51 Years in the Foothills - ADHD and Me

Imagine the following scenario. You have to carry 50 balls around with you all day, every day. You will be considered lacking in some way if you don't manage to carry your balls. The balls are very lightweight, and fairly small. Everyone has to carry the same number of balls, and no-one else seems to have an issue with it.

The thing is, everyone else has a net. You do not.

Last October, at the age of 51, I was diagnosed with ADHD. I scored highly (if ‘highly’ is the appropriate term) across the board - hyperactive, inattentive and impulsive - and a life’s work characterised by incompletion, unfulfilled potential, executive dysfunction and indiscriminate fuckuppery finally began to make sense.

I felt all the feels, of course. With ADHD it’s not feeling the feels that’s usually the problem. After the first savage stab of vindication (Ha! I knew it!) the emotions came tumbling in upon me: anger; profound sadness; aching regret; even despair. I raged, sobbed and turned over myriad injustices in my mind; countless failures and criticisms, perceived or real (they are one and the same to the ADHD mind – Google ‘Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria’).

Decades of people pleasing, sabotaged life goals and Feeling Everything Far Too Much.

Being considered odd. Intense. Immature. Oversensitive. Awkward. Too full on. Too quiet. An oversharer. An overthinker. Unreliable. Unprofessional, even, in my younger days.

Causing pain to those I love and hating it.

Making terrible decisions without knowing why.

Starting and then abandoning countless projects and passions. (Ceroc, I loved you from the moment we met and some day, when the arse ache of a 30-minute drive no longer stands between us, I swear we will be reunited.)

Living in a near-constant state of overwhelm.

A superpower, you say? Not for me.

Yet ADHD does come with silver linings, two of which I intuitively tapped into when I was at my lowest.

Hyperfocus

The ‘attention deficit’ part of ADHD is a misnomer. The problem with attention isn’t a deficit, it’s an unregulated abundance of the stuff. Without getting too technical, this is thanks to dodgy wiring of a neurotransmitter called norepinephrine, which is responsible for regulating attention and telling our brains where to focus. My messy house isn’t the result of not noticing things or not caring, it’s the result of noticing everything at once and immediately short‑circuiting. A neurotypical brain says, “Pick a corner.” Mine says, “Here are 57 corners, all screaming.”

My husband possesses the enviable ability to prioritise, so he can focus his attention on one thing at a time. It is a joy and a marvel (verging on hot, to be honest) to behold him powering through our chaos like a domestic Terminator. Sadly, unlike me he’s immune to mess-induced implosions, so The Machine only activates when visitors are imminent.

But when something does interest me? That’s when the unwieldy abundance of attention comes into its own. I’ll sit down to write for 20 minutes and resurface at 2 am. I’ll spend an entire day carving a Death Star pumpkin or painting a room without stopping long enough to realise I’ve been needing the loo for hours.

The ADHD hyperfocus is a formidable force, but like a power hose it can be hard to direct. It goes off down its own rabbit holes, often at the most inopportune moments.

Deadline looming? Yeah, but maybe we could go to Budapest this weekend? I’ll check Skyscanner for flights.

Visitors arriving in 10 minutes and you’re in your bathrobe? I’ll get dressed in a minute, I just need to Google how to make a fondant penguin cake topper.

Yes, hyperfocusing can be (and often is) counterproductive, but on the occasions when it does submit to being harnessed it can be a true asset. In the months before and since my ADHD diagnosis it helped me enormously. I've read the books, listened to the podcasts, and spoken to dozens of ADHDers about their experiences. If knowledge is power, mine lies in greater understanding of my wiring, and from that can grow self-compassion and forgiveness.

Connection

Despite my chaotic path through life as a “person of permanent potential”, to quote the great Gabor Maté, I do connection very well – but only if the connection is genuine. I’m socially awkward, suffer from imposter syndrome in many situations, and like many people with ADHD I find small talk utterly draining. For me, life is about meaningful connections with others. Without that, what is the point? Catching that glimmer from another person, that moment when you realise you’re on the same wavelength, is a source of immense joy and fulfilment for me. It tops up my naturally depleted dopamine levels a treat.

When it comes to friendship, I tend to be warts and all or nothing at all, which is one of the reasons some people find me “a bit much”. Not everyone wants to be vulnerable and completely open, but for me this is where true connection is cemented. Sharing the fun times is lovely, of course, but being there for each other through the snot and tears of devastation? That forges something awe-inspiring; profound; mountain-steady.

“Let it all hang out and shake it all about”, says Ruth, my soul sister of nearly 40 years. I think it is no coincidence that Ruth was also diagnosed with ADHD last year. If progression through life can be likened to climbing Everest, I’m still fannying around in the foothills at almost 52 … but I am fully known and deeply loved, which in my book counts for a great deal.

Recently I had the privilege of being interviewed by the amazing Janet Gourand for the influential sobriety podcast Tribe Sober. We chatted about the additional challenges presented by ADHD when it comes to quitting booze - in particular, for women in midlife who were diagnosed late and have been using alcohol as a crutch for many years. Despite some nerves I loved the experience, and look forward to sharing the episode when it airs.