I walked into my ADHD assessment looking for answers, and walked out with more questions.

Sharing my story in a safe space.

I would like to start by asking you a favour?

Please be kind as I navigate this conversation. I’m sure it will be less like a neatly formed essay and more like a brain dump. Nevertheless, it still feels scary. Maybe because it’s raw and still happening, and maybe because it might raise questions that I certainly don’t have the answer to right now. I am not a health professional, or anything even close.

All I can talk about is my lived experience. 

I’m just a 32-year-old woman, navigating life with a messy brain and an open heart. A mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, a hot mess. I’m sharing my experience in case it makes someone feel less alone. 

That makes it worth embracing the fear.

It’s not necessarily something that I’ve talked about in depth with my community for this reason. I don’t feel like I have a ‘right’ to, whatever that means. There’s also the fear that comes with any type of honesty. The fear of rejection. The fear of being ‘too dramatic’ or looking for attention for likes and views. My sensitive soul fears that the most. 

As long as I can remember, I’ve felt different.

But if you asked me ‘how’ specifically? It would be very hard to explain. I just always knew. In a busy house of 8 other people, I often felt isolated and alone, even in the presence of so many people. I felt like an alien, completely disconnected from the environment around me. I was having a conversation with my mum recently and she said “You loved school and had lots of friends!”

I didn’t tell her (or anyone) half of the things that I was feeling at the time. Because often I just didn’t have the language to express it. From the outside, I probably was a happy and smart kid, but the inside felt very different at times. 

I was labeled stubborn, anti-social, weird, moody. My dad’s affectionate nickname for me (and still is at 32) was Dopey. Because I seemed to live in my little bubble. A daydreamer, a fantasy-maker, ditzy and soft.

I loved learning and excelled in school. I was endlessly curious, an avid reader, and loved to write stories at an early age. But the social side of it? It gave me major anxiety.

Some nights I’d feel sick about going to school, or I’d lie awake worrying about what somebody had said that had hurt me (even though it was probably innocent). I hated any type of attention like receiving certificates. Sports day was a nightmare, with all of those spectators and expectations.

And yet, over time, I learned that if I wanted to come to school and learn every day, I kind of needed to make friends. This was a long game. I have vivid memories of walking around the playground holding the teacher’s hand, while she tried to encourage me to interact.

At home, I felt safe in the presence of my siblings and had an imaginary dog called Daisy (RIP, love you). Creativity was an escape from my worries. Writing, drawing, making bracelets, and creating potions in the garden. I loved nothing more than being a maker and keeping my hands busy to quieten my brain.

Even though I felt different, I learned how to fit in.

I recognize this now as a Neurodivergent trait called mirroring, where people imitate their friends to fit in and avoid rejection and give them a sense of belonging. 

By the time I entered high school, I was slowly mastering the art of mirroring. I dressed like the other girls, dated boys, attended parties, listened to popular music, had a solid group of friends, and excelled in the creative subjects that I enjoyed. 

But I still felt different. 

In my twenties, I began a deep journey into personal development after a Depression diagnosis, a string of bad breakups, and many unsuccessful jobs. I thought it was a healthy journey. But looking back, I was obsessed. Obsessed with being ‘fitter’ as I qualified as a PT and changed my body. Obsessed with being more ‘spiritual’ as I connected with practices like meditation and manifestation. Obsessed with fixing myself.

By the time I was 27 and became a first-time mum, I felt like I had enough tools in my arsenal and had done enough ‘inner work’ to navigate the journey.

I was wrong. Motherhood just reiterated to me that I had no clue what I was doing. 

3 years, a pandemic, and 2 children later, I was reaching breaking point again. 

How had I spent nearly 10 years studying self-help, even qualifying as a mindset and emotional regulation coach to ‘fix’ my problems and yet every day, more problems seemed to appear?

After doing everything I could to navigate life as an overwhelmed mum of two who was suffering from emotional meltdowns and was overwhelmed every single day, I was referred for Counselling.

She helped me to navigate some of those difficult emotions whilst encouraging me to look at learning more about emotional regulation tools. In some sessions, all she’d do is listen and say ‘that sounds really hard, it makes sense that you’re feeling overwhelmed.” That was all I needed to hear. 

She helped me in releasing the shame around my emotions and helping me to cope with the stress of being a mum of two young kids. The regulation tools helped improve my quality of life and I started sharing them in my community to help others too.

But something still felt missing. 

On my worst days, I’d question my entire existence, feel like a terrible mum, and feel like I was unable to cope with life. I had experienced Depression before, and this wasn’t it. Even on my darkest days, I would still find joy in the smallest things. A kiss from my toddler, a hug from my husband. I had plenty to live for, and in that sense, I loved my life and felt hopeful.

But I would watch everyone around me, on social media, and think ‘What’s wrong with me? How are they doing this?’ Some of them had 2+ kids and I could barely manage a visit to the park without having a meltdown because they wouldn’t listen.

I was constantly forgetting things as big as leaving my car keys in the ignition overnight and as small as forgetting the kids’ Doctor’s appointments. Even when I would make reminders on my phone, I’d dismiss it and forget.

The daily little things felt huge, and the huge things didn’t bother me. I could have a meltdown over a spilled drink but not feel any sense of fear if my kids fell badly. I felt distant in my relationships, frustrated at how I felt so many big emotions inside and yet I could not get the words to come out of my mouth, my throat sore as I swallowed the words down.

It would take all of the energy within me to start basic tasks like cleaning and if I was interrupted, I’d feel angry and couldn’t get back into flow. I was hyper-focused on things that interested me to the point of near obsession, completely unfocused on the mundane, and struggled to even follow simple instructions (flat-pack furniture? No thank you).

I often felt restless, anxious, and constantly felt the need to be ‘doing.’ 

It wasn’t until I saw an article about late-diagnosed ADHD in women, that I began to tick off all of the boxes.

I called the Doctor one day after a meltdown, desperate for help. I was crying, and struggling to get my words out. His reply was “I think you’re just an overwhelmed mum, that doesn’t mean you have ADHD.”

I put the phone down immediately, feeling ashamed. So I was just incapable of raising my kids? This is ‘normal’? 

It took me another 6 months to try another Doctor.  Thankfully this time, they validated my concerns and referred me for a diagnosis. It was a long wait, so in the meantime I got to work on regulating my emotions, discovering more about ADHD and how I could prioritize my needs. 

16 months later (just last week) I finally got an appointment with the psychiatrist and this is how it went. 

I was nervous and didn’t know what to expect. He explained to me that there would be two sets of 8 questions as he started to get some background info about my childhood, living situation, and past relationships. Some of the questions I didn’t quite understand, so asked him to repeat them for clarity. I didn’t want to get this wrong. I felt like I was back in school.

After about 90 minutes of talking, he confirmed that I do have many symptoms of ADHD but would need supporting evidence from my parents to corroborate until he could make a diagnosis. That felt a little bit frustrating. I’d never even told my parents about any of my struggles, particularly as a child so my concern is that they’re not going to understand what goes on inside my brain. 

But then the most surprising conversation followed. 

He informed me that the first set of questions was actually an Autism screening test and that I had scored highly. I was surprised by the fact that the screening was done because I wasn’t aware it was something they’d take into account.

But there was a big part of me, that wasn’t surprised by my score and he didn’t seem too surprised either. 

As I’ve learned more about ADHD, I’ve also come across articles about the cross-over with the Autism spectrum and how many women had a combination of both. 

He asked if I had anyone in my family with Autism, to which I explained that there wasn’t anyone with a formal diagnosis. He explained how it’s genetic, which got me thinking.

I’ve always pointed out to my husband the Neurodivergent traits in my kids. I don’t necessarily know how I know, it’s just something I’ve picked up on intuitively. The psych explained that if I was Neurodivergent, it was highly likely that one or more of my kids would be too.

Things all started to make sense. 

I asked what the next steps were and he explained that he could proceed with an ADHD diagnosis if he had the corroborating evidence from my parents. He said we also need to try and rule out other diagnoses like PTSD which has similar symptoms to ADHD. 

Since the childhood that I experienced points more to Autistic traits, it could be the case that due to it being undiagnosed, it has caused significant trauma in terms of abusive relationships, lack of self-worth, etc and that could have caused PTSD. 

I asked how long an Autism diagnosis would take, and his response was disappointing. 

He said that he could refer me to the Autism department but due to NHS waitlists, it could take years to get a formal diagnosis. He was supportive and kind and said that because of this, a lot of people feel validated with self-diagnosis and referred me to some useful websites to learn more. 

I left the appointment with so many questions, and one of the first people I messaged was my friend Amber who is AuDHD. She didn’t seem too surprised either and sent me a really useful checklist for Autism traits in women.

I checked off a large portion of them.

I spoke to my husband when I got home, and he just asked ‘how can we support you?’ (we love a supportive man).

So, here’s where I’m at currently.

I honestly have no clue what the future will hold. I spent the next few days feeling lost and confused. This feels like a huge realization and a big validation. But it still leaves so many questions unanswered.

Do I go ahead with a formal diagnosis for Autism even though it would take years and lots of potentially intense tests? 

Do I just self-diagnose and learn how to prioritize my needs better? This feels more comfortable to me. But the thing is, I would love to share my journey. Self-expression and creativity are huge values for me. I’ve been sharing my journey honestly with my online community for nearly 5 years now and it’s given me such a sense of belonging.

However, having done more research into social media accounts of women who self-diagnose due to the waitlist being so long, I’ve witnessed some awful ableist behaviour. People comment that self-diagnosis isn’t valid. That ‘everyone has autism nowadays’ or people complaining about a TikTok diagnosis.

But the truth is, there are a huge portion of women in their thirties and beyond, like me, who have grown up their whole life feeling different and have never been able to explain why.

Now we have some sort of narrative and feel a huge sense of relief that there isn’t anything ‘wrong’ with us, our brains are just wired differently. And yet the support is incredibly limited and waitlists are impossible.

Shaming women who have spent their whole life masking their Neurodivergent behaviours as a means to stay safe, fit in, and not feel any more emotional trauma than they already feel is a huge problem. 

And one that I don’t think I could stay quiet on. 

As I’ve journeyed through building an online community, I’ve always received the same type of messages from women. ‘Thank you for being so honest.’ The truth is, I don’t know any other way to be. I was often told as a child that I would say ‘inappropriate’ things but to me? It was just how I felt. I feel so much that often it just spills out and I can’t help but express it to make sense of it somehow.

Expressing my feelings whether it’s through writing, journaling, movement, creativity, sharing online or just chatting with my husband, is imperative to living a life of peace for me.

I overthink, I get so anxious, and tangle myself up in thought spirals that I feel like I’m drowning. Expressing it in some way feels like a life raft.  

And nobody has the right to take that away from me. 

I think that I owe it to myself, the younger version of me who struggled, and women in my community who might be experiencing the same thing to be as honest as I can about my experience. 

I’ve got another appointment with the psychiatrist next week so I will be doing a part two with any updates on a diagnosis. Since the conversation last week, I’ve already been doing lots of research on what it means to be Neurodivergent and how I can better support myself. 

Lots of the tips and advice have already worked wonders, which I think in itself is the main thing.

The women that I’ve spoken to openly about this have asked questions like “Do you need the label to accept that this is just who you are?” And my answer is yes and no. I feel like a diagnosis would help massively in my confidence in sharing my story and also asking for accommodations in work and relationships. 

But also, not really. This is who I am.

All of these traits and nuances in my personality and behaviours just make me, me. I don’t necessarily feel like I need a label to affirm that. But knowing that I’m different, and that’s not my fault, is hugely validating for me. 

This feels like another spiritual awakening. The Neurodivergent awakening as my friend Amber calls it. I’m so grateful that the Universe brought me to this place, and I truly believe that it was for a reason.

So that’s me. 

Sensitive. Deep-feeler. Creative. Lover. Crier. Meaning of life explorer. Loves to be aloner. Oversharer. Neurodivergent. 

I will be sharing my journey going forward, but please feel free to drop me a message on Instagram - and let me know if this resonates with you! It would be lovely to know that I’m not alone. 

I have dropped some links below if you feel like you want to explore more.

Autism information »

ADHD information »

Thank you for your kindness and compassion.

Sophie xo