Perilous meetings, part 2: to go or not to go?

In my last post I talked about how meetings can be very uncomfortable, ineffective, and even dangerous for people on the spectrum. But in a culture where a lot of useful information is spread through meetings and discussions, there are obvious downsides to systematic avoidance. So what to do?

For me, the question of whether or not to attend a meeting requires clear assessment of risk. I weigh up the costs and benefits on a case-by-case basis to make my decision. I might also consider potential workarounds. I suspect this sort of systematic process is quite common in the higher levels of management and leadership, where individuals have learned through experience that time is the most precious of resources. What’s interesting my analysis is, ironically, the abstract and subjective nature of the costs involved.

The first question I ask myself on receiving a meeting invite – and one I’m proud to share with the most successful leaders and managers – is “why”? What is this meeting trying to achieve; and can I contribute to that aim? Is there any other reason for me to be there? If not, I – we – politely decline.

After the initial “why” filter, the second stage is where our methods diverge. Where leaders base this part of the decision on the value of their time – a concrete, measurable cost – my analysis must, by necessity, be more subjective. Of course, I do try my absolute best to make it as quantitative as possible!

The “workplace meetings risk matrix” works for me like any other. The likelihood of something going wrong (usually around someone else being affronted) depends on a few things: how important the meeting is to me, how complex the information I’d like to obtain or contribute, and my background anxiety level. It’s also related to who will be at the meeting. While most of my colleagues are constructive, there are a couple who raise red flags for me. The overall number of people can also be important: up to a point (where the “meeting” becomes a “briefing”), more people means more complexity, with a higher risk of losing track.

The impact of any problem that occurs relates primarily to who will be at the meeting: whether they’ve had any autism-related training, and their likely reaction to a perceived affront. In some cases, there can be also be much more serious risks to business reputation – although this is very rarely a part of my role. But if I don’t know any person attending, I have to assume the worst. So if I’m struggling to mask that day and the meeting involves an external visitor, I have to say “no”.

The third stage, maybe slightly less intuitively, is to assess the risk of not going. It’s easy when anxiety is running high to avoid every interaction that isn’t strictly essential. But there’s a risk in doing that too often: it damages my reputation, and can isolate me from my team and from the information I need to work effectively. So I look at the benefits again, and weigh up the costs of not realising those benefits. I also think at this point about whether there’s any other way of achieving some or all of those benefits – which is a topic for another post.

I won’t pretend this method is fool-proof. Sometimes I’ve judged a situation wrongly, or discounted an individual effect. And sometimes there just isn’t a right answer. But if I follow the process, overall, I can get a pretty effective balance.

Having run through the “meetings risk matrix”, there are two more areas I want to explore around dealing positively with workplace interactions. In my next post I’ll consider the multiple benefits that meetings achieve for non-autistic people, and suggest some alternative methods I’ve used to pursue those goals.

But it’s also important not to neglect the emotional impact of this type of thinking, which can easily descend into self-flagellation, depression and despair. So I want to take a moment to be clear that it is not us as autistic people who are inherently risks or liabilities. We can be aware, but we cannot take responsibility for the irrational judgements of others; and we should not try. It takes courage to accept that others’ thinking, however wrong, cannot easily be changed, and strength to work within the narrow boundaries of those misconceptions. I’ll tackle this in more detail in a later post. But I want to finish by saying that despite our difficulties, I don’t believe for one second that my autism, or yours, is a weakness. We are strong. We work hard. And we can succeed.

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