Test engineering and neurodiversity: Learning to aim the arrow

I have been reflecting recently on the relationship between test engineering and neurodiversity, especially through my own experience as someone who strongly resonates with AuDHD.

I want to be clear that I am self-identified. I am not writing this as a clinical explanation or as a statement that everyone with ADHD^1, autism, AuDHD², or neurodivergence experiences work in the same way. But many of the stories I have heard from diagnosed AuDHD people have deeply resonated with my own lived experience. They helped me revisit many moments where I had been self-critical and spiralled into thinking I was simply not capable in the “right” way.

Rethinking the quality mindset

That is one reason identity matters. Many neurodivergent people experience imposter syndrome, not because they lack ability, but because their ability does not always show up in a consistent, repeatable, neurotypical rhythm. Some of us work in strong bursts. We can hyperfocus, connect ideas quickly, and solve complex problems with intensity. But we may also struggle with context switching, unclear expectations, or environments where we are expected to “just do the work” without asking questions.

From the outside, this can look inconsistent. From the inside, it can feel like constantly trying to prove that your strengths are real, even when your energy and attention do not follow the standard pattern. Quality engineering is interesting because it is a role that needs both structure and curiosity. It needs process, but it also needs people who can see through the process and ask whether it is actually giving us the right signal. That is where I think my neurodivergent thinking has shaped the way I test.

Systems, clarity, and quality

When I look at a system, I naturally think between layers. I think about the UI, the API, the data, the business rules, the user outcome, and the assumptions sitting underneath all of them. If a payment system is bugging out, my mind does not only stay at the screen level. I start wondering whether an API call is not syncing correctly, whether the data is moving in the wrong order, whether the business rule is unclear, or whether the test itself is checking the wrong thing.

For me, testing is not just asking, “Does this work?” It is asking, “What signal are we actually getting?” Is this test giving us confidence in user acceptance? Security? Data integrity? Performance? Efficiency? Business value? Are we testing the thing that matters, or are we just creating a neat-looking test case that misses the real risk? In a messy corporate environment, a test case can easily become disconnected from how the product actually creates value. The chain can be opaque. Requirements can pass through many hands. People can follow the process but still miss the mark. So, what does good testing look like?

Good testing, to me, means something is fit for purpose. It means we use past experience, technical understanding, and product context to build confidence before something lands in production. I sometimes think of quality like a good piece of produce. A fruit or vegetable does not become good because of one single thing. It depends on the soil, the weather, the timing, the care, the attention, and whether its needs were understood along the way. Software quality feels similar. Testers do not create quality by ticking boxes at the end. We observe the conditions around the product. We notice where care is missing. We ask what the system needs in order to grow into something reliable, useful, and fit for purpose.

The “Bow and Arrow” metaphor

This is why clarity matters so much. One of the things I have learned about myself is that I cannot test well without clarity. In the past, I judged myself for that. I thought needing clarity meant I was not capable enough, not flexible enough, or not independent enough. But now I see it differently.

Clarity is not handholding. Clarity is kindness. When the goal is clear, I can aim my attention properly. When the risk is clear, I can investigate deeply. When the business value is clear, I can design better tests and automation around the thing that actually matters. Without clarity, my brain can still work hard, but it may burn energy trying to locate the target instead of hitting it.

That is where the bow and arrow metaphor feels right to me. Being AuDHD in test engineering can feel like having a bow that can fire very strongly. There is power, focus, and precision there. But it is also vulnerable to missing the target if the target is vague, constantly moving, or hidden behind unclear expectations.

Finding satisfaction and balance

Support does not mean lowering expectations. It means helping aim the arrow. In my work, I feel most energised when automation meets a real need. I enjoy solving problems that people did not initially think were automatable. I enjoy building robust solutions. I enjoy moments where curiosity turns into something useful, like picking up a new testing approach for technical applications because the problem required it. Those moments are deeply satisfying because they connect the technical work back to real value.

I also find satisfaction in noticing the specific rules that might otherwise be missed. Sometimes requirements do not make the data logic clear enough. For example, whether something should follow a first-in-first-out or first-in-last-out order can completely change the behaviour of a system. Raising that kind of question can feel small from the outside, but to me, it is one of the most meaningful parts of testing. Often, we do not know the right method until someone slows down enough to ask.

At the same time, there are real challenges. Context switching is one of the biggest ones for me. It can be tiring to move rapidly between tasks, conversations, priorities, and systems. I am learning that setting boundaries is not about being difficult. It is about protecting the focus needed to do good work. The way I focus can feel like a bright light. When it is directed well, it can illuminate a problem very clearly. But when too many things compete for that light at once, it becomes harder to sustain.

Creating supportive workplaces

Understanding this has helped me become less self-critical. I used to judge myself for not being capable in a typical way. I now understand that some of what I saw as weakness was actually a mismatch between my brain and the environment around me. That does not mean I avoid responsibility. It means I am learning to work with my brain instead of constantly against it.

I ask for clarity earlier. I set better boundaries around focus. I try to communicate more honestly instead of masking nervousness or pretending I understand when I need more context. Less masking has helped me feel more authentic, and ironically, it has also helped me become bolder.

This is something I hope more workplaces understand about neurodivergent people. We are not trying to be inconvenient. We are often trying very hard to do good work. But it becomes difficult when we feel stuck, unclear, or like our needs are treated as awkward interruptions rather than normal parts of collaboration. Sometimes the problem is not the person. Sometimes it is the environment. A supportive environment does not need to be perfect. It can start with empathy, clearer expectations, better communication, and a culture where asking questions is not seen as a weakness.

For neurodivergent testers especially, that kind of support can help turn overwhelm into direction. I also hope other neurodivergent people in testing know this: if the committee in your head is exhausted from trying to meet neurotypical expectations all the time, you are not alone. It is okay to feel overwhelmed. It does not mean you are not good at your job. It may mean you need clearer targets, better boundaries, and more support around how your brain actually works.

For me, being AuDHD in test engineering means I bring a unique skill set and approach. I spot patterns. I map systems. I sense risk. I hyperfocus. I care deeply about whether the work connects to a real need. But it also means I am learning how to aim that energy with more care. Because when the target is clear, the arrow can fly very strongly.

References:

1 ADHD (Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder): A neurodevelopmental difference that influences how the brain regulates attention, energy, and executive function. In a professional setting, this can manifest as challenges with mundane tasks or context switching, alongside an exceptional capacity for hyperfocus, rapid problem-solving, and the ability to connect complex ideas.

2 AuDHD (Autism and Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder): A community term describing the lived experience of having both Autism and ADHD. Individuals with AuDHD often navigate a complex intersection of traits – such as an autistic need for deep structure, clear rules, and predictability, combined with an ADHD-driven need for novelty, urgency, and dynamic thinking.