When I received a diagnosis of ADHD several years ago, it wasn’t a lightbulb moment or a wake-up call. It was more like a quiet, knowing nod.
Technically, I was diagnosed with what used to be called ADD. It’s worth noting that the term “ADD” is no longer used in diagnostic manuals like the DSM-5. Today, ADHD is recognised as an umbrella term that includes different presentations, including the predominantly inattentive type, which is what I was diagnosed with.
Though I didn’t score highly for hyperactivity on paper, people who know me well might challenge that. As a child, I had boundless energy. I was up early, running downstairs, and rarely stopping. My mind moved just as quickly. I was constantly thinking, processing, absorbing. At times, it felt like my brain might burn out altogether.
Risk-Taking and Impulsivity
Impulsivity and risk-taking are well-documented traits of ADHD, particularly in childhood. Looking back, that was certainly true for me. I climbed trees, roofs, jumped across brooks, and found adventure wherever I could. Consequences rarely entered my thinking. My childhood felt like a fast-moving obstacle course that never slowed down.
School: Not Built for Me
School was difficult. Sitting still, focusing, following rules. None of it came naturally. I retreated into a world of fantasy, fiction, Jedi knights, and elves.
Maths remains a challenge even now, bringing a sense of anxiety. But English offered an escape. Books allowed me to step into other worlds, which felt far easier than understanding my own.
ADHD in Adulthood
Adulthood brought its own challenges. I carried low self-esteem beneath a layer of performative confidence. Like many, I turned to coping strategies that masked the internal noise. Alcohol, drugs, and risk-taking behaviours became part of that pattern.
At the time, I didn’t understand the link between ADHD and issues such as addiction, anxiety, or depression. I only knew that something felt different, and often overwhelming.
Finding Meaning Through Counselling
Personal therapy helped me gain a clearer understanding of myself. This led to a greater acceptance that I wasn’t bad or terrible.
Counselling training later became a turning point, a crossroads in my life. It gave me a space to reflect, to understand, and to make sense of my experience.
The very traits that made school difficult became strengths. I could make connections quickly, notice patterns, and hold multiple threads in mind at once. What once felt chaotic became something I could use with intention.
Changing the Language
Over time, I’ve moved away from seeing ADHD as a deficit or a disorder in a negative sense. Language matters. Words like “deficit” suggest something missing. “disorder” suggests something broken.
My attention isn’t absent. It just works differently. It’s driven by interest, urgency, and meaning.
This perspective aligns with a broader neurodiversity approach, recognising different ways of thinking rather than pathologising them.
Speed as a Strength
My wife, who identifies with Asperger’s, often describes her experience as a kind of superpower. It shapes how she sees the world.
For me, that strength is speed. My mind processes quickly, making connections across ideas. What once felt like chaos has become more organised over time, more like a coordinated system than a collection of competing voices, although at times this comes at a cost, through overwhelm
Embracing Who I Am
I still experience anxiety. I still feel overwhelmed in busy environments. Sometimes I withdraw when I’ve had enough interaction.
But I no longer see these as flaws. They are part of who I am.
In many ways, ADHD allows me to be more. More creative. More intuitive. More present in my own way.
It’s something I’ve come to understand more clearly over time, particularly in how ADHD shows up in everyday life.
So I'm left with words that I heard in a movie, the geek in me reflecting “It is my curse. It is my gift. Who am I?” (Spider-Man, 2002)
Sincerely Yours,
Paul