Have you ever felt like you’re a circus performer, but you never actually signed up for the job? That’s me, right now. Or at least, that’s how it’s felt. My life, particularly at work, has become a frantic performance of spinning plates. Keep this one going, get that one started, don’t let that other one wobble, and oh goodness, someone just handed you another three. It’s exhausting, and in moments like these, it’s all too easy to think the problem is me.
My journey of learning about neurodiversity – which has truly become a special interest of mine since my late diagnosis – is a constant process of reflection. I’m forever picking up threads from my past and present and seeing where they lead. And one of the most significant threads I’ve pulled on recently is this: monotropic thinking.
It’s a term that landed with a soft, profound ‘click’ in my mind. It explained so much. It gave a name to a feeling I’ve had my entire life.
The Weight of Too Many Plates
At work lately, the nature of the job has been one of many, many spinning plates. My attention is constantly being split, pulled in a dozen different directions at once, and honestly? At times it’s been overwhelming.
I’ve always known I’m much better when I can focus on one single thing. The more tasks you pile on my desk, the less efficient I become. This isn’t a preference; it feels like a fundamental operating principle of my brain. And when that principle is violated, things get… messy. Combine this inherent difficulty in task-switching with a lifetime of conditioned people-pleasing – a desperate desire not to let anyone down – and you have a perfect recipe for disaster. Or, at least, a recipe for intense rumination, where my inner critic has a field day judging me for not being to ‘keep up’.
But here’s the thing I’m learning. I am managing. It’s not easy, not by a long shot, but I’m slowly figuring it out.
A Name for the Focus: What is Monotropic Thinking?
So, what on earth is monotropic thinking? It sounds a bit technical, doesn’t it? But the idea behind it is beautifully simple.
In essence, a monotropic mind is one that tends to focus its energy and attention on a limited number of things at any one time. Our interests pull our attention into deep ‘attention tunnels’. Think of it like a powerful torch beam, shining brightly and clearly on one specific spot. The opposite of this, polytropic thinking, is more like a floodlight, illuminating many things at once, but with less intensity on any single one.
Many autistic people have monotropic minds. It’s not a flaw or a deficit; it’s just a different way of processing the world. It explains why we can get so deeply absorbed in our interests, and also why being pulled out of that focus can feel anything from jarring to physically painful. It’s the ‘why’ behind the spinning plates feeling so impossible – my brain is built to polish one plate to a brilliant shine, not to keep ten of them wobbling precariously in the air.
The Unrivalled Joy of the ‘Attention Tunnel’
And while this can be a source of immense stress in a world that worships multitasking, it is also, without a doubt, my greatest superpower.
Because when I’m in that attention tunnel? When the world disappears and I can pour every ounce of my being into the one task in front of me? That feeling is absolutely incredible. We often call this state ‘hyperfocus’, and it’s one of my favourite feelings in the world.
Whether it’s at work, when I finally clear the decks and tackle a single, complex problem, or at home when I’m lost in a creative project, that’s when I am at my most productive, my most adept, my most me. Time melts away. The inner critic goes silent. There is only the task, and it feels less like work and more like breathing. It’s the glorious upside of a monotropic mind.
Working With My Brain, Not Against It
The big shift for me has been moving from fighting my nature to working with it. I’m not trying to do everything anymore. I’m not chasing my own tail, desperately trying to keep every single plate spinning.
Instead, I’m starting to realise that some of those plates aren’t even mine to spin. I am giving myself permission to focus on what’s truly mine, and to do it my way. I allow myself to get lost in one task, to follow that beam of light, and get that single thing to a point where I’m happy to leave it for a while before I circle back or move on to the next.
This is the ‘way’ through the overwhelm. For any of you who feel the same, the most compassionate thing you can do for yourself is play to your strengths. As much as you possibly can, prioritise your tasks and allow your focus to settle on one thing at a time. It’s easier said than done, I know, but every time you allow yourself to work the way your brain is designed to work, it’s a small victory.
And Then Came Parenthood… The Beautiful Complication
Of course, just as you think you’re getting a handle on your own operating system, life adds a few more variables. For me, that beautiful, chaotic, and wonderful variable was becoming a parent.
Being a parent is perhaps the ultimate polytropic-demanding job. Your attention is never truly your own. It’s a life of constant interruption, of switching from chef to nurse to playmate to emotional support coordinator in the space of five minutes. It’s wonderful, but it really makes it difficult to focus on one thing at a time.
Our Family’s Unique Journey
For our family, there’s been an added layer of complexity. Being a parent to children with their own needs—navigating the SEND system here in the UK, accessing post-adoption support—demands a level of multitasking and executive function that can feel like a daily marathon for my monotropic mind.
I wouldn’t swap my life for anything. I love my children more than words can say. But I don’t think I truly realised, before they arrived, how much my simpler, quieter life worked for me. I do now. It’s a reminder that our environment, and the demands it places on us, profoundly impacts how our autistic traits show up.
Recognising this doesn’t change my love for my family; it just gives me more compassion for myself on the days when it all feels like too much. It reminds me to find those small pockets of monotropic peace wherever I can.
Understanding is everything. It’s not an excuse; it’s an explanation. And with explanation comes the power to find a better way. A way that is illuminated not by a frantic floodlight, but by the calm, clear, and powerful beam of a mind allowed to be exactly what it is.
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