Getting my ADHD diagnosis at the age of 27 derailed my life. Within a year of being told I had ADHD Inattentive type, I argued with one of the giant conglomerates in the veterinary industry, quit my job to go freelance, questioned everything about myself and lost most of my confidence. I’m still trying to decide if I did all that because the diagnosis made me learn more about myself or because I had a meltdown due to my emotional dysregulation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m better for it. I’m proud I stood up for myself when my needs were not being met, and I’m happier working for myself. However, it’s been a long journey (that I am sure is not over) to understand precisely what ADHD means for me: past, present and future.

I mourned for younger Demi when I finally had an answer to specific struggles I experienced. The words' not meeting her potential’ from every school report since I was eight are burned behind my eyelids forever. My intelligence was never questioned, but my inability to focus drew a conclusion of carelessness rather than a cry for help. I was disruptive for being chatty and opinionated for answering back, so obviously, I was deemed beyond help. I also couldn’t seem to maintain friendships easily. I put my all into people and would do anything for them because I cared about them, so I was confused when I’d find out they’d talked about me behind my back (I was too intense, weird, and annoying) or decided to boost me out in favour of the ‘hilarious’ boy who relentlessly bullied me for years. I eventually learned to cut people off quickly, protecting my fragile emotional state and promoting an armour of indifferences as an act of self-preservation.

Although I didn’t flourish in school, I did well and managed to get a pretty good career out of it. University wasn’t for me, and I didn’t have the help to get me there anyway. An apprenticeship to become a registered veterinary nurse became my life. I threw myself in deeply and consumed little else than my anatomy textbooks and drug calculations. Looking back, I know I was hyperfocusing, which means I’m not surprised I couldn’t keep it up for long. When the rose-tinted glasses came off, I became more aware that I was not only being taken advantage of in my new workplace but actively bullied. Locked into a contract where I had to finish my training, my mental health plummeted. I cried every morning and sometimes threw up. I’d pop a Solpadeine even when I had no physical pain to make the day bearable. I couldn’t even cry when I found the head nurse and receptionist bitching about me on the practice iPhones. I had no suspicion of ADHD back then, but I still asked for accommodations and helped make my day more manageable; I was told I wasn’t trying hard enough and was lazy. Earlier in the bullying timeline, my boss shouted at me so badly I cried on the spot - something I hadn’t done since I was a child, as I’m usually excellent with confrontation. My lack of focus was really tested when he sent me a 3-page email over the weekend detailing my incompetencies (whilst also telling me not to pout and throw a strop in response to his words). I was so anxious about Monday morning that I put my phone back into my bag without zipping it up, causing it to be stolen within minutes. For years, I beat myself up for not paying attention, even in a distressed state. (there’s a happy ending. I convinced all the student nurses under me to leave early in their contract as i did. The lack of staff meant my ex-boss ran the business into the ground and had to sell to a company he absolutely detested!)

I feel emotions intensely, which is all part of that emotional dysregulation I mentioned earlier. Outside of my lack of focus, it’s the part of ADHD that I hate the most. I react as intensely as I feel, which I now know isn’t the most logical of responses to neurotypical people. It’s affected many relationships, and I’m so traumatised by it now that making new relationships is triggering and something I avoid. My brain is too consumed with other things. My lack of organisation is absolutely in the top three. Sure, it’s '“cool” that my brain works and processes things differently from others. Some may say that it makes one unique, but I see it more like being an outlier. Despite increasing numbers of people suspecting they have ADHD, the world is still very much built for the neurotypical brain. From schools to workplaces, from doing your food shop to submitting your tax return, the most minor task can be unbearably terrifying. Speaking of money, let’s talk about the ADHD tax! People with ADHD are more likely to have issues with money. Whether that’s from overspending due to impulsivity or poor memory and organisation, making us lose things or miss deadlines resulting in extra costs or fines. A lot of shame surrounds the topic of money, and as a grown adult, it can be embarrassing to admit you budgeted poorly or forgot to fill in a form. The only benefit I’ve gotten from this tax is discovering I can be a creative liar when necessary.

My own ADHD tax impacted my education. Struggling with time management made me late to most classes. I would feel so embarrassed about being late that I’d sometimes skip the class altogether to avoid feeling shame. My attendance in college was so poor that I was almost thrown off the IB course I had to fight my case to get onto. The ADHD tax also manifests as an emotional cost. We can all agree that from a young age, our educational success determines our self-worth. In year 6, some kids will be applying for grammar schools, and in secondary school, there’s the problem of subject “sets” and if you’re going to sit a higher or lower paper for your GCSEs. In college, I applied for the International Baccalaureate. A challenging course where you study 6 subjects full-time over two years, alongside 60 logged hours of physical activity, community service and creativity. There’s also a compulsory philosophy class and a 4000-word extended essay. Easy, right? I almost didn’t have the correct chemistry grade to get on the course, but I was determined to prove to my teachers and myself that I wasn’t lazy and would not only do well but also meet my potential. I wasn’t one of the intelligent students in high school, and teachers didn’t take the time to understand me or my struggles (except my English teacher, Miss Mukherjee - I got my A*’s, and I love you!). I don’t necessarily blame the teachers for not recognising my ADHD, but more so the pressure of the school system, ableism, and racism.

I didn’t pass the IB. I got my certificate and even got high grades in most subjects. As a points system, you need a minimum to claim you ‘passed’. The attitude of my lecturers was worse than in school, and they made sure to let me know that at 17 years old, my educational success rested solely on my shoulders. I was heavily disappointed that I didn’t pass because it cost me my place at university, but what disappointed me the most was how easily I was written off. I saw this happen to Black students a lot. They were always the troublemakers, whereas the white children were misunderstood, and their behaviour was excused by their going through a difficult time at home. I often think about some of the Black kids that could’ve been neurodiverse and how quickly they were punished or kicked out; there were no second chances or help. Black children are severely underdiagnosed with ADHD, and being part of that statistic doesn't make getting my adult diagnosis feel empowering. I needed the diagnosis during my formative and developmental years, and I know my life would look very different to how it does now. I’m not bitter about it, trust me! I am grateful to have answers and learn how an ADHD brain works so I can implement different strategies and coping mechanisms to make the world fit around me rather than me fit around it. It’s still a journey I have to do alone, though.

The NHS would only fund medication or therapy following my diagnosis. Medication Is not a fix or cure for ADHD. During my end-of-titration review, my psychiatrist told me I must work with my medication rather than expect too much from it. I have to do all the work, and the meds clear the noise to let me do that. However, if you pop the pills and wait for a miracle, you could worsen your symptoms. Therapy would be helpful here, as I don’t know how to “do the work”. I trust my gut, but I still feel like I’m taking steps backwards regularly. I haven’t made as much progress as I’d hoped I would 19 months in, and I am back on antidepressants to help with the emotions surrounding that. Accessing and organising private therapy as someone with ADHD is a good joke. I’ve had the idea bookmarked for a year, and I still don’t know what I want because the decision-making process paralyses me, thanks to executive dysfunction. That makes me the villain of my own life rather than a superhero.

Having ADHD may not be my favourite quality, but my diagnosis does have upsides. It has improved my existing relationships and my work life due to me being more open about my needs and boundaries. My fiance and family recognise when I am overstimulated or need help. It’s easier to bring awareness to my requirements and triggers being self-employed so I can enjoy my work without fearing being shouted at or losing my job. I’ve become more honest with myself about my capabilities and emotions, which led to me asking my psychiatrist about my suspected Autism. Obtaining an ADHD diagnosis in the current climate of the NHS is like a golden ticket, with the prize being a Zoom meeting about your trauma for an hour instead of a visit to Willy Wonka’s factory! Getting to the other side of the line is already hard enough, but if you’re awaiting assessment and manage to secure a diagnosis, remember this: you are allowed to grieve, be angry, confused, upset and frustrated. You can think that ADHD is debilitating, restrictive, and a hindrance. Acknowledging that doesn’t mean you won’t try, so complain until you feel better.

Having ADHD doesn’t have to be your downfall, but it also doesn’t have to be your superpower.