It’s only the last few years that I’ve actually realised my brain works a little differently from other people’s; more recently still that I’ve had the language to explain how. For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt on a different wavelength to many other people. I’ve struggled with certain things (forgetfulness, selective attention, impatience, speaking out of turn) but assumed that basically everyone did this, and maybe I was just poorly socialised in my childhood or something. As I grew up, I evolved workarounds to maintain a façade of acceptable behaviour (I monitor myself in conversation to make sure I don’t interrupt or go on tangents; in a pub, I position myself so I don’t get distracted by a TV; in a work meeting, I make notes and doodle to keep my brain engaged on what I’m listening to…). Some of these are so deeply ingrained that I don’t always realise I’m doing them. Some of them seem strange and idiosyncratic to others. All of them take some effort, and can falter when I get tired, distracted or overwhelmed.
A few years ago, when a friend mentioned his own ADHD diagnosis, I started to join some dots. I started learning about neurodiversity. I was referred for an assessment by my GP, and, some months later, was formally diagnosed with ADHD.
While it made a lot of sense, and was very validating, I see the diagnosis as a ‘new chapter’ rather than full closure. It has helped me reframe a lot of my idiosyncratic behaviours as coping mechanisms. Rather than compensating for a flaw, I’m adjusting for a difference. I can’t emphasise enough how profound a shift this is. There are three parts to this, happening in tandem:
1. Self-management: As inferred above, I grew up holding my behaviour on a tight leash, which is common for people not diagnosed until adulthood. The pressure to ‘pass’ as neurotypical can lead to anxiety and the extra effort can be exhausting. While it’s probably not desirable or even possible to drop the mask entirely – even the most ‘liberal’ work and social environments only really tolerate quite a narrow band of acceptable diversity – self-knowledge is instructive, and helps me conserve energy and stop relying on anxiety as a motivator.
2. Acceptance: I used to be very judgmental of any failures to act ‘normally’ – both for myself and others. If I ever slipped up and did something ADHD-ish, like losing my keys, or missing an appointment because I got wrapped up in something, I’d hate myself for it and spend ages agonising afterwards. This certainly still happens a bit, but I’m much more understanding and compassionate to myself. It also gives me confidence to perform on my own terms, and to stop looking to others for social and behavioural cues of what ‘normal’ should look like.
3. Growth: If I’m less motivated by a fear of exposing weakness, I can more easily recognise and build strengths. I have a clearer idea of what I need, and I can be more honest about when I need help. If I do need support, it’s much easier to advocate for myself and my needs when armed with more accurate language – and, if I need it – a piece of paper from a psychiatrist.
There are strong parallels here with LGBT self-acceptance. Masking and being in the closet are similarly constricting experiences, and joining a proud and visible community is a decisive move towards freedom and empowerment. Working out how to pursue a life of greater fun and meaning in an authentic way is not by any means a linear process, but it feels clearer now than it did four years ago!