Unleashing Potential: From Dyslexia to Social Entrepreneurship
There are certain moments in life that make you stop and realise how far you have come.
For me, speaking at a Watson Institute Summit was one of those moments.
Not simply because it was a respected platform, though it was. And not only because Watson Institute creates a rare kind of space for next-generation innovators and entrepreneurs, though it absolutely does. It mattered because of what it represented.
A younger version of me — the boy who struggled with dyslexia, dyspraxia and autism, who was often misunderstood, underestimated and measured by what he found hardest — would never have imagined standing on a stage like that, speaking not about limitation, but about possibility.
That is why this talk still means something to me.
You can watch the full video here: Overcoming Obstacles: Nat Hawley’s Journey
Why Watson mattered
At the time, I was part of a business incubator for social entrepreneurs through Watson Institute, an organisation built around a more imaginative model of education, leadership and impact.
For me, Watson was not just a programme. It was a turning point.
It was one of the first spaces that did not ask me to prove I could fit an existing mould. Instead, it asked what I wanted to build, what I cared about, and how my lived experience could become part of something useful in the world.
That mattered deeply.
Because for many neurodivergent people, traditional systems are very good at identifying deficits and very poor at recognising potential. Watson felt different. It was a space built around contribution, innovation and agency. A space that asked not, “How do you fit in?” but, “What are you here to create?”
In many ways, it was at Watson that the idea of Divergent Thinking first began to take shape in my mind.
Not yet as the fully formed consultancy it is today, but as a conviction: that the very differences I had been taught to see as limitations might actually be part of the value I was here to bring.
The early story was one of difference — but not yet of strength
Like many neurodivergent people, I grew up with labels that were mostly explained in terms of difficulty.
Dyslexia.
Dyspraxia.
Autism.
Each came with assumptions, and those assumptions were rarely positive. In school and in everyday life, “different” did not feel like something to celebrate. It usually felt like something to apologise for, work around or hide.
One of the hardest parts was not only the academic struggle. It was the deeper feeling of being out of step with the world around me. I often found it hard to understand and express emotion in the ways people expected. I tried to fit in, but there was a constant sense that I was operating by a different internal system — and that other people could see it, even when I could not explain it.
That feeling of difference can be deeply isolating when you are young.
And when the system around you is already focused on what you are getting wrong, it becomes easy to believe the deficits are the whole story.
Graduation was about much more than a degree
One of the biggest turning points in my life was becoming the first person in my family to graduate from university.
That achievement mattered for obvious reasons, but for me it was about far more than academics. It was proof that the story others had written about my limits was incomplete.
It showed me that when I had the chance to learn, think and create in ways that actually suited my brain, I could do far more than people had assumed.
That is one of the reasons I care so much now about how we design education and work. Too many people are still being judged inside systems that only measure one narrow slice of human potential. If the format does not fit the person, the person is too quickly treated as the problem.
But a mismatch is not the same as a lack of ability.
Different is not a disadvantage
This became one of the core ideas in my talk, and it has only become more important to me since.
I do not believe difference is automatically easy. Neurodivergence can create real challenge, real frustration and real friction. But I do believe that difference is far too often interpreted only through deficit.
And that is a huge mistake.
Some of the same traits that once made me look like an underachiever became central to the work I now do:
seeing patterns others miss
thinking creatively around barriers
staying deeply focused on questions that matter
understanding exclusion from the inside
refusing to accept that existing systems are the only possible systems
What once looked like weakness became part of my mission.
That is why I often say that different is not a disadvantage. In the right environment, and with the right understanding, it can become your unique value.
Hidden talent is everywhere
One of the strongest messages in that talk was that talent is often hidden in the very people society is quickest to underestimate.
There are still too many young people being called lazy, difficult, distracted, weird, slow or stupid when what is really happening is that their intelligence is not showing up in the format the system happens to reward.
That is not a personal failure.
It is a design failure.
And I know how much damage that misunderstanding can do.
It can shrink ambition.
It can distort self-worth.
It can convince brilliant people to stop expecting much from themselves because no one else seems to.
That is one reason this work became so important to me. I wanted to challenge the story that neurodivergent people are somehow less capable, when in reality many are carrying extraordinary strengths that have simply not yet been recognised or unlocked.
From lived experience to mission
After graduating, I found myself moving more and more toward work that was not just personal, but purposeful.
I wanted to change the narrative around neurodiversity. I wanted to help build something that challenged deficit-based assumptions and created better pathways for people whose minds did not fit conventional expectations.
Watson helped sharpen that vision.
It gave me room to connect lived experience with social entrepreneurship. It helped me see that my experiences were not only painful things to survive; they were also sources of insight, urgency and direction. That was the beginning of a bigger idea — that maybe the systems were not broken because people like me existed, but because they had been built too narrowly in the first place.
That idea eventually grew into Divergent Thinking.
Today, that work focuses on helping organisations move from awareness to practical neuroinclusion — in recruitment, onboarding, communication, management and culture.
The message has become sharper over time, but the core remains the same:
there is enormous untapped potential in the people the system still misreads.
Recognition matters — but purpose matters more
There have been moments of recognition along the way, including recognition from Prince Charles, and of course those moments mean something. Public recognition can create visibility, credibility and momentum.
But the deeper point is not who notices.
It is what the work is trying to change.
For me, this has never been only about personal success. It has been about using my own journey as proof that the old narrative is too small. That the child labelled as limited can grow into a graduate, a speaker, a founder and an advocate. That a “difference” once treated as a problem can become the basis of contribution.
And that if this is true for one person, it is true for many others whose potential is still being missed.
The bigger call to action
The heart of the talk was simple:
Celebrate the difference.
Not in a superficial, slogan-driven way.
Not by pretending there are no struggles.
Not by flattening all neurodivergent people into “superpowers.”
But by recognising that human difference is real, valuable and necessary.
If you are a young person who feels out of place, there is nothing trivial about finding a community that helps you understand your own strengths.
If you are a parent, educator or employer, there is something powerful in choosing to see beyond the deficit story and ask what this person might become if the environment stopped getting in the way.
And if you are building systems — in education, in hiring, in leadership or in policy — then the question is even bigger:
What potential is being lost because your system still only knows how to reward one kind of mind?
Final thought
Looking back on that Watson Institute talk now, what strikes me most is not the stage or the occasion.
It is the contrast.
The distance between the child who was underestimated and the adult speaking about innovation, leadership and social change.
That distance matters because it reminds me that the story is never finished where other people first decide to place your limits.
Dyslexia, dyspraxia and autism were never the end of my story.
In many ways, they were the beginning of it.
They shaped how I saw the world.
They shaped the barriers I noticed.
And at Watson, they helped shape the first real outline of what would later become Divergent Thinking.
Because the truth is, talent is everywhere.
It is recognition, design and opportunity that are unevenly distributed.
To learn more about Watson Institute, visit watson.is/about.
To explore more of my work, visit Divergent Thinking or read more on the Divergent Thinking blog.
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