Ten Things I Learned After My ADHD Diagnosis

That I wish someone had told me about first.

Quite apart from the whole Right To Choose shenanigans and the actual logistics of it all, I experienced a lot of unexpected outcomes from being diagnosed as neurodivergent. For starters, learning a whole new vocabulary connected to it, but luckily it’s most ADHDer’s first official hyperfocus, amirite? The entire field of neurodivergence.

Unsurprisingly, quite a few of my friends have since been diagnosed, and I’ve had this conversation so often that at this stage I’m considering just putting all this into a PDF for them all. Which is why I thought it might be useful for you.

Ten things I should have expected after my ADHD diagnosis

1. You can’t predict when, but the grief will come.
   For every interaction you got “wrong” but couldn’t understand why, for every deadline you missed, for every time you were ghosted. You gather up school reports and rehash your trauma, in exchange for that doctor’s letter and a label. The teachers’ comments hit differently now: you’re not a daydreamer, you are trying to focus, and you will “live up to your potential” if you’re given the scaffolding you need. That grief can be visceral and it’s appropriate to mourn the way things could have been, for as long as you need.
   

2. Some friends will disappear.
   Bastards. No, really, ultimately you will know you’re better off but it still bloody hurts. As do the ‘but you seem so normal’ and ‘we’re all a bit ADHD though,’ comments.

3. Unmasking is FULL ON
   Not everyone can, or is safe to unmask themselves and drop the public persona they’ve adopted in order to survive in a neurotypical world. I will say that I think being in your crone era helps here - I was already at the point of giving fewer fucks and then medical menopause and turning fifty catapulted me onto the Crone Throne. A few years’ time and I’ll be like one of the old hags knitting beside the guillotine.
   

   To that point, I started knitting during boring Zoom meetings and maybe I was channelling my inner Granny Weatherwax, but there were very few comments.

   

   Photo by Lance Reis on Unsplash

4. Meds are not magic beans
   You won’t suddenly be slaying giants - or maybe you will be. One friend said it was such a relief to take a pill and have the constantly scrolling ticker tape in her head just disappear. I’ve lost count of the women who’ve been in tears after starting on meds, saying “is this how everyone feels, all the time?”
   
   Incidentally that reminds me of how cross my older brother was when he finally succumbed to an eye test and the much-needed very strong prescription specs. “Is this how everyone sees all the time?”
   
   To some degree, yes. But you get a lot less shit from people for wearing glasses - or, y’know, taking insulin, or statins - than many people experience around taking stimulant meds to calm their minds. But side effects outweigh the benefits for some people. They don’t solve everything. (Read on for a suggestion on something - four things - that can really make a difference and you should be doing alongside meds)
   

5. You’ll see your past differently
   Oof, this is a biggie. I honestly think that everyone should be offered therapy, as much as meds, when they’re diagnosed. I’ll just say - there’s a lot to unpack. Journalling helps. You may also find catharsis through speaking to family or old friends who are receptive to your diagnosis, to look at past events through this new lens.
   If loved ones come out with the “there was never anything wrong with you” line: (a) true but also (b) they are probably on the defensive because your normal was/is their normal and they don’t see anything wrong… so maybe leave that for now while feelings are still new and raw.
   

6. It’s so freeing
   Not at first. Maybe not with everyone. But when you starting to understand how your murder board beautiful brain functions, you can work with it rather than against it.
   

7. The Four Pillars matter
   Living in our culture of toxic productivity often means we value producing over tending to our fundamental needs. I can see the face you’re making, but rest, rejuvenation, eating and sleeping are genuinely foundational and frankly, meds, therapy, all the other good stuff is pretty much the cherry on top of the Pillars Sundae. And just the cherry won’t keep you going. Soz.
   

8. Resistance is part of the process
   Resisting change before getting to acceptance. The most useful book I read soon after diagnosis wasn’t one about ADHD, it was Tara Brach’s Radical Acceptance. Blew my mind, and reinforced everything that I then learned in therapy. It helped make sense of a lifetime of low self-esteem (fuelled by not understanding my brain) which was incredibly debilitating. Read it whether you’re neurodivergent or not.
   

9. Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater
   That’s a really weird expression, isn’t it? How common was it throw infants away when discarding the contents of the bath? One recently diagnosed friend is, contrary to many ADHDers’ experiences, incredibly organised. Like, the woman is a professional organiser (and not a minimalist, she’s brilliant.) Not only did she thrive in an area that we often find really challenging, she’s turned it into a career. She built structure for herself that she instinctively knew she needed, and you probably have some tricks up your sleeve already. Call them hacks, or tips, or survival skills: make sure you hold on to the things that work.
   
   At least until you get the urge to shake everything up again, in about three months time. That’s a thing too.
   

   

   Photo by Daniella Garcia on Unsplash

10. Follow the dopamine
    Should be general advice for anyone I think, but if in doubt about any choice, especially if you’re thinking “what will So-and-So think”:
    
    wear the clothes that bring you joy,
    read whatever the hell you want,
    decorate your surroundings for you right now rather than anyone else,
    and express your truest self.
    
    You’re a work in progress and that’s precisely how it should be. It might be that you started off as a pensive mallard and now you’re a preening flamingo, or a roundy wren who’s about to morph into a sleek raven. You. Do. You.