Since being diagnosed with ADHD, I’ve grown and developed more than I could’ve imagined. That knowledge of how my brain works has allowed me to alter my way of working to ensure I can do almost anything if I put my mind to it. But it’s been a long journey getting here – and along the way, I’ve been misunderstood more times than I care to remember.
I hope this blog helps teachers and others to realise how techniques such as breaking tasks down for those with ADHD, reframing their traits, and raising awareness of what it really is, can make a real difference to people with this condition.
ADHD doesn’t define me – it adds to me being the person I am. This is the story of how I became me.
Early school days: the quiet child
In primary school, I was a quiet child, often overlooked and anxious around strangers. I struggled to focus and was frequently told to pay more attention. Contrary to the typical ADHD stereotype, I wasn’t disruptive or naughty, which made my diagnosis surprising. I laughed when they told me.
School was tough, with teachers doubting my intelligence and exams feeling like torture. The rigid classroom environment didn’t accommodate my need to fidget or my learning style, leaving me behind my peers.
A critical turning point
Year 5 was pivotal. After a month off with glandular fever, I returned to school having discovered a love for reading, thanks to my mum’s support. This newfound passion helped me gain confidence in learning.
However, I missed out on learning division during my illness, and this gap persisted into secondary school. Teachers expected me to catch up on my own straight from a textbook, which I told them wasn’t the best way for me to learn. I never cracked it.
In secondary school, my grades were average. I was often reprimanded for a lack of concentration, especially when I was seated with friends – those I was a bit more confident with – and was a bit too chatty. I felt like others were judging me for not knowing the answers and felt isolated when not seated near friends. The loneliness felt natural until I grew up and realised that wasn’t how it was meant to be.
University: a new beginning
In September 2017, I moved to a new city for university, excited about my new life. I had it all planned out: new relationship, new friends and studying criminology – which I’d wanted to study for so long. Initially, things seemed to go well despite some teething problems like missing home, adjusting to the workload and figuring out who I was.
As time passed, I attributed my feelings to anxiety or depression, or past trauma. I thought therapy might help, but my emotions only worsened over time. I was irritable, stressed, anxious, angry and ashamed – I thought I was just being dramatic.
I began to suspect I had bipolar disorder or another personality disorder, but my friends and boyfriend dismissed my concerns, making me doubt myself even more. They put it down to stress and told me to get over it. Despite this, I still felt something was wrong.
Seeking help
In February 2018, I finally bit the bullet, went to the doctors, explained my symptoms and was prescribed sertraline for anxiety. Finally, I had an answer to my questions: “I have anxiety!” and I thought I was done. I thought I could just take some medication and be fine from now on. Unsurprisingly, I was not. The mood swings continued, my focus was next to non-existent, and my motivation to do anything was severely lacking.
In November 2018, I was lucky enough to get an appointment with a GP who asked, “Would you be okay with me starting the assessment of ADHD?” Initially, I was sceptical, because I didn’t fit the stereotype of the naughty child. She explained the different types of ADHD and that it isn’t one box fits all. We discussed it for a while, and she sent me away with a huge list of resources to investigate and understand. In the days following that appointment, things finally started to make sense.
A life-changing question
From November 2018 to August 2020, I kept the discussion with the doctor and my ADHD suspicions to myself. It made sense to me, and as much as I wanted it to be true - for there to be a reason why my brain worked the way it did, it still didn’t feel real. After an initial assessment in March 2019, it was a waiting game for the next steps.
Eventually, I confided in my closest friends, who supported me and eased my fears of being judged and feeling like a fraud. Talking about it took a huge weight off my shoulders, and of course, the people closest to me didn’t judge me. Finally feeling like I was able to discuss this was the change I needed.
I began organising my life and finding what worked for me, feeling less silly about my ADHD suspicions. In September 2022, I started a supportive relationship. By April 2023, I received a questionnaire for my ADHD assessment, which I completed. There were sections for my partner, mum, and a close friend to fill out to get a full picture of myself. In true ADHD fashion, I completed it two months late – (oops!) – but it set the process in motion.
Finally getting answers
On 10 July 2023, it was time to see if all the years of uncertainty were going to make sense and all my questions would be answered. After an awful two-and-a-half-hour assessment, where I felt I was under a microscope, fidgeting, nervous, and restless, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD.
The feeling was indescribable – it was both relief and grief. I cried with relief, because I could finally understand why I thought the way I did and why I had never fitted in. I grieved the life I had before and celebrated the freedom having a diagnosis gave me.
It felt like the permission I’d always sought to be myself. If I could, I’d tell my younger self:
You will graduate – with two degrees!
You will be a dog mum to the world’s laziest spaniel.
You will work in a job you love.
You will be an aunt, a godmother, a bridesmaid, and so many other amazing things. to so many amazing people.
Since my diagnosis, I’ve grown and developed more than I could’ve imagined. I’ve fully come into my own, using ADHD as a strength. I’ve altered my way of working to ensure I can do anything if I put my mind to it.
The strive for neuroinclusion
Of course, there will always be limitations as the world is still learning how to be neuroinclusive. I still have negative thoughts and experience internalised ablism from years of people labelling me “stupid” and being thought of as lazy when it’s hard to focus.
Sometimes I feel like an imposter; that the doctors were wrong about my diagnosis this time too. I’m still learning and figuring out what it’s like to live successfully with ADHD and what works for me and those around me.
I have used my ADHD to help me thrive in my job, supporting SEND schools. As someone who would have benefitted from SEND support growing up, it’s a privilege watching others benefit from it. This is something I feel passionate about, and I want to do it for a very long time.
To me, having ADHD is not a disability, it’s an ability. It allows me to see the world differently. I can use my skills and the ways I have adapted to do things in a way others can’t. ADHD doesn’t define me – it adds to me being the person I am!
Teaching techniques for ADHD
Based on my own experiences, having been a student with ADHD and now as a SEND specialist recruitment consultant, my advice to teachers to help them avoid common pitfalls would be to:
Break tasks down
This could be different for each person, and some may not need tasks broken down at all, they can do it themselves, but it’s about giving them options and reasonable adjustments.
Provide information in advance
Some pupils with ADHD will find it challenging to process verbal discussions in real time and be able to contribute confidently without being given some advanced notice and information to help them prepare.
Reframe ADHD traits
Many ADHD traits are framed in a negative way. Even ‘attention deficit and hyperactivity disorder’ is a misnomer – there isn’t a deficit of attention, there’s an abundance of it.
Instead of “easily distracted”, you might replace this phrase with: “They’ve got high levels of awareness and great focus. How can we use that for that tiny bit of time?”
Replace ‘they keep interrupting’, with ‘they are just really enthusiastic but not at the right time’. Ask them to hold the thought and tell you in a second, and if they can’t, ask them to tell you quickly and then you can return to the lesson or conversation.
Promote self-esteem
Always greet children with positivity. If they are late, say ‘I’m glad you’ve arrived’. Someone with ADHD is likely to have had 100 times more negative interactions in their lives than a neurotypical person. Being kind and building self-esteem is so important, because you don’t know what’s going on in their lives at home.
Spread the word
Knowledge about neurodiversity in educational settings is crucial, especially before diagnosis. A single PSHE lesson on the types of neurodiversity could make a big difference. If I had that information when I was younger, I might have sought help earlier and been more informed when I did. I could’ve advocated for myself a bit better when the doctors said it was anxiety, and I started to doubt it.
Raising awareness and talking more openly about it would be incredibly helpful. This could help many children, particularly those who don’t fit the stereotypical profile of a neurodivergent condition; whether that’s autism, ADHD, OCD, dyslexia, dyspraxia, dyscalculia or any other. Even simple measures, like posters in bathrooms highlighting signs to look out for, could spark recognition and understanding in someone and they can find support much earlier than is typical now.
Look out for more blogs on ADHD in education that we’re sharing throughout ADHD awareness month 2024 on Reed.com.
And, as always, if you’re looking for a talented teacher to join your school, or a new opportunity within education, contact an education specialist in your nearest Reed office.
