Column Editor’s Note: In this issue, we return to neurodiversity in accounting, a topic I wrote about some while back, querying its intersection with race. It was a deeply personal account that exposed my vulnerabilities. It brings me great pleasure to introduce a guest columnist who likewise explores her experience as an autistic CPA. Dr. Landi Morris is an assistant professor of accounting at Northern Arizona University, where her research focuses on understanding the impacts of inclusivity and engagement in the accounting community. The Engagement, Access, and Community section of the American Accounting Association has recognized her exemplary work in this area with the Innovation in Research Award. The American Taxation Association has also honored her with its Innovation in Teaching Award.
With this in mind, Morris’s tale takes us back to her former life as a jobbing accountant, one of undiagnosed neurodiversity. We travel with her, sharing ups and downs as “a displaced CPA,” not fitting in, not always quite getting what is required and why, and never receiving a satisfactory explanation for her travails, leaving self-doubt and sometimes shame in its wake. Only later in life was her hidden companion of autism revealed, enabling pieces of her fractured working past to at last fit together. She urges the accounting community to explore ways to foster engagement and inclusion for neurodiverse specificities such as autism, emphasizing that a broad-brush approach to neurodiversity yields unsatisfactory results.
After graduating from college, I had a five-year career in public accounting, then earned a PhD, all without knowing that I was autistic. You may wonder how this is possible; at times, I certainly did. In the United States, it was not recognized that a person could be autistic and of high intelligence until 1994, when Aspergers Syndrome was added to the 4th edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Today, Aspergers is considered part of autism spectrum disorder (ASD). There are three identified “levels” of ASD, indicating low, substantial, or very substantial support needs (Levels 1, 2, or 3, respectively).
At the age of 36, I received a diagnosis of ASD, Level 1. Unfortunately, this late-in-life diagnosis was very much a biproduct of the flawed ASD diagnostic process of the time. Subjects in early autism studies were primarily young white boys, and as a result, the extant ASD diagnostic criteria became indicative of how autism was expressed by this specific demographic. In my own evaluation, subjects were typically asked if they were fascinated by cars and trains, stereotypical interests of young white boys. As a result, many aspects of these ASD tests failed to capture how autism may be experienced and expressed by women, BIPOC, or genderqueer individuals. Today, it is somewhat acknowledged that the historically low reported rates of autism in other races and genders are not due to a lack of presence, but a lack of diagnosis (N. Volkers, “Invisible Girls: Is Autism Being Overlooked in Girls Because the Signs Are Much Clearer in Boys? A Growing Body of Research Says Yes,” The ASHA Leader, 2018, https://tinyurl.com/48w8fn3b).
Another reason for the underdiagnosis of women with autism is masking. “Masking” refers to an autistic person’s attempts to appear neurotypical by hiding their autistic traits, which may make symptoms more difficult to identify and diagnose. The standard diagnostic test for identifying masking in autistic persons was only recently developed (L. Hull, K. Petride, C. Allison, P. Smith, S. Baron-Cohen, M.-C. Lai, and W. Mandy, “Putting on My Best Normal: Social Camouflaging in Adults with Autism Spectrum Conditions,” Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders, vol.47, no.8, 2519–2534. 2017). I identify as a high-masking autistic woman. For as long as I can remember, I have intensely studied social situations to learn how to engage in them. My intense focus on learning how to act neurotypically, combined with above average intelligence, kept my autism undiagnosed.
In many ways, the profession actually allowed me to thrive as an autistic individual. I enjoyed a career in public accounting working as a tax manager on nonprofit clients for a large public accounting firm. I was also fortunate to work with incredible neurotypical colleagues who gave me significant autonomy over my work, allowing me to perform my job at times and in ways that worked best for me.
That said, many aspects of a career in public accounting were not conducive to my needs. My office’s open floorplan meant that sights and sounds spread like wildfire, which I found highly distressing. My phone conversations could be heard by my colleagues; for my high-masking self, this was terrifying. My performance as a neurotypical accountant was open to judgment!
The volume of work in a public accounting setting was also overwhelming. Looking back, I imagine that many of my colleagues perceived me to be very organized. In fact, I had to overcompensate because of my struggles with executive functioning. I was a master of to-do lists, open item lists, and any other list needed to help me complete my responsibilities. My high-masking tendencies made me a people-pleaser. Items on my to-do list were accompanied by a strong internal pressure to get them done as quickly as possible. These traits made me a dedicated employee, but internally, I was treading water.
Accounting students are taught debits and credits, but preparation for the amount of social interaction required in the profession is often missing from an accounting curriculum.
Accounting students are taught debits and credits, but preparation for the amount of social interaction required in the profession is often missing from an accounting curriculum. My engagement with clients began as an inexperienced associate. I held client calls and attended board meetings and sales pitches. While many folks new to public accounting may feel imposter syndrome, mine was accompanied by autism-related clinical difficulties in understanding the rules of social interactions. I had many clients, so I had to learn how to interact with many different individuals, and quickly.
Outside of client interactions, I was chastised for not participating in after-work events. There was an unspoken rule that, to advance my career, I was expected to interact with colleagues at bars after work. This expectation gained particular emphasis when I was promoted to manager, a role which also entailed selling work to clients. As a high-masking individual, I had very little sense of self or self-worth, which made the idea of selling myself and my work completely terrifying. My nervous system was in fight or flight mode for my entire five-year public accounting career.
Recently, public accounting firms have emphasized the value added by neurodivergent employees. EY has received praise for creating centers specifically for neurodivergent individuals (Leah Carroll, “How EY is Focusing on Neurodiverse Talent—and Why it Benefits Everyone,” BBC, 2024, https://www.bbc.com/worklife/article/20240320-ey-karyn-twaronite-neurodiversity-bbc-executive-interview), but some have said that their experience working in these centers was more negative (Going Concern, “Here’s the Truth About What Really Happens at EY’s Neuro-Diverse Center of Excellence From Someone Who Was There,” 2021, https://tinyurl.com/5xcejfnc). It is worth noting that, rather than modify existing working conditions of the typical EY office to accommodate the needs of neurodivergent individuals, EY appears to instead silo neurodivergent employees in these centers. Seemingly, there appears to be no need for neurotypicals to acknowledge the needs of their neurodivergent colleagues. Is this progress?
Deloitte’s system seems to be better. The firm’s website promotes their “Neurodiversity Network,” which offers benefits for neurodivergent employees (Deloitte, Neurodiversity Network, 2025, https://tinyurl.com/2pwtbbvh). As a support network, neurodiverse individuals can connect with other individuals who may face similar challenges in the workplace, helping emphasize recognition of an individual’s strengths, rather than their weaknesses. To this point, “Careers at Deloitte” offers the story of an autistic employee named Andreas, whose title is “Specialist Lead Tech Vision and Architecture.” While it is commendable that Deloitte provided a platform for Andreas to share his experience, and courageous for Andreas to do so, it is worth noting that this story does nothing to quell the stereotypical portrayal of autism (A. Boon, “By Embracing Neurodiversity, We Can all Be Our True Selves,”).
The ability to offer commentary on the Big Four’s efforts is in itself indicative of progress, however; and I acknowledge the growing recognition of neurodiversity, which wasn’t prevalent when I was working in public accounting. I hope this column stimulates further discourse on how the accounting community can engage with its neurodivergent members, noting that specificity is key. Neurodiversity is, by nature, diverse, and I for one wish to see firms become more flexible about the needs of the autistic accountant.
