Assessments, Answers & Acceptance: ADHD & Autism

It is currently 8.12am, and I am waiting for an Autism assessment at 9:30am. I am not sure what to do with myself.

It's a very bizarre feeling to have so much of your life leading up to a conversation with a stranger, who has the power to tell you whether your suspicions are correct. Who can look into your brain better than you can, and change everything you know about yourself in an instant.

It's also ironic, because I spend so much of my time helping others through these situations as an ADHD Coach. I know how these 'labels' can change your entire life, give you an entirely new understanding of yourself and your identity so far.

My life so far has been very obviously separated by 'Before ADHD Diagnosis' and 'After ADHD Diagnosis'. Before, my life was absolute chaos. I was a completely different person, lurching from one chaotic situation to the next. It felt like I had nothing tethering me to the earth, as I watched everybody else do what they were 'supposed' to do.

I grew up just understanding that I was weird, and unlikeable. I remember being bullied at school and realising that I just needed one person to sit with, so I wasn't alone. I didn't understand why my very existence upset others so much, such as the fact I was extremely tall or had a lisp or lost my belongings. I knew that whatever life was, I was failing at it.

This led me to become an extremely vulnerable young woman. The 'friends' I had were those who made me go out clubbing until 7am at age 14, screaming at me when I wanted to go home and making me sleep in the corner of the club. I was groomed by men who picked me up off the floor of clubs and showed me kindness - for a second.

I was forced into a career that I can only accurately describe as trafficking and exploitation: where I was made to lose weight, get undressed in front of strangers, and do things I didn't want to do. I didn't even want to model at all, but I couldn't say no to anything. It felt like everybody else knew best.

I went to university and studied law, because that's what society said I 'should' do - a 'good' degree that would make me money. I became extremely depressed at university, seeing how my future seemed to be getting a corporate job and living to work - not the other way around.

It felt like I was 5 steps behind everybody else, who returned from summer breaks talking about their 'vacation schemes', which I had to Google. I quickly learned that the world of 'normal' employment was off limits. No matter how many applications I'd send out, I was rejected repeatedly.

I scraped internships from sympathetic parents of partners or people on modelling jobs. I worked for free for anybody who'd have me, including the man who was having his hair washed next to me at the hairdressers. Every day felt like waking up and feeling like I had no control over my life, like I was already too old, like I'd already wasted it, and seeing everybody else finding it so easy.

I spent an entire year keeping myself alive by a thread. I would convince myself to just hold on for one more day, to just try out this yoga class, to apply for 5 more jobs and if I got rejected, then I could fast forward and end it all. I imagine it's very difficult for anyone who hasn't experienced the horror of waking up every day wishing that you hadn't to fully understand this.

In my early 20s, I was terrified of doctors and the medical world. I was brought up to believe I was just being dramatic and making everything up whenever I felt unwell. This stigma kept me suffering in silence for years, until I eventually was fully honest with a psychiatrist. I wanted to know how it was possible for someone to have ALL of the conditions, including depression, anxiety, bipolar, borderline personality disorder, etc. He said I had none of those: I had ADHD.

I burst out laughing and said I had a real problem, not ADHD. He said I had really bad ADHD.

Although I didn't accept it at first, that conversation saved my life. It opened up a little door for me to go through, to learn about things like Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria and to feel relief in realising that I wasn't the only person in the world who felt like this.

Learning I had ADHD enabled me to more effectively force myself to be 'normal', because I had confirmation of my areas of struggle. It meant that when I finally managed to get a law job, I was taking no chances: I rented a flat over the road for an 8 month fixed contract. The rent was over half of my salary, meaning I had successfully blackmailed myself into not quitting.

However, I didn't bank on realising that maybe I wouldn't actually want to. I was so obsessed with being normal, that once I finally managed to force myself into that box, I realised that it wasn't so bad on the outside. I realised that an ADHD diagnosis wasn't a tool to make myself fit in, but an invitation to finally be myself.

6 years on, and I still burst out laughing when people introduce me and my 'achievements' since then. A best-selling author of 4 books, trainer of companies like Disney and Google, an ADHD coach (and trainer of other ADHD coaches), retreat runner... it is endless. That ADHD diagnosis didn't give me magic pills that enabled me to write books or qualify me to train the people who I doubt would have ever employed someone like me.

It gave me permission to trust myself and enjoy my life. To not worry about the future, because it's okay to only perceive time as 'now or not now'. To find people who were kind to me, and accepted me. To start using my voice, instead of silencing myself, assuming that I was wrong.

Autism first came up for me when I sent a close family member 'ADHD: an A to Z' to proof-read, and they said they it had inspired them to get an Autism assessment. Since then, I have coached endless amounts of people who are Autistic and ADHD. Until 2013, people were only able to be diagnosed with ADHD or Autism - but now we know there's a 50-70% co-occurrence.

I've procrastinated over going for my own Autism assessment for years. I've had to untangle the ingrained stigma of the diagnosis within our society (such as the ability to get visas in Australia), to the newer stigma of it being 'a trend'. I believe self-diagnosis is valid, and emphasise this to those I meet: you do not need a confirmation from a stranger to validate your experiences. Your struggles are valid.

An assessment process is also not fun. It's like an exam where you don't know what the right answer is - where you're overthinking your entire life experiences, and whether you're making it up to 'seem' a certain way, or whether it's valid.

However, my life has become more and more impacted by what I consider to be my Autism symptoms of late. I do not want to end up like the relatives I no longer speak to, whose (undiagnosed) Autism symptoms have meant they are alone in life, frustrated at finding themselves constantly misunderstood and cutting off the people who care about them.

Who never got the chance to understand why they shut down during arguments, unable to speak, and unable to explain what's in their head. Who would be so passionate about social justice and fairness that they'd destroy their own life in the process, not realising the impact this had on others. Who'd get sensorily overwhelmed and lash out, instead of be able to make accommodations for themselves.

They are unlikely to ever reach the point of going for an assessment themselves and having this understanding, ironically due to a belief that neurodivergence is all made up.

In recent months, I've seen myself have a screaming meltdown in an airport when I got lost, panic attacks at group gatherings, and repeatedly sensorily overloaded. I've seen myself end relationships without understanding or being able to explain why, only later on being able to recognise that this was due to being overwhelmed in the moment.

When I look at how my ADHD assessment changed my life, I wonder why I would deprive myself of this same sense of understanding and acceptance for how I relate to others, the world, and myself. I imagine that it's something to do with the fear of being told that I am indeed making it all up, that it's all in my head, that I'm just 'weird'.

So: I am not really looking forward to the 3 hour assessment. I kept finding myself Googling it before beating myself up about 'studying' and masking. I knew the best thing to do in preparation was 'nothing'. However, I couldn't do nothing - so I've ended up writing this.

I hope this has helped you to feel a little less alone, and to give an insight into why someone may seek out an assessment for a neurodivergent condition. I have no idea what lies ahead of today, and no idea how my life will change.

Maybe it help me to understand myself better, maybe it'll spark off a new book (or mean I have to re-write the entire ADHD: an A to Z book), or maybe it'll simply be an answer.

The reality of our society is that these assessments are gate-kept. It is a privilege to be able to pay for an Autism assessment, and to have been able to find assessors who I can trust, specialised in Autism and women (Autistic Girls). On the NHS, Autism and ADHD assessment waiting lists are years long, or simply not available in some parts of the UK.

I really hope that there's a path in our future to a society that doesn't require these labels for us to feel 'validated' enough in our differences to feel that we finally belong. I hope that there's a society ahead of us that is neuro-affirming, where we can show compassion and understanding to one another, regardless of how our brains may work differently.

Every one of us has a part to play in this, whether we're neurodivergent or not. It's not about dividing, categorising and labelling people: it's about acceptance.

Join our Neuro-Affirmative course in October here.