'Why neurodivergence gives me an edge': Mark Seaden on tax, creativity and what the profession still needs to improve

Mark Seaden has spent his career in employment tax, moving from HMRC through the Big Four and on to his current role as director of employment services at BDO. It is, by any measure, a technically demanding specialism, and not one traditionally associated with creative thinking. But Seaden, who received a formal AuDHD diagnosis in early 2025, argues that neurodivergence and employment tax have more in common than the sector tends to acknowledge.

His diagnosis came relatively late, catalysed by his son's autism diagnosis around 2010. The recognition was gradual. 'I recognised similar traits in myself,' he says. The autism felt expected; the ADHD less so. 'Unexpected but now so obvious.' What followed was not a crisis of professional identity but a clarification of it.

'Early on, I saw my neurodivergence as a strength,' he says. The pattern recognition, the ability to approach problems from unusual angles, the capacity to hold multiple connected issues in mind at once had served him well without him fully understanding why. 

Take a termination payment. Where many advisers work through the component parts sequentially and apply the relevant legislation, Seaden's mind moves differently. 'My mind is also simultaneously bouncing around pay governance, pension limits, National Minimum Wage and other loosely connected issues.' For a client, that expansiveness has real value.

The flip side took longer to name. 'There are things that are genuinely difficult.' He chose not to attend the Tolley's Awards because the environment would have been overwhelming. Before his diagnosis, declining invitations like that carried guilt. After it, the same decision carried something closer to self-knowledge. 'Knowing this was down to my AuDHD made me more comfortable with saying no.'

Where creativity shows up in compliance

Employment tax has a reputation for rigidity. Seaden pushes back, carefully. 'Clearly, I can't go all abstract art,' he says, 'but that doesn't mean we can't look at things in a fresh way.' 

His illustration is telling: when the government announced changes to permit balcony solar panels, his mind immediately started drafting a case for including them within the permitted salary sacrifice items, alongside pensions, childcare and electric vehicles. It is the kind of lateral connection that compliance-first thinking rarely generates.

The process, as he describes it, is two-stage. First, creative mode: the loose, connective thinking that generates the idea. Then hyper-focus mode: the detailed scrutiny against the legislation that tests whether the idea holds. Neurodivergence, in this framing, is not a liability to be managed but a structural advantage, provided the discipline to follow through is also there.

'It's not creativity for creativity's sake. It's about finding solutions that work for the client and stand up to scrutiny.'

How far has the sector actually come?

BDO is a large professional services firm, and Seaden has been openly neurodivergent within it since his diagnosis. His experience has broadly been positive. Colleagues have been supportive; some have made genuine effort to understand. He recalls explaining to a partner the gap between what is said and what his brain actually hears, and being struck not just by the partner's surprise but by the fact that the very next conversation showed a clear adaptation in how the message was delivered. That kind of responsive change matters.

But he is clear that the sector has further to go. Training on neurodiversity is increasingly available; uptake is not always where it should be. 'More encouragement is needed for people to engage with this training and turn awareness into action.' 

He references Hayley Brackley's The Seven Lenses book, noting her point that employers can feel as overwhelmed by the complexity of neuroinclusion as neurodivergent individuals can be by their environments. The parallel is uncomfortable, but honest.

There is also a structural issue that training alone will not solve. 'I would like to see a reduced need for everyone to be well-rounded, replaced by a recognition of the benefits of excellence in specific areas, even if it means we accept weakness in others.' 

In a sector where career progression still often depends on performing across a broad range of competencies, including the social, administrative, and political, that is a significant ask.

A careers fair, a decompression zone and a practical lesson

Seaden also speaks from experience beyond his own working life. He accompanied his autistic son to a careers event, and what he observed was instructive. His son arrived tense: too many people, too many distractions, too small a space. He relaxed as the day went on, partly because they built in short breaks for decompression.

Some employers at the event clearly understood what neurodivergent candidates could offer. They articulated where specific autistic traits added value to their business and acknowledged that investing in the individual yielded returns in output. Seaden looks forward to this becoming the norm for recruitment of, and ongoing approach to, neurodivergent people.

The practical takeaway Seaden draws from the day is modest in scale but significant in signal: the value of a decompression zone. Not a networking space, not a breakout room for structured conversation, simply somewhere to step away and reset. 

'How often do we pull up an agenda and say that the breaks are an excellent opportunity for networking?' Small changes, he argues, can make a large difference. The willingness to make them is what separates stated commitment from actual inclusion.

Progress, Seaden concludes, is real. The pace is not fast enough. That, at least, is a consistent neurodivergent experience.