Why Did I Quit A Stable Government Job?

When asking questions gets you labeled

If you’re a neurodivergent woman, you might know this feeling: You ask an evaluative question at work because you want to do your job well, and you’re met with a sigh, a side-eye, or a curt “we’ll get to that.”

You weren’t pushing back or being defensive, you were trying to understand. Or maybe you were pointing out an area of improvement, providing context, offering insight, or seeking clarity.

But somewhere along the way, that desire gets read as defiance, and you’re labeled as “not a team player,” difficult, or too intense.

So…maybe you stop asking. You figure things out on your own, even when it’s a bit (or a lot) slower. You shrink yourself a little to make others comfortable.

I’ve been there.

I once had a manager get so frustrated by my questions and “constant interruptions” that he told me I wasn’t allowed to speak in meetings when he was present. Not just no questions—no talking at all unless he gave me permission.

You’re not difficult—you’re speaking a different dialect

For years, I figured this was just a bad fit. After all, I was used to being in rooms where people like me aren’t common. I learned to adapt and blend, even if the mask never quite fit.

But eventually, I started noticing other “outside the box” people getting sidelined, too. Getting written up for not having the right tone or a positive attitude. Being talked over or left out. In other words, it wasn’t just me - it was a pattern.

Neurodivergent communication often follows different rhythms, like speaking with a different dialect. And when you’re queer, femme- or nonbinary-presenting, a person of color…all those other intersecting identities add an accent.

We might need more context. We may not hide confusion behind a polite nod. We might pause to process or push for clarity in ways that challenge how others expect conversations to flow. We may say nothing at all, afraid to offend or be misunderstood.

That’s not “difficult.” It’s different. And difference isn’t the problem – a lack of understanding is.

It happens with money conversations too

A friend of mine, who’s also neurospicy, once met with a traditional financial advisor. Talking about money was stressful for her, and partway through their meeting she took out a fidget spinner to help regulate and stopped pretending to make eye contact. The advisor eventually looked at her and asked, “Are you even paying attention?”

When we worked together, I met her where she was. Some days that meant turning the Zoom camera off because she didn’t have the bandwidth after work. Some days that meant breaking things down into one or two next steps with a quick check-in phone call. What mattered to me was what worked for her, not the other way around.

Why I built Kite & Compass

These are some of the reasons why I built Kite and Compass. To have a space where people don’t have to mask to talk about money. Where you’re not penalized for having questions, or asking a lot of them. You deserve a guide who speaks your dialect – or is ready to learn it with you.

Whether you’re queer, trans, neurodivergent, polyamorous, kinky, or just tired of pretending to be “normal” for the sake of being palatable, this space was made with someone like you in mind.

You don’t have to downplay your complexity here.

You can just show up and we’ll figure it out, together.

Curious what that kind of financial planning can feel like?

Let’s talk. You bring the questions.

I’ll bring the clarity, and the space to ask as many as you need.