Dancing With Drive: Rethinking Balance in ADHD Leadership

I can hardly believe I’m the one writing these words.

If you had known me in high school, you would have seen someone always on the move—literally running across the playground at lunchtime, determined to squeeze every bit of productivity out of every spare moment. I thrived on activity, on intensity, on getting things done. Slowing down wasn’t just unappealing—it felt impossible.

So now, as a leadership coach and someone who’s spent years navigating both my own fast-paced mind and the responsibilities of leading others, I find myself deeply curious—and at times cautious—about the new leadership narrative that seems to be gaining ground. It goes something like this: slower is better, simplicity is the goal, and “balance” is the holy grail of a successful life.

While I understand where this thinking comes from—and even agree with some of its intentions—it doesn’t quite fit my experience. More importantly, it doesn’t speak to the experience of many of the leaders I work with, especially those with fast, idea-rich, neurodivergent brains.

The ADHD brain, often described as “fast,” doesn’t just tolerate speed—it seeks it. It craves stimulation, novelty, challenge, and variety. For leaders with ADHD, it’s not just about being busy. It’s about being fully engaged, lit up, and pulled forward by something compelling. When things move too slowly, or feel overly routine, our attention drifts. Motivation drops, and our sense of purpose starts to blur.

But here’s the tension: leadership isn’t a solo sprint. It’s more like a dance—one that you perform in partnership with those you lead.

In couple dancing, the leader doesn’t just yank their partner across the floor or leave them behind in a flurry of movement. They guide through subtle cues—sometimes a gentle push, sometimes a soft pull. The movement is not about dominance or control, but attunement. Too much pressure and the other person resists. Too little, and they lose the connection. But when the rhythm is just right—when the leader adjusts and the partner responds—the whole thing becomes seamless. To the outside observer, it looks effortless. To those dancing, it feels exhilarating.

This is what sustainable leadership feels like to me now.

It’s not about slowing down to meet an arbitrary ideal of “balance,” and it’s certainly not about abandoning ambition. Instead, it’s about learning how to dance with your own drive—honouring the energy and momentum that fuels you, while also staying connected to the people who are following your lead.

There was a time in my career when I didn’t understand this. I believed my pace was a strength—and often, it was. I could think quickly, adapt rapidly, and move from vision to execution in what felt like record time. Eventually, however, I began to notice the cost. While I was thriving on the energy of rapid progress, others on my team were struggling to keep up. Some were overwhelmed. Others withdrew. My passion and urgency, which I had assumed were contagious in a positive way, had instead started to create stress and confusion around me.

In one particular role, I was project managing the relocation of two centres - one retail and the wholesale. It was stressful and a lot of people were looking to me for direction. For a while, I responded by trying to become someone I wasn’t by slowing everything down, hold back ideas, and second-guessing my natural instincts. It didn’t work though, becasue I ended up feeling boxed in and disconnected—not just from others, but from myself... and then I left dissatisfied.

What I needed wasn’t a new identity. What I needed was rhythm.

I began to approach leadership like a dance. I learned to listen—to my body, my emotions, and my nervous system. I started paying attention to when my fast brain was in flow and when it was tipping into chaos. I became more aware of the signals my team was giving me—when they were energised, when they were struggling, and when they were silently falling behind.

This wasn’t about finding some elusive perfect balance. It was about becoming responsive. Flexible. Aware.

The truth is, leadership isn’t about achieving a static state of calm or control. It’s about movement—sometimes fast, sometimes slow—and knowing how to read the room, the moment, and yourself well enough to lead at the right tempo. That might mean pulling back when the team needs stability. It might mean pressing forward when the energy is high. It almost always means being willing to adjust, without losing your sense of direction.

For those of us with ADHD, this can feel like an exhausting balancing act—until we realise it’s actually a dynamic process. Not a compromise, but a dance.

So no, I don’t think slower is always better. I definitely don’t think “balance” is the answer—at least not in the way it’s often sold to us, like some tidy state of equal parts work and rest that can be maintained indefinitely. Life isn’t that neat. Neither is leadership, and especially not for those of us with fast brains and big ideas.

What I do believe in is sustainability. Not just the kind that protects our energy, but the kind that keeps our relationships, our creativity, and our impact alive over time.

That’s the dance I’m learning now.

Not to dim my drive, but to direct it - to find a rhythm that fuels both me and the people I lead.

Because when that rhythm is right, leadership doesn’t feel like a burden. It feels like movement with meaning. It feels like joy

These days, I think a lot about pace—not just in leadership, but in life.

I recently went hiking, and as I looked back at the photo from that day, I was struck by how much it mirrored what I’ve been learning. Hiking isn’t about sprinting to the summit. It’s about finding a rhythm you can maintain over time. If you go too hard too early, you burn out before you’ve even cleared the first ridge. If you stop too often, you lose momentum and motivation. The key is steady, sustainable movement—still driven, still purposeful, but grounded in awareness.

Leadership is no different.

You can’t afford to push at full tilt indefinitely, and you don’t need to. You just need to know your pace—and adjust it when the terrain changes. That’s how you make it to the end without collapsing. That’s how you enjoy the journey.

If you’re a leader with a fast brain—or someone supporting one—you don’t have to choose between momentum and sustainability. You simply need the right rhythm. I work with leaders and organisations to create sustainable, neuro-affirming leadership practices that energise rather than exhaust.

If this resonates, I invite you to book a free 60-minute Inclusive Leadership Health Check. It’s a practical first step toward finding your leadership pace—one that empowers both you and your team to thrive.

Kathryn Martens

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