Recently, I delivered an in-person presentation at an autism and ADHD event, and afterwards I found myself reflecting on something important: understanding my neurotypes having a positive impact on the entire experience.

Not just the presentation itself, but the preparation, the environment, the way I managed my energy, and the way I connected with both myself and the audience.

For most of my life, I approached presentations by trying to force myself into ways of working that simply did not fit me. I thought success meant pushing through discomfort, masking anxiety, and trying to appear polished in ways that often exhausted me.

This experience felt completely different.

One of the biggest shifts was in how I prepared. I understand that I need notes — but not too many! Previously, I would try to create detailed scripts and then memorise them word for word. That approach always created huge amounts of stress because I knew, realistically, that I was never going to remember everything exactly.

This time, I balanced structure with flexibility. I had enough notes to guide me, but not so many that I felt trapped by them.

Understanding myself also helped enormously with the practical side of preparation. I know now that unfamiliar environments can create anxiety for me, so I looked at photos of the venue beforehand and imagined myself there. I asked my partner to take responsibility for the travel logistics on the day. This may sound obvious and simple but it was a big change for me.

In the past, I would have felt I should manage all of that independently. But self-awareness has taught me that support is not failure — it is wisdom. Handing over that responsibility freed up so much mental energy. It helps that he is as particular about timings as me, so I can relax and trust he has it all covered.

We arrived early so I could settle into the space, watch the speaker before me, and absorb the environment before it was my turn. Familiarity helps my nervous system feel safer, and knowing that about myself made a huge difference. I probably would have always done this, but I was much more conscious about this, which I think helped settle me more than usual.

Another important shift was what I chose to wear. Previously, my focus would have been on what I thought would look ‘good’ to other people or what I thought I was “supposed” to wear while presenting. Now, my focus is internal rather than external.

I understand how deeply sensory comfort affects me. Certain fabrics, textures, or restrictive clothing can quietly drain my energy and increase discomfort without me even consciously recognising it at the time. In the past, I would simply override those feelings.

Now, I honour them.

Choosing comfort over appearance was incredibly freeing. I think that comes partly from understanding my needs and partly from reaching a stage in life — helped along by menopause — where I simply care far less about performing for other people’s expectations.

Perhaps the biggest change, though, was around preparation anxiety itself.

I have always had a strong need to feel completely prepared before speaking publicly. Historically, that meant endless repetition and rumination — going over things again and again until I felt the information had “locked in.” Looking back, I can see how much this pattern was shaped by years of education and exams, where I often needed much longer than others to feel secure in remembering information.

But now I understand the cost of that process.

Yes, excessive preparation can temporarily reduce anxiety, but it can also completely exhaust me. This time, I consciously practised letting go. I trusted that I did not need absolute certainty in order to speak well.

That was uncomfortable at times. I worried the words would disappear when I needed them. But I reminded myself: the words will come. And if they do not come perfectly, that’s okay too.

That awareness allowed me to prepare in a healthier, more sustainable way. The entire experience became far less stressful and far more enjoyable.

I also supported myself practically on the day. I brought headphones in case the venue felt overwhelming, and before my talk I listened to calming nature sounds that I know help regulate my nervous system. Such a small thing, but incredibly grounding.

During the presentation itself, I felt much more connected to myself than I ever have before. I felt genuinely present — in my body, in my thoughts, and in my words.

I also allowed myself to pause.

Processing takes time for me sometimes (and probably others too!) and understanding that has been transformative. Instead of panicking during moments of silence, I accepted them. Pausing gave me space to think about what I wanted to say next.

I also recognised something else important: I think more clearly when I move. So I moved around the stage while speaking. The movement helped my brain organise thoughts and communicate more naturally.

One piece of feedback I received afterwards meant a great deal to me. Someone messaged to say that I came across as both knowledgeable and genuine.

Those two qualities matter deeply to me.

But knowledge alone is not enough when giving a presentation. Many people have knowledge — whether personal, academic, clinical, or professional. The real challenge is expressing that knowledge in a way that feels engaging, understandable, and human.

And I think genuine self-awareness helps make that possible.

What mattered most to me was the feeling of authenticity. I didn’t feel like I was performing or acting. I felt like myself. That authenticity used far less energy than masking ever did, and I believe it created a more meaningful experience for the audience too.

Ultimately, this experience reinforced something powerful for me: self-awareness — especially awareness of our neurotypes — can radically change how we experience the world.

For me, it transformed public speaking from something draining and anxiety-filled into something grounded, connected, and genuinely enjoyable.

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