There are some things in life you shouldn’t have to ask for. Toilet paper within reach is one of them.

I didn’t expect that one simple phrase — the Toilet Paper Rule — would gut-punch me like it did. But during a conversation almost a year agowith Tori Burgos, that’s exactly what happened. She recently appeared on my podcast Left Unattended to explain more. On the surface, it was a harmless, even humorous analogy. Stock every veterinary station with everything someone might need so that wherever you land, the tools are there. No need to scramble, no need to adapt on the fly, no need to feel unprepared or incompetent just because the drawer you need is missing. But the longer I sat in that metaphor, the deeper it dug. Because that toilet paper? It isn’t just about supplies. It’s about dignity, survival and the unspoken assumption that everyone processes, thinks, feels, and reacts the same….even if you don’t, it’s your job to mask, to perform, to adapt.

When you’re neurodivergent, you spend your life trying to make sense of a world that isn’t built for your wiring. You navigate conversations that move too fast, sensory inputs that overwhelm you, expectations that contradict each other. And you do it all while smiling, while appearing “professional,” while trying not to take up too much space. The truth is, many of us don’t fear failure, what we really fear is rejection. We fear the moment when all the work we did to prepare, to build options, to think through complexity…it all gets dismissed with a “Why’d you go through all that trouble? We only needed one thing.” We fear the implication that our process is excessive. That our way of engaging with the world is somehow wrong.

Tori shared that she used to get feedback that she was a poor communicator. She wasn’t. She just needed time to translate, to process, to understand all the variables before responding. She was mislabeled and misunderstood. And it was costing her. Then something radical happened (althgouth I realize the irony of saying radical) someone believed in her. A manager didn’t shame her, they actually supported her. They offered an executive function coaching!! They didn’t treat her brain as a deficit. They treated it as a strength that needed different tools. And in doing so, they helped her thrive and not just survive. That coaching didn’t just improve her work, it transformed her confidence, her self-understanding, and her ability to articulate her needs. It gave her back her voice.

And this is where the metaphor hits hardest. So many of us are still sitting in stalls, trying to navigate life, with the basics just out of reach. We’re told to function at full capacity while running on empty. We’re expected to contribute meaningfully while being denied the tools we need to process, regulate, and recover. And then, when we pause to ask, “Can I take a break?” or “Can I do this my way?” we’re treated like we’re asking for special treatment. But we’re not asking to be special, we’re asking to be included.

Because when you’re masking your way through every conversation, when you’re running executive function manually in real time, and when you’re suppressing sensory overload while managing patient care and documentation then the last thing you need is a system that punishes your difference. We need workplaces that make things reachable. Not just physically, but cognitively, emotionally, interpersonally. We need leadership models that don’t rely on assumed sameness. We need managers who don’t wait for the performance issues to arise before they ask, “What do you need?”

For neurodivergent professionals, and especially those in high-pressure fields like veterinary medicine, access doesn’t just mean ramps and labels. It means regulated environments. Clear expectations. Gentle check-ins. Autonomy over breaks. Flexible workflows. And it means believing someone when they say, “I’m doing the best I can and this still doesn’t work for me.” We cannot keep leading mental health conversations in vet med without talking about neurodivergence. We cannot keep designing systems that rely on unspoken norms and then blame people when they can’t meet them.

The Toilet Paper Rule is simple in saying that the basics should be within reach. Not hidden. Not gatekept. Not given only after someone has proved themselves. In my coaching work, I try to help clients build drawer systems that work for their wiring. Some need rhythm. Others need permission to pause. Some need role clarity and tactical plans. Others need to stop gaslighting themselves into thinking they’re lazy when they’re just overloaded. All of them need to be believed. And all of them need to be seen!

If you’ve spent your career quietly building workaround after workaround, navigating the shame of needing things other people seem to access naturally then this blog was meant for you. If you’ve ever been told you’re too intense, too much, too sensitive, too slow, too disorganized – this blog is for you. If you’ve ever been the one who got everything done and still felt like a failure because of how hard it was behind the scenes – this blog is for you.

You are not broken. Your process is valid. You do not need to apologize for how your brain works. You just need systems that see you, spaces that welcome you, and support that meets you where you are.

Let’s build those together. The drawer doesn’t have to stay empty forever.

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