Here's my 'lived experience' of ADHD, 4 years after being diagnosed.
Being diagnosed with ADHD is complicated, because you expect a solution. ADHD medication, coaching, books, podcasts, courses, and social media vortexes - it's like being given a thread to follow, except there is no end. Cheesy as it sounds, there's just the journey of self-acceptance.
It's only recently that I've realised the imposter syndrome in not being a medical professional or academic expert that I feel 99% of the time is actually my value. Not only does it drive me to learn consistently, but it's also accessible: there's nothing as authentic as lived experience.
So here's a little insight into what having ADHD is like for me, 4 years after being diagnosed & 3 books later:
1) Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria
It's very hard to explain a medically proven 'extreme sensitivity to rejection' to someone who doesn't have it, but ridiculously easy for every person who does to immediately 'get it'. RSD feels like the dream when you turn up to work and realise you forgot to put clothes on, every minute of every day. You're waiting for the penny to drop and for someone to say, 'how did we make such a big mistake?!'
A recent example of this is presenting for a company where my laptop froze, so I couldn't see the screen, but they could see and hear me. I couldn't use the slides I'd spent hours perfecting the day before whilst sitting on the floor of a train, and so I had to wing the entire thing whilst having an internal panic attack for 1 hour. I had multiple messages telling me how brilliant it was, during and afterwards, and coaching enquiries from attendees, but still somehow managed to beat myself up afterwards for hours, to the point of thinking I should never, ever do talks or maybe anything related to ADHD ever again.
I knew I was being completely irrational, but it felt like every single negative thought about myself was being blasted from a speaker inside my head at the same time. It can feel uncontrollable, until it passes. Fortunately I managed to do the reframing strategy I coach my clients on (here), and was back giving talks a few days later.
RSD can have a debilitating impact on your life - especially if you don't know what it is. Before I was diagnosed, I could've easily quit entire jobs or ended relationships on a whim as a result of these feelings. It's much better now, but I doubt I'll ever know what it's like not to secretly worry that I've been invited somewhere by accident.
2) Struggling with the 'little' things
My ADHD has always manifested as being able to do objectively 'hard' things like learning entire academic years in weeks and getting A's in exams easily, but seriously struggling to do objectively 'easy' things, like updating an excel spreadsheet or going food shopping.
It's like I've figured out the autopilot formulas for doing things like writing books or talking on television, but not for taking cups out of my room, washing my clothes, cooking meals, or exercising. I can get into routines, and then I fall out of them. I can spend weeks crafting organisational systems, and never touch them again.
I need support as much as my clients do, because even though we can learn strategies, we don't magically stay using them every day. Fortunately, the UK Government provide funding for this through Access to Work, so I'm very fortunate to be surrounded by a brilliant team. It took me over 2 years to learn about this after being diagnosed, but would have made the world of difference to me in my early 20s. Back then, being unable to do 'little things' destroyed my life, because I was far too embarrassed to tell anybody or ask for help, so they simply went undone, causing big problems.
3) Being a workaholic
Once I learned how to create stimulation and work for myself by writing books, I didn't stop. This is how I've written 3 books in the last few years, alongside having a full time job in mental health and immigration law during the pandemic: I did it for 'fun'. I figured out how to get myself into the 'hyper-focus' flow states of intense concentration that accompany ADHD, but I really struggle getting out of them, which can lead to burnout.
In our productivity-obsessed society, this might sound brilliant, but it's really not. The things you achieve don't mean much, because you feel empty inside, despite knowing you 'should' be feeling happy. When I finish writing books, I feel dread instead of relief, because I don't know how I'll fill that gap of time. Huge 'life achievements' become nothing more than ticking check boxes on a to do list: you're onto the next goal.
Being unable to relax as a 'human-doing' is extremely unfulfilling, despite what it might look like on the outside. I'm working really hard on trying to manage this and live a healthier, happier life - you can read more here.
4) Constantly seeking out dopamine distractions
Despite taking medication for ADHD, my brain is still on a near-constant dopamine hunt. I make less impulsive decisions these days, but still find myself signing up to stand-up comedy courses on a whim or spending hours scrolling on my phone as my bedtime routine. Having ADHD requires regular management of this dopamine magnet inside my brain, to check it's not overdosing on social media, sugar, alcohol, novelty, or anything else.
Being self-employed, I have to consistently check in with myself and try to start my days with a task I don't 'want' to do first, before I run wild on the ideas, creativity, strategy, connections, and passion. ADHD impacts our ability to prioritize, so I have to make extra efforts to do so.
It can feel like having a toddler in the control room - except in comparison to before I was diagnosed, at least they're not now always in control. The compromise is feeling pretty low without the dopamine highs, so having to try and train myself to access these in more wholesome ways, such as by doing yoga every morning, or redecorating my bedroom, instead of my life.
5) All or nothing thinking (literally)
Taking ADHD medication helps me to think through options instead of catastrophizing over small decisions, such as what to eat for breakfast. However, I can still often find my brain in a maelstrom of thoughts about completely pointless and unrelated things. It feels like the scene in Harry Potter where letters are being pelted through the Dursley's house through the post-box, chimney, windows, and every available slot - like having 500 thoughts at the same time. It helps to write these down on my Notion page called 'brain tabs' and work through them systematically.
In contrast, I can also find myself acting on autopilot a lot of the time, wondering how I've ended up in the situations I'm in. I have to stick strictly to my routines of planning ahead my days and weeks, otherwise I end up jumping from block-booked meetings to meetings, realising far too late that I've somehow scheduled 4 things at the same time.
This is a constant battle of self-awareness (which is neurologically impacted by ADHD), but learning about it has helped me to understand how to manage it. It's incredibly effective to have a coach mirror my decisions back to me and hold me accountable, and a virtual assistant to help me implement my boundaries - including remembering what they are!
6) Talking about ADHD
Ironically, I'm not sure I'd have spoken openly about my ADHD or learned any more about it, if I wasn't bullied in relation to it by someone shortly after diagnosis. It felt sort of awkward, and then became mortifying, as I tried to figure out what this new label meant to not only me, but other people.
I wrote ADHD: an A to Z to try and learn about this by myself, which I ended up publishing through having ADHD coaching, and then immediately regretting in stamping ADHD on my forehead forever. Yet somehow, months later, I was talking to companies like Microsoft about it, and training to become an ADHD Coach myself.
ADHD is now my all day, every day (except for modelling, which is a nice rest for my brain). It's significantly impacted my relationships with other people, some because of the stigma they have towards it, and others, because I've finally 'found my tribe' of people who think like me. It's about as difficult telling some people I'm an ADHD coach as it is that I'm a model, because it feels like I've got to constantly prove it.
Personally, the number one way I'd describe having ADHD is that it can be lonely existing in a tornado of your own thoughts, and being unable to communicate this to other people. One of my brilliant clients said it's like having 'patchy wi-fi signal', which I think is an excellent metaphor. One moment we might be super-hyper-whizzy-optic, and another we might be out of service.
Ultimately, the things I try to remind myself are:
you are not alone
the way your brain is wired is not your choice or fault - but you can empower yourself by taking responsibility for it
nobody has everything figured out
there is no magic 'fix' that will suddenly transform anybody into being constantly happy
ADHD is a label, but we attach the meaning to it
you have value and deserve to be here
it's okay to ask for help if you're struggling
There's no magic 'cure' to ADHD, but by accepting it, there is a light throughout the tunnel. There's the waking up every day and working with what you've got, instead of trying to beat yourself into submission of being 'normal'. There's the opportunity to learn about how to pick yourself back up when you fall off track, and the understanding that you don't have to do this all by yourself.
I think of having ADHD as like being extremely tall: it's just part of who I am. It has positives (like a life filled with extraordinary, exciting experiences) and negatives (like being judged by other people), but ultimately, I try not to overthink it!
Thank you for reading this - if you've made it to the end!
For more of my 'lived experiences', read ADHD: an A to Z
To talk about coaching, book in a call here
If you want to learn more about ADHD at work, check out ADHD Works.