ADHD - attention deficit hyperactivity disorder - is top of mind (it literally affects the frontal lobe of the brain) for many people these days. It seems like every second person has been diagnosed, is waiting to see a psychologist or psychiatrist to be assessed, or is wondering if they should be asking more questions about their shocking attention spans and chaotic approach to life.
Like a lot of people, my diagnosis was through my child. As part of her ADHD diagnosis, I provided lots of information about our family’s mental health. After talking to the clinical psychologist for what seemed like hours, she urged me to investigate the diagnosis for myself. ADHD tends to be hereditary and appears to have strong genetic links, she advised. How rude, I thought. I already had a bunch of labels - depression, anxiety and addiction - and I wasn’t impressed about adopting another.
But after intense research (is there any other kind for a person with ADHD?) and a lot of flashbacks from a childhood littered with memories ranging from report cards by teachers lamenting the fact I would not stop talking and distracting others, to constant injuries from daredevil behaviour, it was time to admit I was a classic case of ADHD.
My life started to make sense in a way it never had before (actually it had never made sense in the first place). The gigantic emotions that swamped me, the inability to regulate my behaviour in just about every life circumstance, my struggles with relationships, school and jobs, it was all there in great big neon flashing lights. You’re ADHD and that’s why you’ve always been so weird, the sign flashed. Okay, so that wasn’t a particularly helpful internal narrative but you get the drift.
Besides the charming, quirky side to ADHD - there is indeed a personality type of someone who can be funny, witty and brilliant in a crisis - it also has a devastating dark side. Statistics strongly point to people with ADHD being far more likely to experience depression, anxiety and substance abuse. What, I asked? Am I stuck in a This is Your Life episode? I decided I needed to make friends with this condition before it did any more damage to my already dramatic and challenging life.
Does everyone with ADHD need medication?
I’m not a psychiatrist so I certainly can’t answer this question, but I asked my own shrink and she said something along the lines of:
“One in three people with ADHD will outgrow the condition in adulthood, one in three will still have ADHD in adulthood but manage to function by learning ‘workarounds’, and one in three people will need medication because their life is unmanageable.”
She determined that I was a person who hadn’t outgrown ADHD but managed to function pretty well with the ‘workarounds’ I had developed. Because I appeared to effectively run a household, parent and manage to work, medication wouldn’t help me, she said.
From a purely medical point of view, I was functional but from my point of view, I had barely been holding on, desperately trying to pretend I had it all together. I was very good at this, which is called masking. It basically means I can present enough of a good picture to the world to trick it into thinking I’m normal, which is utterly exhausting and often ineffective. In my head, my thoughts were like pinball – it felt like there were 30 radio stations on at once, and I’d lost the remote. I deserve an Oscar for the performances I have given, acting like I was cool, calm and collected. I felt more like a crack-addled squirrel most of the time.
At that point, the ADHD diagnosis felt more like a kick in the teeth than a panacea. Well this is what is wrong with you, but there’s no cure for it, kind of thing. A great cloak of grief, shame and remorse hovered around my memories. How different could my life have looked if I had been diagnosed as a child? Would people have treated me differently? What would it have been like if I hadn’t hated myself for my shortcomings? Could I have achieved all the dreams I had failed at? It was a sad and frustrating time.
Gradually, I realised I was actually a superhero for surviving in a neurotypical world as a neurodiverse woman. I started to recognise my often-criticised intensity as a superpower. Nothing can stand in my way if I am interested in doing something, thanks to hyper-focus, which provides incredible amounts of energy and focus when activated. This ability is now being recognised by employers as highly desirable. (I’m for hire, contact details below!).
A few years down the track, I feel l’ve positively integrated my neurodiversity into my identity. Our family happily wears the ADHD badge and we support each other, patting each other on the back for our amazing superhuman feats, and holding each other up when we crash and burn, in classic ADHD style.
If you want to chat about your ADHD diagnosis or have questions about getting one, contact me by booking a Discovery Call.
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