Not publicly, and not in interviews. I hear it in quieter, one-to-one conversations, usually when frustration has built up over time. They will say things like, “I’m just lazy,” or “I can’t seem to get organised,” or “Everyone else manages this better than I do.” These are athletes who train relentlessly, tolerate physical discomfort daily, and operate under constant evaluation and scrutiny. Lazy is rarely an accurate description. And yet it is the label many reach for.
High-performance environments are physically structured and tightly managed. Training sessions are planned meticulously, recovery is monitored, nutrition is tracked, and performance is analysed in detail. Cognitively, however, these environments are demanding in ways that are less visible. Athletes are expected to manage complex schedules, process continuous feedback, regulate emotion under pressure, switch roles quickly, navigate selection uncertainty, and often plan for life beyond sport. That is a significant mental load.
For some athletes, particularly those who are neurodivergent, this internal load can be even greater. Executive function differences, working memory strain, and cognitive fatigue are not visible from the outside. What becomes visible instead are the outcomes: timekeeping slips, administrative tasks are avoided, details are missed, or overwhelm presents as disengagement. When behaviour is visible but mechanism is not, the interpretation can quickly shift to character.
This is where bias quietly enters the system. Words like “lazy,” “unprofessional,” or “doesn’t care enough” close down curiosity. They imply that the issue is motivation or attitude rather than context or cognitive difference. In elite sport, we would never explain repeated soft tissue injuries by concluding that an athlete is simply weak. We would investigate load, biomechanics, and recovery patterns. Yet when behavioural patterns repeat, we often skip the same level of investigation. If an athlete repeatedly “isn’t getting it,” that is data. The question is not what is wrong with them, but what is getting in the way.
Neurodivergence. including ADHD, autism, dyslexia, and related differences are not rare in high-performance environments. In fact, many traits associated with neurodivergence can be strengths in sport: hyperfocus, intensity, creativity, risk tolerance, and high energy. These strengths, however, can coexist with challenges in task initiation, planning, sequencing, emotional regulation, or managing cognitive overload. Without awareness, those challenges are easily misinterpreted as lack of discipline rather than difference in processing.
When athletes internalise those interpretations, the consequences extend beyond logistics. Confidence erodes. Anxiety increases. The narrative shifts from “this is difficult” to “I am the problem.” Over time, that self-perception influences performance, engagement, and help-seeking. What began as a difference in cognitive style becomes a wellbeing issue.
This is why awareness and access to assessment matter. Assessment is not about labelling or lowering standards. It is about clarity. When athletes understand how their brain works, conversations change. Rather than telling someone to be more disciplined, we can ask what system would help them execute consistently. Rather than attributing lateness to carelessness, we can explore what practical adjustments might remove friction. Accountability remains, but it becomes achievable rather than abstract.
Coaches and leaders set the tone for these conversations. If the language in an environment is judgement, athletes learn to hide. If the language is curiosity, athletes are more likely to engage and seek support. Neurodiversity awareness is not a soft addition to performance culture; it is part of intelligent leadership. It recognises that behavioural patterns are data and that sustainable performance depends on understanding the mechanisms behind them.
If an elite athlete is describing themselves as lazy, something deeper is worth examining. Talent is rarely the issue. Effort is rarely the issue. More often, there is a mismatch between expectation and support. When we replace labels with investigation, we create environments that are both high-standard and humane. That is not a compromise. It is good coaching.
Dr Emma Burrows 