Reaching my diagnosis has helped me address the issue. I have support for my ADHD now. I pick up reading much more often and don't get overwhelmed with fabricated deadlines. I'm still working hard on myself every day.

The first is a yellow hyacinth with a ladybird perched at its centre. I noticed it while doing my evening journaling near the plants outside Samuel Alexander Building. This tiny flash of red against gold, entirely at ease with the world. For me, it captures something about the environmental life that

quietly thrives across campus, easy to miss when you're moving too fast between buildings and deadlines.

Taken together, these images are about presence. About choosing, even briefly, to notice what's growing around you.

like the visual equivalent of exhaling. It's the kind of moment that reminds you the day had beauty in it, even when it was difficult.

This image symbolises the everyday reality of navigating a world that is not designed with deafness in mind. Just as Fred’s meow goes unheard, so too can important signals, interactions, and moments of connection be missed. It highlights the reliance on assistive technology not as an optional convenience, but as a critical bridge to participation and awareness. Without it, there is a silence that others may not notice, but which shapes lived experience in subtle and constant ways.

At the same time, the image also speaks to adaptation and understanding. It invites reflection on how communication is not just about sound, but about connection, awareness, and inclusion. In this way, Fred’s silent meow becomes more than a missed cue, it becomes a powerful metaphor for the gap between expression and accessibility.

I was recently diagnosed as neurodivergent and am now receiving support through DASS and the wider Disabled Staff Network. These images explore how many disabilities are not immediately visible, yet still shape how people experience communication, pressure and everyday environments.

The Rubik’s Cube represents structured thinking within a busy and overwhelming world. Although it appears chaotic, it follows logic and patterns once understood. The yellow and green arrangement references the sunflower symbol for hidden disabilities. Positioned outside the University archway, the image reflects both belonging and masking, with

the reflection beneath the cube symbolising hidden internal processing.

ideas and anxieties moving together at once. The birds form patterns that

appear both chaotic and controlled. The electricity pylons connect the image to my role as an electrical engineer while also symbolising electrical impulses within the brain and invisible systems working beneath the surface.

Being autistic adds another layer. I’m highly sensitive to sensory stimuli, and despite how this might look, I hate being seen. I want to slip in and out, quietly do my job, and exist without my body becoming a focal point. This image represents the first step I took towards mobility support at work. What stands out to me now is the joy on my face. Not because things were suddenly easy, but because access made presence possible. Since then, I’ve moved on to using scooters and a wheelchair. It remains hard, but I hold onto that joy. Internalised ableism delayed me from accessing support. I worry about judgment, about fitting through doors or into lifts, about taking up space.

Support from DASS (especially Alison, Van, Katy, #Angels) alongside colleagues, friends, and my husband has made a profound difference.

This image reflects an ongoing truth I’m still learning: with care, support, and community, it is possible to build a sustainable, happy life. We all deserve that. It truly takes a village.