I’ve always felt my emotions more than those around me. When I’d fall over on the playground, the graze on my knee wouldn’t just warrant tears, I’d scream and panic. When a situation becomes stressful, my thoughts become more and more irrational until I burst and surrender to exhaustion. On the flip side, when I’m happy, I fizz with joy and can’t sit still. “How could I have ever felt sad?” I’ll think to myself.
This intensity hasn’t gone unnoticed, despite my best efforts to mask it. Teachers described me as “overly sensitive”. My parents admitted to walking on egg shells around me. Friends, partners and even those I’ve just met have pointed out the ferocity of my emotional tide. Sometimes it’s pushed people away, often it’s earned me labels of being “dramatic” or “too much”.
For years, I searched for an answer. Thyroid tests came back normal (imbalances can affect your emotional state). I exercised more and improved my sleep and diet, but nothing changed. I asked doctors if I could have bipolar disorder, but my moods weren’t severe enough and always in response to a situation, rather than episodic. I concluded that I was sensitive at heart and that, maybe, there was something wrong with my head.
Last year, at the age of 29 (after answering “yes” so many times during a two-hour assessment that I began to laugh), I was diagnosed with ADHD. I was surprised. Others weren’t. “You didn’t know you had it?” a friend of ten years responded. “I knew from the moment I met you.”
The jigsaw started to take shape. I live life at double speed, pore over small decisions I struggle to prioritise and exist in a perpetual state of either losing or forgetting something important. The only puzzle piece still missing was my emotions.
To help me understand my condition, I inhaled Your Brain’s Not Broken by ADHD coach and professor Dr Tamara Rosier. Relief washed over me as I read that emotional dysregulation – the struggle to manage the duration, intensity and speed of emotion – is a core feature of ADHD. The answer I’d been tirelessly chasing. But why did it take so long to find?
The American Journal of Psychiatry has published research showing that emotional dysregulation can affect 30 to 70% of adults with ADHD, yet the UK’s NHS webpage for the condition doesn’t mention the word emotion once. Dr Rosier, who was also diagnosed with ADHD as an adult, speculates that research tends to focus on symptoms relating to executive function (the cognitive skills that enable us to organise, remember and manage our time) because they are more obvious and concrete for study. (Emotional volatility is a symptom of numerous conditions and relies on self-reporting.) “It’s the reason I wrote my book – my clients felt horrible due to emotional dysregulation and nobody else was writing about the emotional weight of ADHD,” she says.
In the past, I was told I had depression, anxiety and PTSD (Dr Rosier says this misdiagnosis is common, especially for women). While I’ve experienced symptoms of all three, ADHD was never on anyone’s radar, largely because of the narrow stereotypes that are used to define it.
I was well-behaved and well-performing in school, so I didn’t fit into the “naughty boy” category. My adult life looks put together, juggling two successful careers, solo travel and a packed social calendar. All require scheduling, coordination and timekeeping, so how could I possibly have ADHD?
The reality is, nobody sees how much harder I work than a neurotypical person to achieve them, and nobody feels the inescapable shame and guilt I feel when I do something like lose my keys again.
Dr Rosier points out that our “internal guardian” – the voice we create early on to remind us not to forget things or to pay attention – gets meaner as we age, punishing us when we inevitably mess up. For the growing number of adults being diagnosed with ADHD, this causes us to spend too much time asking: what’s wrong with me?
The answer, I’ve found, is nothing. ADHD is a difference the modern world isn’t built for, and a “number of factors”, explains Dr Rosier – from genetics to lifestyle choices, past traumas to our support systems – can influence how it presents itself day to day.
It’s an understatement to say I wish I’d been diagnosed sooner. But I’ve found comfort in the fact that, despite persisting inaccurate stereotypes and sensationalist headlines – that ADHD is trendy; a lazy excuse – perceptions of neurodivergence are changing; conversations in real life and online are chipping away at the stigma.
Our “internal guardian” – the voice we create early on to remind us not to forget things or to pay attention – gets meaner as we age, punishing us when we inevitably mess up
Take the painfully long waiting times for an assessment (up to 15 years in some parts of the UK). They’re a product of this shifting tide: more of us are waking up to the possibility that ADHD could be playing a part in our lives.
As a journalist, my ADHD makes the writing process – including this article – ten times harder. For Dr Rosier, there were times when publishing her book was a struggle. That’s why she doesn’t describe ADHD as a “superpower” – but she does point out that the symptoms we feel inhibit us in some areas become strengths in others.
My divergent thinking may lead to distractions and rabbit holes, but it also makes me an idea generator; able to approach topics from unconventional angles. My spontaneity may translate as chaos, but it allows me to think quickly on my feet. My emotions can overwhelm me and my loved ones, but they also allow me to understand, empathise and build stronger relationships.
Life with ADHD is a rollercoaster and, sure, there are times when I want to get off. But instead of berating myself for being on board, I’m slowly learning to put my hands up, scream and enjoy the ride.
