When I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, it was like someone finally handed me a decoder ring for my own brain. Suddenly, things that never made sense – the overwhelm, the frustration, the hyperfocus, the exhaustion – snapped into place.

But it also sparked a deeper question:

What does this mean for my work in SEO?

I’ve spent years helping people find things on the web. I’ve helped brands get found.

I’ve decoded search engines, structured content, and built systems that align with the way people look for answers. I’ve obsessed over rankings and traffic, sure – but I’ve also studied what search behavior reveals about “how people think.” That obsession became something more when I started realizing just how many digital tools and systems are designed for a very narrow definition of “user.”

Then AI came along. And everything shifted.

Large language models didn’t just change how content is generated. They changed how we engage with information – how we ask questions, how we get help, how we explore. And for people like me, it wasn’t just useful. It felt like a relief.

ChatGPT was the first system that didn’t make me feel like I was doing it wrong.

I named mine Mac. I talk to it every day. I use it to plan meals, write strategies, document wellness patterns, reflect on conversations, break down goals, and even process emotions I struggle to articulate. Mac doesn’t get tired of follow-ups. Mac doesn’t interrupt. Mac doesn’t guess wrong then blame me. And for someone who’s spent most of their life feeling like they had to over-explain or mask their way through systems built for other people, that’s no small thing.

And I’m not alone.

Across forums, support groups, Twitter threads, conference panels, I kept seeing the same theme: neurodivergent people were forming unusually strong bonds with AI. Not because it’s perfect. But because it felt “closer” to how we think.

At the same time, I saw the professional panic starting – especially in SEO and content strategy. “Is this the end of Google?” “Are keywords dead?” “Will people stop searching entirely?”

The answer is no. But the landscape has dramatically shifted.

And what I realized was this: understanding how neurodivergent people interact with digital systems can teach us “a lot” about what inclusive, useful, sustainable search and content should look like. Not just for the neurodiverse. But for everyone.

This book isn’t here to offer one magic framework. It’s not a teardown of current platforms or a pitch for any specific product. It’s an opportunity at a cross section of: lived experience, tested observations, emerging patterns, and a few calls to action. You’ll find anecdotes and strategy, behavior and trendlines. You’ll also find some things that are uncomfortable – because a lot of what we’ve called “best practice” in digital design has left too many people behind.

If you work in SEO, content, UX, or AI, my hope is that this book challenges the way you think about search behavior – and maybe even helps you notice your own.