I wanted to become an Egyptologist. What I took away from a conversation about science, courage, and being different

As a child, I wanted to become an Egyptologist. Not for the stones—as beautiful as they are—but for the people: how did they live, what did they believe in, what did they take for granted? The fact that I’d have to live in Egypt to do that turned out to be a dealbreaker. But my curiosity has remained. Every training session, every team meeting feels a bit like going on a journey to me.

I realized this again when I was a guest on Anne Van Caeneghem’s podcast, where we spent an afternoon philosophizing about science, leadership, and neurodiversity. These are the thoughts I took away from it.

Science is a living thing

I am grateful for my scientific education, but not because it gave me answers. Above all, it taught me a way of looking at things: to be open to ideas other than my own, and to regularly ask myself, “What am I thinking here, and what evidence do I have for it?” Evidence from various sources, not just one.

So when someone says, “Science says…,” I think to myself: there is no such thing as “science” in the singular. There are schools of thought, disciplines, and methods, each of which reveals a part of reality. And not everything in the human sciences can be captured in controlled, large-scale studies. Grief, leadership, or team dynamics do not exist in a vacuum. A model is therefore a tool, not a dogma. It only becomes problematic when you try to force people into a step-by-step plan that doesn’t suit them.

The insight is already within you

I love the word “insight”: seeing something within yourself. When I train new managers, I notice how often they come in asking, “Am I doing this right?” And how liberating it is to discover that much of what they’re already doing intuitively is actually spot on.

That’s why I see myself as a facilitator rather than someone who comes in to tell them how to do things. I provide frameworks, and the participants make the journey—within themselves and with one another. But an insight is just the beginning. The real work is translating it into action—in your situation, your team, your day.

Below the waterline

A leader who wants to implement change must get others on board. Convincing people by guessing what’s important to them may seem efficient, but it breeds resistance in the long run. It’s better to ask sincerely: “This is my idea. Where do you stand on this? What do you see that I don’t?”

That takes time, and leaders often don’t have that time. I’m convinced it pays off in the end. Resistance that you ignore doesn’t go away. It lies beneath the surface, in people who don’t really understand the direction, who don’t dare to say that something isn’t working, or who eventually leave. A few focus groups beforehand and some feedback afterward on what you did with their input make a big difference. You want to bring that undercurrent to the surface before it becomes a problem.

It takes courage to step into the arena

My favorite quote is from Theodore Roosevelt, whom I learned about through Brené Brown: it’s not about the critic, but about who’s actually in the arena. Two things stand out to me.

The first is that it’s easy to criticize from the sidelines. I try to be selective about which voices I let in. The second is that it’s worth fighting for something you believe in. Then falling once isn’t so bad.

I’ve also noticed that the greatest lessons are found in the stretch zone. Your comfort zone is often farther away than you think, and a good sparring partner helps you see that.

Being Different, Thinking Differently

My journey into neurodiversity began at home, with one of my children. My son was under-stimulated in class and eventually skipped a grade. Naturally, I started reading up on the subject, and what I discovered while reading about giftedness also changed the way I viewed myself. It felt like coming home. I’d felt different my whole life, and suddenly there was a framework that said: this isn’t crazy, this is just a way of being. Being seen is a basic need, and recognition can be a huge relief.

Neurodiversity means that brains are wired in different ways, just as there is biodiversity in nature. Giftedness, autism, ADHD, dyslexia: these are biological variations, none of which is better than the others. According to estimates, about one in five people is neurodivergent, and many don’t know it or don’t dare to say so. So there’s probably someone in every team who fits this description.

In the workplace, I see how often the issue is a mismatch with the environment rather than a shortcoming on the person’s part. What helps neurodivergent people—such as allowing for a different work rhythm or clearer agreements—is usually good for everyone else, too. It starts with understanding and having a conversation: What do you need?

I’m also honest about the flip side. Giftedness is often associated solely with talent, while the challenges are just as real. Being vulnerable takes courage, especially in a context that dictates what a good professional or leader is supposed to be like.

Planting seeds

For me, neurodiversity isn’t just a topic—it’s a mission. I want to help people discover where their talents lie and which barriers they can break down, without having to force themselves into a box. And I want to plant seeds in organizations so that the realization grows: we need to do something with this.

That’s why I’m collaborating with Anne on the Gifted Leadership Program, and together we wrote the book Gifted Leaders. From Taboo to Impact in Gifted Leadership, to be published by Pelckmans Uitgeverij on November 16, 2026.

Curious to know if this is an issue in your team or organization? Call me or email me at info@sarabastiaensens.be or look me up on Linkedin. I'd love to spar!