I didn’t realise how noisy my brain was until it wasn’t. The silence and clarity brought by 30 milligrams of elvanse somehow made the chaos of before, louder. Like 3 lanes of motorway traffic running through my brain; a tinnitus of cars, engines humming, horns blasting. A constant cacophony I thought was normal for nearly 4 decades.
There are an estimated 2 million women in the UK with undiagnosed ADHD. Until this year I was one of them. After experiencing burnout that threatened to become a pattern, a therapist suggested that I explore an ADHD diagnosis.
So after a referral and subsequent diagnosis, it turned out I scored highly on the scale. It baffled me to think that the anxiety I was experiencing was not the cause of my crisis, but the symptom of something else. My turbulence was fueled by the fact my brain worked differently to most people’s; I paddled furiously under the water while trying to look serene on the surface. It’s called masking and it left me feeling utterly drained by the end of the working day. I had nothing left to give to my partner or friends.
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I didn’t realise how noisy my brain was until it wasn’t. The silence and clarity brought by 30 milligrams of elvanse somehow made the chaos of before, louder. Like 3 lanes of motorway traffic running through my brain; a tinnitus of cars, engines humming, horns blasting. A constant cacophony I thought was normal for nearly 4 decades.
There are an estimated 2 million women in the UK with undiagnosed ADHD. Until this year I was one of them. After experiencing burnout that threatened to become a pattern, a therapist suggested that I explore an ADHD diagnosis.
So after a referral and subsequent diagnosis, it turned out I scored highly on the scale. It baffled me to think that the anxiety I was experiencing was not the cause of my crisis, but the symptom of something else. My turbulence was fueled by the fact my brain worked differently to most people’s; I paddled furiously under the water while trying to look serene on the surface. It’s called masking and it left me feeling utterly drained by the end of the working day. I had nothing left to give to my partner or friends.
“I paddled furiously under the water while trying to look serene on the surface. It’s called masking and it left me feeling utterly drained by the end of the working day. I had nothing left to give.”
The night of my diagnosis I felt overwhelming relief. The diagnosis gave a different angle to the stories I’d always told myself. It gave a name to a character that had influenced every plot. It layered an alternate perspective. It’s allowed for a self-revisionist autobiography. Things started to make sense and I began to reflect on my past with more empathy.
While I did well at work, there were times I was given well-meaning feedback to be more confident. But it’s hard when your mind freezes in the middle of a conversation, leaving you grappling for a train of thought which was so clear a moment ago – and which would be so clear immediately afterwards. The sense of shame was high. The end result was that I leaned back – it was easier not to speak up, when I couldn’t trust my brain to play ball.
My poor memory made it hard when instructions and decisions were made verbally rather than written down. I would furiously make notes but I’d frequently lack clarity or worry I’d missed something. I struggled to focus in a large open-plan office, in a workplace dominated by a never ending wave of emails and pings and notifications and updates.
“If only I had known that all of this – every bit – the poor memory, the problems focussing, the auditory processing challenges, are symptoms of ADHD. If only I’d known that things I perceived to be personal failings were symptoms of neurological difference.”
I found ways to cope, of course: booking meeting rooms for solo-work, living by my to-do list as a memory crutch, blocking out dedicated times for reading. And I even excelled in this time – promotions, reviews that were ‘above expectations’ for my grade, being headhunted for new roles.
But it’s hard not to think ‘if only…’.
If only I had known that all of this – every bit – the poor memory, the problems focussing, the auditory processing challenges, are symptoms of ADHD. If only I’d known that things I perceived to be personal failings were symptoms of neurological difference.
Unpacking which parts of me are my ‘true’ personality and which parts are symptoms of ADHD is complex. And, perhaps it’s pointless. After all, it’s all ‘me’.
I refuse to be angry about my late diagnosis. Most medical research has been done on white males and this has limited use because females with ADHD present differently*. Slow clap for the patriarchy. But it’s hard not to lament how much easier things would have been if I’d known.
And yet there’s so much about the way my brain works that is positive too. The huge amount of ideas I have, every single day. I have a creative thinking streak that is relentless – give me a problem I will give you 3 solutions. The burning sense of urgency and hyper-focus I get when I’m inspired which leads me to make shit happen. My impatience means I don’t wait to take action – I’ll work single mindedly until I’ve achieved something. And my dopamine-loving brain is always looking for fun, something I have been described as.
I’ve been taking medication for my ADHD since the summer. My anxiety has gone. I can focus in a way I didn’t know was possible. I have a sense of clarity and direction that makes me feel powerful, calm and autonomous. And when things don’t go to plan, as is life, it’s no longer about personal failings – it’s simply a fact.
* Read more on the gender data gap in Caroline Criado Perez’s book Invisible Women.
This is the first one!
Published tomorrow!