This explains so much about how I handle stress. I remember trying to defend myself regarding a high-pressure situation at work. In that moment of shock, I was trying to process four separate strands of thought at once. One thought surged through the static, and I made a snap decision based on that specific strand. To an outsider with a series circuit mind, it might have looked like a mistake, but they could not see the other three parallel loops I was juggling.

I have realised that I have what you might call a "Detective Engine" for a brain. I get a massive dopamine hit from "The Click", which is that moment when a thousand bottom-up details finally crystallise into a perfect lattice. It turns my over-analysis into a game where I am hunting for the one missing component that makes the whole circuit complete.

Understanding this has been life-changing. I am not "unsuitable" or "atrocious" at managing situations; I am just processing a much more complex version of reality than the people judging me.

Let's engage the current.

I am writing this post from a café, sitting between a tour of a specialist school and a networking event, and just after a very positive phone call with a specialist alternative tutoring provision. It looks like new doors are starting to open.

As you may know, I have recently had to say goodbye to mainstream classroom teaching. I fought long and hard through a global pandemic that delayed both my PGCE and NQT years, alongside several short- and long-term placements at schools, including nine months on the supply circuit, before finding a school which I thought of as a family. Saying goodbye to this school, where I thought I had finally found my feet and an environment I could thrive in and be my true autistic self, unmasked and honest, has been painful.

Of course, naturally for any individual, neurotypical or neurodivergent alike, saying goodbye is difficult; it is a form of grief. But for someone autistic, it is like losing your identity. It is the loss of the routine that sustained you for so long, alongside the loss of social and professional networks and situational friendships. It can be incredibly isolating. Thankfully, I have had support through my close family and friends. 

I know it won't be the end; in fact, I am hopeful it will be just the beginning. It has been rough, so I have been spending a lot of time recently reading through all the cards and messages I have received over the last eight years in the education sector. And I have written this goodbye. I am hopeful it will find its way to the right people, though perhaps it won't. Again, even if this blog is read only by a select few people, it has been therapeutic, and I have a message I'd like to share:

As many of you are perhaps already aware, I have made the difficult decision to move on from my role at ________ . This follows a period of autistic burnout, and while it was a very difficult decision to make, it is one I have reached with the support of my family, friends, and colleagues. Before I leave, I wanted to reach out and express my deepest gratitude for the support and kindness you have shown me during my three and a half years at ________. I have spent time recently looking through all the cards, letters, and emails I have received over this time, and they have reminded me why _________ is such a special place. _________ is more than just a school; it is a family, something I truly hope never changes. It has been an absolute privilege to be part of what one of you once described as a "quite remarkable community." My goal as a teacher was always to share the "enthusiasm that science brings" and to provide students with "great opportunities" to explore the world around them. Whether it was leading Neurodiversity Celebration Week, being open and honest about my own difficulties as an autistic individual, founding the STEM and Chess clubs, or building the Sustainability and GoIT groups, I have been constantly inspired by the curiosity and dedication of my pupils. I can say with confidence that many students thrived through my teaching. One parent once told me that "behind every child that believes in themselves, is a teacher that believed in them first." I hope that in some small way, I have helped my students believe in their own potential. Hearing that I may have helped "change a child’s trajectory" or simply made their time at school "fun" is something I will consistently treasure. Thank you for trusting me with your children’s education and for the hard work you put in at home to support their learning. Seeing their "seriously impressive" work and their passion for discovery has been the greatest reward of my 3.5 years at _________ and 8 years in Education. I wish all of my students the very best for their futures. I have no doubt they will continue to do great things. With very best wishes, Mr Curtis Shaddick

I have no doubt that throughout the last eight years in education, I have had an incredible effect on the children I have mentored. Indeed, I came across several cards from schools I taught at prior to my most recent, including cards from when I was only at a school for a short time on supply. I've had my "haters", children for whom the mould didn't quite fit. But one thing which will always remain true is that I had an impact; I changed the trajectory of so many young people.

I feel privileged for this time, and I will treasure those memories. I have been more than just a teacher. And, as I have already said, I am optimistic that this won't be the end.

More thank you cards and accolades at this link

I have recently been reflecting on two terms that have come up frequently in my professional development and the Oliver McGowan training: "Double Empathy" and the "Bottom-Up vs Top-Down" approach. These concepts have provided a much-needed lens through which to view my recent experiences and my entire career in education. They also explain why certain interpersonal dynamics "click" while others result in systemic breakdown.

Beyond the Labels: My Experience with the 'Shadows'

Autistic individuals are often unfairly labelled as lacking empathy or being blasé about events that neurotypical people find upsetting. In reality, this could not be further from the truth. We are often intensely empathetic, particularly toward fellow autistic people due to our shared lived experiences. I have seen this throughout my teaching career. Regardless of the school or the year group, I always found myself followed by a group I and others jokingly called my "shadows." These were the autistic or ADHD children who sought me out every break and lunchtime for reassurance, a chat, or extra tutoring.

Double Empathy: Matching the Wavelength

In a professional context, something just clicked between us. It was a reaction catalysed by double empathy. These students inspired me to set up the neurodiversity celebration club, "Find Your Tribe." They thrived in a classroom where they felt safe enough to "mask off," often achieving results far beyond their predicted grades. I wasn't just their teacher; I was someone who spoke the same emotional language. I saw their spark and used it to ignite their curiosity for science. They became part of my tribe because our connection lowered the activation energy required for them to feel safe.

The Bottom-Up Data Stream 

Another area where our brains differ is how we process information. Autistic people tend to use a "bottom-up" approach, looking at the entire picture and every fine detail rather than starting with a pre-set idea. In contrast, the neurotypical "top-down" approach often focuses on a single event or rule.

This difference is particularly visible during disciplinary situations. When a neurodivergent person is in a high-pressure environment, the increased friction caused by the surroundings can lead to an internal shift. It is like the concentration of hydrogen ions increasing from a neutral solution in even balance, tp making the environment more acidic and volatile. To a neurotypical observer, a bottom-up thinker in this state can appear to be deflecting, making excuses, or "digging a hole" for themselves. We get frustrated and argumentative because we feel our side of the story is being ignored. While an observer might focus only on a specific incident, the neurodivergent person is looking at the entire context: every sensory input, every social interaction, and every environmental injustice leading up to that moment.

Looking at the picture of the Soca River in Slovenia, To a casual observer, the water just looks "cloudy" or opaque. But as a chemist, you know that this appearance is caused by millions of individual, microscopic particles of sediment.

A neurotypical observer sees "a cloudy situation" or "a difficult behaviour." The bottom-up thinker sees every individual "sediment" of data that makes up that moment. You aren't being "unclear"; you are just aware of all the fine details that others overlook.

Bridging the Gap: Moving Toward Relational Empathy

Reflecting on my own life, I was often said to throw "tantrums" as a child when I was told off. Looking back, these weren't tantrums at all. They were neurological responses to stressful situations caused by a bottom-up way of thinking. It was a form of instant burnout.

Writing this has helped me realise why I was sometimes reluctant to set rigid, traditional boundaries for children’s behaviour in the past. I saw the whole picture. I had a level of empathy with the children because I understood the sensory and social weight they were carrying.

There is a way to help. Be kind. Be empathetic. Take the time to listen to the broadcast of the bottom-up reasoning rather than shutting it down. Provide a kind listening ear. If we feel truly listened to and our entire "data set" is acknowledged, we may then find the peace to accept the outcome, even if it feels like an injustice. We know what it is like to mask our way through a world built for neurotypicals. We can empathise with fellow neurodivergent people because we share that same bottom-up perspective and the unique trauma that often comes with it.

Well, obviously not; they lack any neural network and aren't human. However, this was a very random and intense discussion in my recent meeting with other Autistic Experts With Lived Experience (EWLE). The discussion arose around the term Monotropism: when an autistic individual tends to focus on one stimulus at any one time, whereas a neurotypical individual can process multiple stimuli. As a result, we are deemed single-minded, especially when we are talking about our special interests.

The term Monotropism was a term that was new to me, and naturally my brain went, where have I heard the term "tropism" before? Answer: A-Level Biology. Plants grow upwards towards the light, caused by the hormone auxin gathering on the shady side. This must mean that plants are also single-minded, focussed on one stimulus: Monotropic. Plants are Autistic.

But this isn't where the similarities end between autistic individuals and plants. In fact, the whole forest can be compared to a neurodivergent community.

Environment and Boundaries

Plants are highly specialised to survive in specific environments. Take a plant out of its special environment and, without adjustments, it gets overwhelmed and starts to fail. Whereas with the right conditions, the plant can thrive!

Plant cells are surrounded by rigid cell walls which are a literal, biological boundary that keeps the sensitive inner workings safe from a chaotic outside world. Autistic people are highly guarded as well, with strict boundaries and sensitivities. Some plants take this a step further. The Mimosa pudica is the king of sensory avoidance. If you brush against its leaves, it finds the unexpected input completely overwhelming and instantly folds itself up tight. It is the botanical equivalent of putting on noise-cancelling headphones and retreating to a quiet room.

Masking and Survival

Certain plants also mask, like autistic people do to blend in and hide how we really are feeling when we are overwhelmed. Pine trees mask every winter. When it gets freezing cold, they cover their needles in a tough, waxy coating and slow right down to survive the harsh weather.

The Ultimate Info-Dump

I can go on and I will in a classic autistic info-dump. When we are passionate about a special interest, or when we have vital data to share, we want to give you all the details at once. We start to passionately broadcast and hate being interrupted. Trees do this underground every single day. Their roots are connected by a massive network of fungi, and they use this underground internet to constantly share massive packets of data.

When certain plants, like Acacias, experience stress, they release a cloud of invisible chemicals into the air called Volatile Organic Compounds, such as ethylene (I am a chemist remember!). It is essentially broadcasting detailed information to anyone who is listening. Ethylene is also used to speed up the ripening of bananas.

Stimming and Symbiosis

The leaves of plants constantly stim. They move around in the wind, flapping randomly, just like when an autistic person flaps their hands when talking or fiddles with pens or taps on the table to calm themselves down.

And finally, plants are symbiotic. They rely on specific other plants, fungi, and animals to survive and thrive. This is the perfect analogy to the double empathy problem. It is a common misconception that autistic people lack empathy; however, that is not the case. In fact, with the right people, often other autistic individuals, we are highly empathetic. We need these relationships to survive. In the right network, we also thrive, particularly with other neurodivergents because we understand each other within our tribes.

If not with the right people, we can come across as rude and shut off. There is a clash in personalities which we cannot suss out. Put a plant next to the wrong plant and they will not last long, and may get overpowered.

Final Thoughts

Whoever said autistic people don't understand analogies and lack imagination? Put the right conditions together and autistics can thrive in our tribes!

In this blog, I will cover a lot of these terms linking to my own lived experience, perhaps with some more botany analogies and certainly chemistry analogies to look forward to. I will be hopefully shutting down some negatives and misconceptions about the autistic community as well.

Let’s catalyse.