What a Neurodivergent Perspective Means to Me: Living with Adult ADHD
Recently, during a case discussion, I found myself repeatedly saying, “From a neurodivergent perspective…”
When asked if the client was neurodivergent, I replied, “No, but I am.”
That moment lingered with me. It reminded me just how much my own neurodivergent lens shapes everything—how I think, how I feel, how I understand others, and how I show up in the world.
Understanding My Neurodivergent Lens
Being neurodivergent means experiencing and interpreting the world differently. For me, it’s like having a brain wired with curiosity, creativity, and deep feeling—but also one that needs support, space, and understanding.
It’s taken me years to recognise the patterns in my life that reflect this difference. And while I believe that reasons aren’t excuses, understanding those patterns has helped me meet myself with compassion instead of criticism.
For most of my life, I’ve felt either “too much”… or “not quite enough.”
A Life of Contrasts
As a child, I was called chatty, dreamy, forgetful, clumsy, messy.
As a teenager—disruptive, careless, inattentive, disrespectful.
I scraped four GCSEs above a D.
By 17, I was completely lost. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted. My self-esteem was on the floor, and I made endless social mistakes trying desperately to be liked.
By my late teens, I was self-medicating with alcohol and drugs. I was impulsive, reckless, easily led.
But leaving home at 18 gave me something I hadn’t had before—freedom.
I found structure in work, and connection with like-minded people. That started to make a big difference.
Strengths in Disguise
I’ve always been curious. I love learning. I’m naturally motivated by self-development. I’ve got Tigger-level energy (Winnie the Pooh fans, you get it). And I thrive in complexity.
Once I know the “why,” I’m strategic, efficient, and can move multiple things forward at once. But put me in a rigid, political or hierarchical setting? I’ll short-circuit. I can’t work with people in power who say the right thing but don’t do the right thing.
Everything I do has to feel “worth it.” That’s made me seem unprofessional or uncooperative at times—but I’ve realised it’s about integrity, not attitude.
Empathy, Boundaries & All the Feels
For years, I had no boundaries. I’d tell Sharon in the Co-op my deepest secrets. I’d fall head-over-heels in love with every floppy-eared dog I met.
Training as a counsellor forced me to re-learn what’s mine, what’s safe to share, and what’s appropriate to hold.
I’m deeply empathic. I feel the energy in a room. I can map myself to other people easily—which makes me a great therapist. But in personal relationships, without boundaries, that chameleon instinct can get confusing.
I also feel everything big. Joy. Sadness. World news. Dogs in distress. It’s not dramatic—it’s just how I’m wired. And rejection? Massive. It fed my fear of abandonment as a child and made adult relationships intense and high-pressure.
Navigating the Challenges
Some of the trickier bits of my neurodivergence include:
Demand avoidance – If something feels imposed or too rigid, my brain panics. But give me autonomy and purpose? I’m flying.
Rejection sensitivity – Feeling misunderstood or excluded really stings. The “let them” mindset has helped. Not everyone will get me—and that’s okay.
Executive dysfunction – Organisation, planning and time? Not my strong suit. But colour-coded boards, voice notes, and purpose-driven routines? Game changers.
Diagnosis & Compassion
Getting my ADHD diagnosis last year was a lightbulb moment. Not one big flash—more like someone gently turning up the dimmer switch.
Things that had always felt “off” suddenly made perfect sense.
The energy. The overwhelm. The zigzag thinking. The instinctive problem-solving. The intensity.
I hadn’t been doing life wrong—I’d just been doing it without a manual.
Diagnosis gave me language. It gave me community. It gave me permission to stop trying to force-fit myself into ways that don’t work for me. (All-inclusive beach holidays, I’m looking at you 👀)
But most of all, it gave me compassion:
💛 For younger me, who was just muddling through
💛 For others walking similar paths
💛 For the version of me I am now—still figuring it out
A Different Kind of Story
This isn’t a story about how a diagnosis saved me.
It’s a story about how I saved myself—with:
Relentless self-reflection
Commitment to growth
Courage
Connection
I’m proud of the life I’ve built—one 17-year-old me couldn’t even imagine.
And I believe this: you don’t need a diagnosis to start.
You just need curiosity. Honesty. And permission to do things your own way.
A Note to You
If any of this resonates—if you’ve ever felt like your brain doesn’t quite follow the rules—it’s okay. You’re not alone.
Neurodivergence comes with challenges, yes—but also with incredible strength, insight, creativity and care.
You can Choose Your Way—and that journey can start today.
No diagnosis required.
My DMs are always open for the curious and the brave 💛