Workplaces struggle to adapt as ADHD diagnoses surge and tribunal cases mount

Ryan Toghill spent eighteen months consumed by a single thought: the employment tribunal case against Lidl. As a deputy store manager, he'd disclosed his ADHD diagnosis to his employers. Then came a disciplinary meeting over equipment he'd used without proper training. He was fired for gross misconduct. He appealed, was offered a lower-paid role, rejected it, and took the company to tribunal.

The judge awarded him more than £45,000. The ruling found that Lidl had failed to consider his diagnosis during the disciplinary process—no additional breaks were offered, no adjustments made. A manager had noted his "lack of remorse," but the tribunal understood what the manager had not: Toghill's face and voice remain largely unchanged whether he's happy, angry, or genuinely sorry. His communication style, shaped by ADHD, had been read as indifference. The company said it remains committed to reasonable adjustments. Toghill hasn't worked since.

His case is no longer unusual. Employment lawyers across the UK report a surge in neurodivergence-related claims. The law firm Irwin Mitchell, using the Ministry of Justice's judgments database, found 517 tribunal cases mentioning neurodivergent conditions in 2025—nearly double the 265 cases from 2020. Most involved autism or ADHD. The database is incomplete, but the trend is unmistakable. Since the pandemic, diagnosis rates for both conditions have climbed steeply. NHS waiting lists for assessments in England have reached record levels, with some areas closing their lists entirely due to demand.

Yet here lies a paradox: even as diagnoses rise, research suggests both ADHD and autism remain underdiagnosed. A study in the Lancet Regional Health Europe found that while 1.2 percent of English adults have an ADHD diagnosis, international prevalence estimates suggest 3 to 5 percent of the population is affected. King's College London research indicated that roughly 90 percent of autistic people over 40 remain undiagnosed. The numbers are climbing, but the gap between those diagnosed and those affected persists.

What has changed is awareness. Ben Branson, an entrepreneur diagnosed with autism in 2022 who runs a charity called The Hidden 20%, describes a shift: "We have always been here, we are just not hiding anymore." Millions of adults are finally understanding why they burned out, why they never fit, why they kept moving jobs. They are no longer willing to struggle in silence. But workplaces have not kept pace. A City and Guilds Foundation study found that employers rate their own neurodiversity readiness at 70 to 75 percent confidence. Only 32 to 38 percent of neurodivergent employees, however, feel psychologically safe disclosing their diagnosis or believe their organization understands the impact of their condition.

Employment lawyer Jodie Hill, who set up her firm Thrive Law after her own ADHD diagnosis at 35, says the disconnect stems from misunderstanding. Employers often demand formal diagnoses when the law does not require them. They may move to dismiss someone for poor performance without considering whether a disability is at play. Some fear that accommodating one person means accommodating everyone. Hill hears from managers that "every other conversation is about people wanting support," a complaint rooted in what she calls a lack of understanding of struggles that are "internal and invisible." The challenge of determining what counts as "reasonable adjustment" compounds the problem. Some employers don't know where to start. Others wrongly assume it means doing whatever an employee requests. A tribunal found that an autistic claimant's request for simplified recruitment questions and advance access to test materials went beyond what was necessary or reasonable—though the Judicial Appointments Commission had already offered extra time and support. Tribunals have shown that adjustments must be justified, with alternatives considered. Big employers are expected to do more than small ones. Many adjustments cost nothing: restructuring meetings, offering regular breaks, providing a quiet workspace.

Some businesses have moved ahead. Daniel Rickman's glazing company, Structura, offers flexible working, fidget toys in meeting rooms, and desk lights that signal availability. He says it helps him retain skilled staff and get the best from everyone—though he's also been criticized for being "woke." Microsoft and BAE Systems have created targeted hiring programs for neurodivergent candidates, recognizing the skills they bring. But these are exceptions. The tribunal backlog—now at a record 531,000 open claims—means cases can take years to reach hearing. Some are listed for 2030. The Employment Rights Act, taking effect in January 2027, will lower the threshold for unfair dismissal claims from two years to six months, expected to trigger a surge in filings. This creates a bind: employers must make judgment calls without knowing where tribunals will ultimately draw the line. And as Prof Amanda Kirby, heading the government's expert panel on neurodivergence and employment, warns, rising tribunal numbers could trigger a hidden bias. Employers may decide that hiring someone they believe to be neurodivergent is too risky, and simply find another reason to give the job to someone else. Toghill's hope is that workplace changes will eventually "trickle through businesses." He knows the answer: "You've got to manage people differently if they're neurodivergent. You can get the best out of them, if you adapt a little bit."