From the outside, being told you have ADD at age 20 may seem like something that would be upsetting or shocking. I can’t count the amount of friends or family members who asked if I was okay following my official diagnosis.
Questions like “how are you dealing with it?” and “were you upset when you found out?” often left me feeling confused – because I was dealing with it well and I wasn't upset at all.
It wasn’t until someone said “It must have been so shocking” that I realised why I wasn’t upset – my diagnosis wasn't a shock.
This isn’t to say I knew I had ADD, because I had no idea – and as my late diagnosis shows, neither did anybody else.
But to me, getting my official diagnosis wasn’t upsetting or shocking like people thought it would be, it was rather the opposite. Getting my diagnosis was in-fact the first time that lots of things about myself finally made sense.
For years, my ADD bubbled just below the surface; manifesting in forgotten school books, chronic lateness and extreme sensitivity. As a child I couldn’t grasp the concept that it wasn’t normal to cry or get angry over small or insignificant issues, in school I couldn’t understand how people seemed to remember their books or stay on top of their homework, when I began university I couldn’t fathom that people were able to stay focused for an entire lecture. Prior to my diagnosis, these things made me feel, frankly, stupid.
I’m angry that I beat myself up for years, believing I was ‘pathetic’ for crying or getting upset. I’m angry that I beat myself up for it so much that I still feel incredibly guilty whenever I get upset.
I’m angry that I was placed on report in year 8, a system where you have to report to your teachers in order to remember your books or homework– this would often be at the beginning of the lesson in front of a class of 25 of my peers. I’m angry because my teachers were able to recognise a problem and they did nothing but make me feel embarrassed about it.
I’m angry about all the times I’ve been shouted at for interrupting people or talking too much. I’m angry at the times people have made me feel ashamed for having a messy room. I’m angry thinking about the amount of times people told me I had potential, that I could be “so smart” if I just “tried harder”. I’m angry wondering if my “potential” would’ve been fulfilled had I been diagnosed earlier. I’m angry that people still say to me, “it’s ok, you don’t seem like you have ADHD” because they think that is a compliment.
Most of all, I’m angry because finding out I had ADD is one of the best things I’ve ever been told – and I wish I had found out sooner.
I’ve always had ADD, but finding out it was there provided countless explanations for aspects of my personality that I had grown to resent – and gave me a new found appreciation for everything I’ve accomplished so far.
Reading this back I realise how incredibly sad this all sounds, and that wasn’t my intention. I’m not sad and I’m certainly not as resentful as this makes me seem.
I don’t want sympathy and I definitely don’t need it.
I want people to recognise the impact that ignorance has on people like me.
If AD(H)D was more understood, more researched (especially in young girls) and more discussed then I may have had more support.
Most importantly, I want people to realise that if you resonate with anything I’ve said or anything you’ve read online about mental health – don’t shy away from reading things or talking about your feelings. Diagnosis isn’t as scary as it may seem, and often can be a blessing in disguise.
Please don’t let this put you off my future posts, I promise they won’t all be this sad!
Lots of love,
Issi xx
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