Paul Sherman was 62 when the pieces of his life finally clicked into place In 2018, he received a diagnosis of Autism Level 1. “It was a very late diagnosis,” he says, reflecting on a career that spanned military service, working as an electronics technician, and biomedical/clinical engineering. Before that, the struggles he faced were brushed off as personality quirks or simply misinterpreted.
Early Years in the Military
His first full-time job was in the military, starting in 1974, a time when autism wasn’t even part of public conversation.
“Nobody had any clue about autism, basically,” Paul explains. He did well, advancing quickly through the ranks. “It was such an improvement over what I had as a child, I really didn’t have a good comparison,” he adds.
Growing up in a challenging home environment made it harder to recognize his neurodivergence.
“It took a long time to sort out what my struggles were, what parts of my struggles were due to autism, what problems were due to the house I grew up in.”
Some of the signs of his neurodivergence were overlooked or misunderstood in his home life.
“Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you,” he recalls being told as a child. “Getting hit because I didn’t.”
Although Paul appreciated aspects of military life, he found the culture of blind trust in authority challenging. As someone who is highly fact-based and values logic, he struggled with rules and expectations that felt trivial, like strict grooming standards or being criticized over what seemed like minor details.
“If something was ridiculous, I didn’t say anything,” he explains, “but I was not very supportive of it.”
At the end of his four-year commitment, he realized it was not going to be a good fit.
Struggles in Civilian Jobs
After completing his service, Paul became an electronics technician. It was there that the social challenges of autism became more apparent.
“There was some stuff that the bosses wanted me to do that I just couldn’t. I’d try, and I would just be remarkably ineffective at it.”
One major issue for him was sales.
“I knew [extended warranties/service contracts] weren’t a good deal for the customer. I couldn’t promote it.” His unwavering honesty and values often clashed with sales expectations.
Workplace conflict was another ongoing hurdle.
“Verbal conflict in particular, being unable to articulate what was going on and getting the words out, that was a huge struggle for me and it still is.”
Building a Career Through Engineering
Determined to find a better fit, Paul earned a degree in electrical engineering with support from the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, or VA for short. For over two decades, he worked as a biomedical engineer for them. In that role, his strengths: hyper-focus, technical insight, and out-of-the-box thinking, finally had room to thrive.
At one hospital, Paul created a custom medical system to support veterans with spinal cord injuries.
“It was things that apparently nobody thought would work. I put it together and made it work,” he says.
The project was so successful that he presented it at a conference. Though the VA encouraged him to patent the idea, he declined:
“I didn’t think there was a need for that. It was too important for me to try and cash it in.”
Recognition and Rising Challenges
Paul’s creative problem-solving earned him praise and the attention of the national office, which he ended up working for.
“At one point, my big boss in Washington, DC told me, ‘You’re our trailblazer.’” He was entrusted with pioneering solutions for future medical technology challenges.
But that recognition didn’t protect him from later difficulties. When leadership changed, so did the culture.
“It became more focused on what they wanted rather than what was necessary and useful,” Paul recalls.
Team-building retreats, sensory-unfriendly lunch policies, and rigid structures soon overwhelmed him.
“Pretty much everything to aggravate an autistic person is what the office ended up becoming,” he recalls.
Eventually, Paul retired at age 56. Everybody that had previously supported him before were pretty much gone, making the decision easier.
Finding Belonging Among Kindred Minds
Post-retirement, Paul found something rare, a team where he felt he belonged. Working part-time on a medical tech project, he collaborated with engineers and software developers, many of whom he suspects were also autistic.
“I think that there’s possibly a higher percentage of autistics in the engineering field. We kind of gravitate unconsciously toward each other and support each other,” he says. “It’s more talent-based than personality-based.”
Their shared focus on results, not office politics, made for a peaceful and productive environment.
What Paul Wishes More People Understood
Paul’s insights into what makes or breaks a workplace for autistic, and other neurodivergent, people are clear:
Honesty is our default: “We’re almost relentlessly honest.”
Give us time: “Don’t expect instant replies to difficult questions.”
Respect our environment: “Not requiring me to be in the lunchroom with someone drowning me in verbiage, that was incredibly stressful.”
Respect our needs: “Respect what we need to do to take care of ourselves. And that it’s not the same as what you need to do to take care of yourself.”
Don’t take advantage of our strengths: “That hyper-focus, you know, don’t give me 10 projects at once and expect great results out of either one.”
Don’t micromanage: “Spending time prepping daily updates takes away from doing the actual work.”
Coping and Recovery
Paul also relied on practical coping strategies, especially when burnout hit. “Getting away was a good strategy,” he says. Time off, mental health days, and even long weekends in the cabin he and his wife own helped him decompress.
Sometimes, his psychologist would intervene directly.
“At one point, my therapist put me on sick leave for two weeks for burnout.”
Looking Back with Clarity
“If I had known I was autistic back when working, perhaps we could have worked something out,” Paul reflects. “Some of the bad things that happened wouldn’t have happened. Maybe not, too.”
But knowing now, he’s eager to help others avoid what he went through. By being open about his experiences, Paul hopes that ongoing advances in diagnosis and growing conversations around accommodations will lead to more supportive workplaces; ones that include, rather than alienate, neurodivergent minds.