Entering the Neurodivergent Instasphere

There’s a particular kind of overwhelm that comes from caring deeply about people… and then opening Instagram.

I recently signed Tempo up for a business Instagram account. Equal parts excitement and trepidation, I dipped a cautious toe into the instasphere with a few foundational posts and some early ideas about how I wanted to introduce Tempo to the world. A few followers trickled in. Humble beginnings, but I was so genuinely happy with them.

I followed some services and practitioners I admire, explored others working with similar client groups, and then almost instantly, the algorithm did what algorithms do best. Like walking into a tidal wave, the barrage began.

Endless neurodivergent content. Particularly aimed at women.

Polished graphics. Productivity hacks. Optimisation strategies. “Five signs…” “Three ways…” “How to finally…” Carousel after carousel promising clarity, regulation, healing, focus, better habits, better mornings, better brains.

And to be honest? I wasn’t prepared for how overwhelming it felt.

I found myself quietly retreating from the app for a week or so, hiding out in my little corner of the internet before eventually peering back out, dusting myself off, and thinking more carefully about how I want Tempo to exist in this space. I’m still figuring that out. But the experience left me with a few reflections that feel important.

The first is this: if I felt overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information about neurodivergence, brains, nervous systems, productivity and self-improvement… surely other neurodivergent people feel this too?

There is undoubtedly thoughtful, valuable content out there. Pages that genuinely help people feel seen, understood, resourced, and less alone. But finding those voices amongst the noise can feel exhausting in itself. The constant stream of information becomes its own kind of sensory input - loud, relentless, difficult to metabolise, tantalising and addictive.

Another reflection was around the subtle messaging embedded within a lot of “empowerment” content. Not all of it, of course, but enough of it to notice a pattern.

Optimise this. Hack that. Improve your routines. Fix your focus. Increase your output.

What if the goal isn’t always to optimise? What if, occasionally, the nervous system is asking for less performance and more permission? Less fixing and more understanding. Less pressure to become someone else, and more space to actually be.

One of the reasons I love mental health occupational therapy and the broader philosophy behind Tempo, is that it asks us to hold the whole person. Not just symptoms. Not just traits and not just “strategies.”

A person exists within a nervous system, yes, but also within relationships, environments, sensory experiences, histories, identities, expectations, grief, stress, culture, capacity, and seasons of life. Context matters. A persons unique story matters, and Humanity matters.

When we forget context, even well-meaning advice can unintentionally leave people feeling like they’ve failed if the “five steps to coping better” didn’t magically work for them.

There are no universal formulas for being human.

What supports one neurodivergent person may completely overwhelm another. What works in one season of life may not work in the next. Sometimes the most therapeutic thing isn’t another strategy at all, but feeling genuinely seen without needing to perform wellness.

I’m still finding my footing with social media and what Tempo’s voice will become there. But I definitely want it to feel human. Thoughtful. Grounded. Spacious. Calm.

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