Category: Diagnosis

  • Some lesser known sides to ADHD

    Some lesser known sides to ADHD

    When most people think of ADHD, they picture the familiar traits of distractibility, impulsivity, and hyperactivity. But for many, these are just one part, albeit a considerable part of something more complex. For many people, there are additional struggles which can appear random or unconnected: unusual levels of muscle tension, restless legs, challenges around posture, battling sleep issues, irregular eating patterns or challenges with specific tastes or textures.

    Research suggests these issues can be connected to how the ADHD brain and body process the world. And this in turn creates an additional layer to how the ADHD person feels, moves, and experiences day-to-day life.

    Understanding this bigger picture can help to explain why people might find it so hard to:

    “Just relax”

    “Just go to bed earlier”

    “Sit up straight”

    “Stop being so picky”

    The research reveals these aren’t failures of willpower, nor wilful disobediences – rather the impact of neurological differences.

    Recognising this can help people make small but meaningful changes to support themselves. Simple adjustments like stretching regularly to ease muscle tension, keeping water close by to counter dehydration, or building routines around sleep and nutrition can all make a significant difference in the day-to-day life of the ADHD person.

    Making sense of lifelong patterns

    This is why identifying ADHD can be such a turning point for so many people. For adults who discover their diagnosis later in life, not only can it suddenly make sense of years of confusion or self-criticism, but it can also begin to link together all those experiences that once felt separate or inexplicable. It can reframe a lifetime of questions and self-blame.

    This clarity can be deeply healing. When people realise these patterns are not personal character failings but features of their neurotype, self-compassion grows. Knowing that they are part of how their brain and body communicate can transform how they speak to themselves. It opens up space to consider what they need, rather than what they think they “should” be able to do.

    From there, it becomes easier to seek support. Coaching, therapy, occupational support, or nutritional advice can all help, replacing years of self-criticism with something far more sustaining: acceptance, curiosity, and compassion.

  • The many faces of ADHD: Beyond the stereotype

    The many faces of ADHD: Beyond the stereotype

    When people think of ADHD, a specific picture often comes to mind: the fidgety schoolboy who can’t sit still, talks too much, never finishes his work, and is constantly in trouble for blurting out answers or ‘messing about’.

    However, this stereotype is just one face of ADHD, but because it has been the face, many other people who are ADHD have gone unidentified and missed out on much-needed support. Think of the quiet child staring out of the window often described as “off with the fairies”. Or the woman whose ADHD only comes into focus later in life, as hormonal changes during perimenopause amplify long-standing struggles with focus, organisation, and overwhelm. Struggle, which social conditioning made her mask and pushed through, never understanding why her exhaustion and periods of burnout kept returning.

    For these people, it is common to only recognise their ADHD after seeing someone else diagnosed. Looking back, they notice a lifetime of unfinished projects, restless energy, feeling different, and maybe frustration at not reaching their potential. They may never have been anything close to the ‘fidgety schoolboy’ described above.

    For many, this has led to a lifetime of judgment, microaggressions, and misunderstanding about their struggles. Over time, this also fosters a harsh inner critic, as the roots of their difference remain unclear even to them, resulting in low self-esteem and limited self-compassion.

    A more complex picture

    ADHD is actually a complex and varied condition. No two people have the same profile. For some, the restless energy is internalised, showing up as racing thoughts or mental overactivity rather than physically bouncing off the walls with what appears to be excess energy. Others present quietly, appearing dreamy, withdrawn, or a perfectionist as they overcompensate to hide their struggles. Emotional intensity, time blindness, and hypersensitivity to environments are just as real as fidgeting or impulsivity.

    In addition to this, woven alongside are remarkable strengths. Many people with ADHD experience hyperfocus – that deep absorption in something meaningful where hours disappear, distractions fall away, and the thing produced is fulfilling, sometimes extraordinary. ADHD minds are often wired for imaginative and creative thinking too – where others see a single path, someone with ADHD might see ten, making unexpected connections and opening up new possibilities for themselves and others. I’ve seen clients light up when they realise that the “tangents” they once apologised for are actually sources of innovation and creativity.

    There is also a particular resilience that comes from living in a world not built for you. ADHDers often grow resourceful, quick to adapt, and courageous in taking risks others avoid. The restless energy that is often seen as a problem can, in a different context, become fuel, passion, and momentum that propel the person and the projects they are involved in forward. Even the much-misunderstood ‘sensitivity’ has another side. It isn’t only about overwhelm; it can also mean picking up on subtleties others miss: the nuance in a conversation, the emotional undercurrents in a room, or the detail that makes a design work. Far from being “too much,” this perceptiveness is often a gift in relationships, creativity, and leadership. And perhaps most importantly, many people with ADHD bring vast amounts of empathy, humour, and warmth. Emotional intensity doesn’t only mean frustration; it can also mean joy, compassion, and connection.

    The danger of stereotypes

    Clinging to stereotypes is not just inaccurate; it can actively harm people. I recently came across a mentor matching service that decided never to pair two ADHD people together. They presented this as a selling point, but what I heard was a black-and-white view of neurodiversity.

    Her assumption that two people with ADHD won’t be able to help one another was deeply flawed. Putting personality differences aside (which, of course, are a factor in any pairing, ADHD or not), bringing together ADHD people is often highly informative. They empathise more easily with parallel lived experiences, even if their challenges are different. They will undoubtedly have lots of strategies and ideas to share. And their support of each other is, in fact, likely to be especially powerful simply because they are both ADHD.

    This assumption that the ADHD person is ‘broken’ in some way runs deep within society’s thinking and the systems built around it. Too often, ADHD is viewed through the lens of its challenges, and the temptation is to focus on “fixing” or “overcoming” neurodivergence rather than honouring it. Yet, as explored above, ADHD also brings great strengths.

    Journeying through diagnosis

    Identifying one’s ADHD is important as it is through this that people can begin to live life in a way which is healthy for them. They can access support, but also, as crucially, they can embrace their amazing skills and strengths, rebalancing their lived experience with self-compassion, kindness and positivity.

    Everyone’s life and diagnostic journey is different, but there are a few common themes. The sad truth is that in the absence of behaviours associated with the ADHD stereotype, many only start looking for a diagnosis when things seem to be ‘going wrong’, when they are struggling more than their peers, managers have suggested there are problems with their performance, or when their mental health is suffering. Hyper-aware of the things they struggle with, their incredible strengths and skills can easily be ignored or simply dismissed as their ‘normal’- so often unaware of them are they, they only focus on the significant impact of their challenges. And society, while perhaps noticing the odd standout moment of brilliance, follows the person around with ‘why can’t you just…’ statements, undermining the brief moments they shine.

    Identifying ADHD can be a game-changer. The identity transition can feel overwhelming, but ultimately can lead to affirming self-acceptance, growth and flourishing as the person understands they are not broken, just different.

    Why this year’s theme really resonates for me

    The Many Faces of ADHD invites us to recognise that ADHD is not a single story but a spectrum of lived experiences. The reality is that ADHD can look like disorganisation and missed appointments, but it can also look like creativity, compassion, and laser focus. Context is everything: what can feel like chaos in one situation can be brilliance in another. By broadening our understanding beyond stereotypes, we challenge stigma and open the door for diagnosis, allowing people to see themselves reflected in the conversation.

    A different perspective

    Like many in the neurodivergent community, I don’t see neurodivergence as something to be managed away. I see it as part of the richness of human diversity. And, because I am neurodivergent myself, I know from lived experience how much difference it makes to be welcomed in spaces where my brain is respected for what it is.

    When people share insights and experiences, swap strategies, or sit with the relief of not being alone, it creates a powerful foundation for a change in mindset.

    As a coach, I see daily how important it is to move beyond the single story of ADHD. When we make space for all its faces, the values, strengths and strategies, as well as the challenges, we create room for people to embrace their identity with greater compassion and find ways of working with, rather than against, their unique brain.

    Embrace every face

    If you’ve ever wondered whether the many faces of ADHD might include your own, or you’re ready to explore what life could look like when you stop fighting against your brain, I’d love to talk.

  • Understanding neurodiversity models

    Understanding neurodiversity models

    When we receive a neurodivergent diagnosis, it can feel like seeing ourselves clearly for the first time. Many clients tell me it brings a sense of recognition, even relief:

    “I’m not broken, just different.”

    But with this new self-awareness often comes something else – a reckoning with the models that shape how society views us.

    What are the models and why do they matter?

    The neurodiversity model recognises thinking, learning, and processing differences as natural and valuable variations in the human experience. This model invites us to celebrate uniqueness, acknowledge strengths alongside challenges, and resist the limiting notion that there is one ‘correct’ way to be in the world. Each neurodivergent person has a distinct profile; there is no single story, no universal experience.

    Alongside this is the social model of disability, which places emphasis on the barriers created by a world designed around neurotypical norms and the impact this has on people whose brains are not wired as ‘expected’. This model states that when environments and expectations exclude neurodivergent needs, it is not the person who is broken, but the system that is unfit. Reasonable adjustments, from this perspective, are not special privileges therefore, but essential steps towards equity and inclusion.

    Then there is the medical model. This describes neurodivergent people as a list of impairments and challenges – viewing the ‘problem’ as residing within them and requires diagnosis, treatment, or correction to align with normative functioning. This model is currently the dominant one in society, and as a result a formal diagnosis is often required to access support. However, it typically reduces the individual to a list of ‘impairments’, describing people as ‘disordered’, overlooking the nuanced reality of their lived experience and having little or no interest (certainly during diagnosis) in the strengths that frequently accompany their neurodivergence – and this is why I, and many in the neurodivergent community, take issue with this model.

    Understanding the models around neurodivergent conditions is important because they shape the way the world interacts with us, what is available to us and how support services engage with us.

    Personally, I am deeply rooted in the Neurodiversity model, and consequently I believe coaching is not about fixing or changing you. It’s about supporting you to understand how you work best, what truly matters to you, and how to navigate life in a way that honours your authentic self.

    For many of my clients, especially those diagnosed in adulthood, the cognitive dissonance that comes from exposure to the impact of each of these models can be both confusing and exhausting – one moment liberating, the next destabilising.

    Neuroinclusive coaching provides a space to make sense of that complexity, to embrace it without fear or shame. It offers a place to ask the awkward questions, to express the feelings which are coming up as you begin to gain clarity and agency.

    Language really does matter

    Take Autism, for example. A diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is still common in clinical settings, but many in the neurodivergent community prefer the term Autism Spectrum Condition (ASC). The difference may seem unimportant, but the impact is profound. “Disorder” implies brokenness. “Condition” is neutral, even respectful. As Meng-Chuan Lai puts it, it:

    “… allows for the idea of being differently wired neurologically, leading to both cognitive strengths and difficulties.”

    Too often, traits associated with neurodivergent conditions are pathologised, while similar traits in neurotypical individuals are celebrated. An Autistic person might be described as “controlling,” while a neurotypical person showing the same behaviour as “decisive.” Someone with ADHD might be labelled “impulsive,” whereas a neurotypical equivalent is simply “spontaneous.” These double standards create invisible barriers and contribute to internalised shame.

    The truth is, we all live with a complex mix of traits and tendencies. Neurodivergent people may experience the world differently – our sensory responses, motivations, social expectations, and communication styles might not align with dominant norms. But when we reframe difference through a lens of strength and diversity rather than pathology, something shifts. And even minor adjustments in our environment or the expectations around us can lead to major improvements in confidence, well-being, and productivity.

    It’s important to acknowledge that no single model totally works. One speaker at a recent webinar put it bluntly:

    “There are two models of ADHD, and they’re both wrong.”

    The Medical model says ADHD is a disorder best treated with medication and managed by professionals. The Social model says society is the problem, and if it made space for us, we’d thrive. The truth is probably somewhere in between. Yes, some of us benefit from medication or therapy. Yes, society creates unnecessary obstacles. Both models hold truths.

    So, where next?

    These models matter because they shape how we see ourselves, how others see us, and what support we believe we’re entitled to. None of them are perfect, but they all influence access to support, the language we use and our lived experience.

    Whether you’re newly diagnosed, questioning, or simply trying to make sense of a shifting sense of self, I invite you to explore these models with curiosity. Challenge them. Question the language, the assumptions, the systems. Because in doing so, we can start to fix the environments we’re in, and we are then in a stronger position to find a more truthful, affirming understanding of who we are and live it.

    Coaching with me offers a space to do just that: to unpack your experience without judgement; to explore what it means to live authentically; and to discover practical ways to move forward that honour your neurodivergence, rather than working against it. If you’re ready to explore how you work best, not how the world thinks you should do get in touch.

  • Identity transition after a neurodivergent diagnosis

    Identity transition after a neurodivergent diagnosis

    Discovering you are neurodivergent, whether through a formal diagnosis or self-identification, can be life-changing. For many, it begins as a moment of profound recognition. But what follows is often less talked about: identity transition.

    Everyone experiences identity transition differently, but there do appear to be some common themes, and it is not unusual to hear people use words like grief and bereavement as well as relief and euphoria in connection with their experience.

    To those on the ‘outside’, these words can sound dramatic. But think about it, the person has just realised the long-held beliefs about who they are could need a whole rethink. Not only that, but there are possible explanations for all the things they have been confused by, all the challenges they have had, which may or may not feel empowering.

    For some people, identity transition is absolutely a grieving experience – they grieve the person they had assumed they were, mourn opportunities missed and hardships experienced, or experience distress about the shift in a future they had hoped for themselves (or indeed all of the above).

    The fact that in many cases they were already asking questions about the way their brain works doesn’t necessarily lessen the impact of these realisations, and like it or not, for many, this forces a re-evaluation of their past, a reconfiguration of the present and a new perspective on what their future might look like.  And just like grief and bereavement, this can stir up a whole host of emotions, sometimes all at once, without warning.

    Life before

    Before discovering our neurodivergence, many of us interpret our challenges through the deficit-based lens that society has peddled our entire lives. We internalise painful messages: that we’re lazy, broken, too much, or not enough. We ‘fail’ at being neurotypical, we try harder, mask, and struggle on. Even if we have not absorbed lots of negative beliefs about ourselves (show me someone who hasn’t, I want to shake their hand), many of us will still have recognised and struggled with feeling somehow different, even if we did not know the specifics of how or why. A diagnosis can come as both a revelation and a rupture. On one hand, it offers a powerful new lens through which everything can start to make sense. On the other hand, it challenges the entire narrative we have built our life around.

    Some people describe this as liberating, others are devastated. One thing is for sure: it is rarely one or the other, and we are pulled between emotions daily. This tension, between relief and grief, validation and new challenges, is at the heart of what the ND community refer to as identity transition.

    A grief cycle

    The emotional experience is sometimes mapped onto the Kübler-Ross model of grief. It’s not always neat or linear, but the stages frequently show up in some form:

    • Denial: “It can’t be that simple” or “Maybe the assessment was wrong.”
    • Anger: “Why didn’t anyone see this sooner?” or “I missed out on so much.”
    • Bargaining: “If I just try harder, maybe I can still fit in.”
    • Depression: “How different could my life have been if I’d known?”
    • Acceptance: “This is who I am. I can work with it.”

    As with bereavement, these phases don’t arrive politely one after another; they crash into each other several times a day, often with no warning, and they can completely derail you.

    For me, there were periods when I couldn’t recognise myself, where I didn’t know what I thought any more. It was overwhelming, disorientating, and lonely.

    Where this experience differs from the grief cycle is that there can also be moments of euphoria, relief, or validation. That rush of “things are starting to make sense” can be exhilarating. But even that can be short-lived. As Cynthia Kim of musingsofanaspie.com wrote:

    “Once the bright shiny new ‘this explains everything’ stage wore off, I started thinking about the other side of being autistic…the challenges I faced weren’t imagined and they weren’t going to magically disappear. They were with me for life.”

    Mourning the ‘old self’

    What makes this process particularly intense is that it often involves mourning a version of ourselves that never quite fit in the first place, but one that we tried so hard to sustain. Many of us shaped our lives around external expectations, camouflaging our differences, and working twice as hard to appear “normal.”

    So the grief we talk about in this transition can include mourning lost time, missed opportunities, and relationships damaged by misunderstanding.

    This period can also surface internalised ableism, those subtle, harmful beliefs about what it means to be different, which we may have absorbed over the years, making it difficult to simply embrace the new information.

    Rebuilding identity

    After diagnosis we need to rebuild. Without guidance or role models, this can feel overwhelming and is why support after diagnosis is so important.

    Unfortunately, all too often, we are left to pick up the pieces alone. Professional support is often not available in a timely manner, and our partners and friends struggle to know how to help. Figuring out a way ahead without support can be incredibly difficult, particularly if we are unaware that identity transition is a ‘thing’ we will all experience in some shape or form, and this on top of everything else we have been dealing with.

    Rebuilding is about stitching together a new identity, one based on truth and self-compassion. It might involve:

    • Reinterpreting the past through a neurodivergent lens
    • Reframing traits or behaviours once described as flaws
    • Connecting with others who share similar experiences
    • Exploring more authentic ways of living and relating

    It’s more than ‘just a phase’, and it’s not always easy.

    What support should look like

    If we recognise identity transition as part of the diagnostic journey, then the lack of follow-up support becomes all the more concerning. Whether this experience lasts months or years, everyone connected with the person needs to understand this isn’t just a ‘difficult patch’, a major psychological shift is happening – it is exhausting, confusing, upsetting, even if it is also liberating.

    Patience and understanding from family and friends are paramount, particularly as we experiment with adjustments and unmasking. We need you to understand that we are the same person underneath, but the way we present may shift. If we seem more neurodivergent after diagnosis, this could be seen as a complement – we feel safe enough around you to unmask, or we have gained confidence to advocate for our legitimate needs.

    Just know

    There is no right way to respond to your discovery. Processing will take time, and it takes as long as it takes.

    There are lots of us who have been there already, seek us out, ask for support – you do not have to navigate this on your own. And there is no shame in asking.

    Coming to terms with a neurodivergent identity is often as destabilising as it is illuminating. One thing is certain, in this process – it is not a linear journey; you will have days where you feel like you are on a rollercoaster, but ultimately, you will find clarity and healing.

    To acknowledge this experience as an identity transition is to give it the weight it deserves. And like all transformations, it needs compassion, time, and the right kind of support.

    If you’re on that path, you’re not alone. And you are not broken. You’re becoming. Your neurodivergent community welcomes you, understands you and celebrates with you.

    Book a FREE Discovery Call