At 34, with a law degree in my back pocket and a management role that required me to juggle deadlines, team dynamics, and strategic planning, you might think I had it all figured out. On the surface, I was performing well, basking in the glow of professional success. I had built a life based on precision and perfection, an intricate balancing act fueled by my own carefully crafted coping mechanisms.
Come into 2020 when I became a mother. My brain was a constant state of chaos and confusion. I thought this was the baby brain that everyone would talk about. A constant hum of anxiety and brain fog that I thought everyone experienced, a struggle to navigate social landscapes, an acute sensitivity to even the smallest criticism —these were aspects of my existence that rarely made it to the forefront. As a child, I learned to read social cues like an analyst picking apart a case, but it never came naturally. Friendships were often efforts rather than connections.
And then, motherhood came crashing into my life in the most beautiful yet chaotic way possible. My son, a bright light in my life, turned out to be autistic and ADHD. As I dove into the world of parenting, the penny dropped when I realised that my own mask began to crack. Where once I felt capable of keeping it all together, now I was facing the raw realities of managing emotions, sensory overloads, and the additional efforts of my child’s unique needs.
I noticed the little things… certain sounds that made him anxious, his struggles with transitions, and his brilliance in thinking outside the box. But my own responses to the pressure of motherhood started to manifest in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I often felt overwhelmed, anxious, and, more importantly, I started to pick at my skin and bite the insides of my cheeks. My carefully constructed facade slowly started to flutter away.
The thought brushed against my consciousness: what if I, too, was neurodivergent? But surely, I couldn’t have ADHD. After all, I had a good job and a high performer. 5 years later, I decided that if I could understand myself better, I might better support my son.
I stepped into my GP's office nervous to explain the reason for my visit. But what unfolded during that appointment caught me off guard. The first words out of her mouth were, “I don’t think you have ADHD because you are successful.” I wasn’t sure how to respond at that point. I knew all too well that success didn’t equate to mental ease. It was like being a juggler who expertly keeps all the balls in the air, all while feeling the chaos beneath my skin.
I pressed on, sharing the internal battles, the coping strategies that felt like double-edged swords. After a thoughtful pause, my GP agreed to refer me to a psychiatrist, taking my concerns seriously - a small but important victory.
Two months later, I received an official diagnosis: ADHD, inattentive type. It was surreal, almost a relief. Finally, a name for the chaos! The pieces of my life puzzle started falling into place. The fidgeting, the social struggles, the susceptibility to criticism - all part and parcel of ADHD, and not just residual traits of being busy or complicated.
I realised that the world often sees success in black and white, failing to appreciate the vibrant array of colours in between. It became evident that my journey was not just about managing my own neurodivergence but also about understanding and embracing it.
My memories of fidgeting in classrooms and in meetings now seemed like small hints from my brain reminding me to be engaged, and the social struggles I once ignored transformed into a gentle nudge towards self-acceptance. More importantly, embracing my own ADHD would empower me to guide my son through his journey, navigating the waves of his neurodivergence with empathy and understanding.
The road ahead isn’t going to be without its bumps, but armed with awareness and strategies, I feel ready to unravel more layers of my identity. Here’s to embracing imperfection and finding strength in vulnerability. After all, every fantastic legal argument starts with laying out the facts, and the truth of my journey is worth sharing.