19. June 2026
ADHD - the "diagnosis"
Just before my 59th birthday, I was diagnosed with ADHD. Full disclosure: no doctors were involved in this diagnosis. But one of my best friends, Mia, was. Before you roll your eyes (as I did), you should know: she’s not just any old best friend. She has known me for 36 years, and is a mental health nurse – which makes her more than qualified to make the diagnosis.
We were having a conversation about the fact that both my adult kids had recently been diagnosed with ADHD, when she casually threw this in the conversation: “You’re ADHD as well.”
I was genuinely shocked, and more than a little offended.
And then I went home and mulled it over. I opened my laptop to do some research. This took a while though as I had three browsers open, each with at least 12 tabs, and before I could get to the research I found myself building a new website as well as editing one of the three books I’m writing.
It would be another six months before I was to agree with her. But only because it took me that long to digest and accept that my brain was not “neuro-typical”. I had no idea what that term meant but I knew I didn’t like it. I don’t think anyone wants to hear that they are “neuro-diverse” – it suggests a hint of – well, diversity. We all want to belong, don’t we? Diversity suggests we are different.
I actually quite like the term neuro-diverse now. I looked up the definition and this is what it said: Neurodiverse describes a group of people who have a wide range of different brain types and cognitive functions. Rather than viewing neurological differences as diseases or flaws, the neurodiversity concept recognises that variations in how human brains think, learn, and process the world are natural and should be embraced.
Isn’t it strange how sometimes it takes someone else to point something out about you before the penny drops? I have gone my whole life feeling misunderstood. I still feel that (because that, too, is a symptom of the ADHD mind), but what is different now is that I forgive myself for being “different”. By “different” I mean loud, a little chaotic, impulsive, bad with money.
Knowing that my brain is wired differently means that, instead of looking back and feeling guilty, or regretful, or sad that I am so I understand myself.
Speaking of money, when I say I am bad, I cannot even convey how bad. I am absolutely disgraceful.
I have managed to go through my life with very, very little in the way of income, and a lot, a lot of debt. I don’t do jobs. I do businesses. They rarely work out – I am way too scattered; too impatient; too rash. But I live a pretty good life. The last time I flew, I flew Business Class. I own a lot of really nice clothes and shoes. And sunglasses. I really love designer sunglasses. I buy the best skincare. I do not go without anything. I could write a book on how to get through life with this plan. I probably will write that book. I don’t think you should read it, though. It will be terrible advice – like, have no fear of debt; buy whatever you want, whenever you want, whatever the consequences. Get lots of credit cards and loans.
Writing this now, I kind of like all these things about me, although I don’t think my husband would agree. Not because he has to bail me out – my debt is my own – but the decisions I have made have been disastrous for us financially . I literally sold our house and spent all the money within two years, on a whim. Look, I know this is really terrible behaviour in a marriage. Had it been him who did it, I doubt we would still be married.
I don’t see the point in getting an official diagnosis. I don’t intend to take medication for what I see as a superpower - albeit one that has led to a few questionable decisions in my life. Let’s call it a superpower with a side of chaos.
I’ve managed to build a life, a business or three, and raise two children with this brain of mine, so I’m not exactly struggling to function. But what I am doing - now, finally - is understanding. And that, it turns out, is everything.
After Mia diagnosed me, once the initial indignation wore off, something else crept in. Recognition. Not all at once, but in flashes. The graveyard of half-finished projects suddenly looked less like failure and more like … a theme. The constant stream of ideas. The way I can focus so intensely that I forget to eat, followed by opening the fridge and having no idea why I’m there.
It’s not chaos, as such. It’s just very enthusiastic thinking.
For most of my life, I assumed everyone’s brain worked like this and I was just particularly bad at being an adult. Disorganised. Easily distracted. Slightly allergic to routine. Absolutely diabolical with anything to do with money. But it turns out I wasn’t failing at normal - I was operating on a completely different setting with no instruction manual.
There is something mildly annoying about discovering, at 59, that you’ve been playing life on “hard mode” without realising it. You do start to wonder what might have been different if someone had pointed it out earlier.
Then again, would I actually swap it?
Probably not. Maybe. I’m not sure.
Because this same brain is also the reason I can come up with ten business ideas before breakfast. It’s why I can connect things other people don’t see. It’s why boredom feels physically unacceptable and curiousity is basically a full-time job.
ADHD isn’t really an attention deficit. It’s more like having 47 tabs open, three of them playing music, and no idea where the sound is coming from - but you’re weirdly productive anyway.
“Oh look, a squirrel!” sounds like a joke, but it’s actually a lifestyle. My brain is constantly spotting things - ideas, patterns, opportunities, snacks - and insisting they all deserve immediate attention.
Exhausting? Yes.
Useful? Not always, but mostly.
The difference now is I’m not fighting it quite so much. I’m working with it. Building systems that suit me, forgiving the unfinished bits, and leaning into the parts that actually work.
And laughing. A lot.
Because if you can’t laugh at the fact that you opened your laptop to research ADHD and somehow ended up redesigning your entire website, ordering something you definitely didn’t need, and Googling whether squirrels remember where they hide their nuts…
Then honestly, what’s the point?
Suspect you're ADHD too?