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I Was One Of The First People Ever In The UK To Be Diagnosed With ADHD

I Was One Of The First People Ever In The UK To Be Diagnosed With ADHD
Alex was diagnosed in 1990 at the age of 4.I remember sitting outside the headteacher’s office, maybe aged eight. The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear every word. “Alex’s ADHD is so severe that he’ll struggle with his GCSEs. A-Levels are a long shot, and university is certainly out of the question.” It’s funny how I still remember those words. And how something in me, even then, snapped to attention and thought: I’ll show you.That kind of defiant motivation is something many ADHDers will recognise. If you tell us we can’t do something, we’ll go all in just to prove you wrong. But as I’ve learned, there’s a cost to living like that. Especially when the world doesn’t see or support who you are.When people hear that I was diagnosed with ADHD at age four in 1990, they often say, “You were so lucky.” And in some ways, I was. I fit the profile. A white boy. But ADHD was not spoken about in terms of strengths or brain differences back then. It was a problem to be managed. A diagnosis that made me feel broken.I was constantly surrounded by tutors, therapists, and interventions. But all I internalised was the message that I needed fixing. I became a master of masking. Being who I thought others needed me to be. Overachieving, overcompensating, trying not to take up too much space. And all the while, feeling completely unseen.Support often didn’t feel like support. One support session in particular sticks with me. I remember one after-school reading session where the book featured the same clown saying “Hello” on every page. I muttered, “Boring, boring, boring.” The tutor replied sharply, “Well, we could stop and try an even harder book if you like?” That kind of interaction stayed with me. Not because of the book. But because of the shame.At 15, I was switched to a new ADHD medication that plunged me into a severe depression. The shift was stark. I went from being impulsive and outwardly energetic to withdrawn, numb, and deeply low. I started self-harming in secret, smashing my head against walls out of frustration and hopelessness. Around the same time, I developed disordered eating patterns. I would binge late at night, then purge in silence. At the time, I told myself it was about control, but now I see how it soothed my overstimulated brain, even as it fed into the shame I was already carrying.Despite years of therapy, no one helped me connect these experiences to my ADHD. I sat in countless sessions, dissociating, clock-watching, unsure of what was expected of me. My therapist knew about my diagnosis, but it was never named in the room. The silence around it made me feel broken. I didn’t understand why I was struggling so much, only that I seemed to need more help than anyone else. So I made myself smaller — emotionally, physically, socially — just to survive.University was a turning point. I studied film. No exams, plenty of stimulation, and space for creativity. It worked for my brain. I found a group of like-minded film-buff students and, for the first time, felt genuinely accepted. But even then, I tested relationships. I feared abandonment. I didn’t have the language yet to understand what I was feeling, but now I can name it: rejection sensitivity, emotional dysregulation, anxious attachment. It was all there.After university, I entered the film industry. It was fast-paced, stimulating, and ever-changing. Perfect for my ADHD. Until it wasn’t. I burned out hard. And eventually, I found my way back to therapy. Still, ADHD wasn’t part of the conversation. I had convinced myself I’d outgrown it. A myth many people still believe. I now understand that as internalised ableism.It was during my psychotherapy training that everything shifted. I was struggling with academic essays, despite thriving in the clinical work. A fellow student gently suggested, “Could this be ADHD?” I snapped at him. But I couldn’t let it go. Eventually, I took an online ADHD test. Then another. And another. The results were undeniable. I hadn’t outgrown ADHD. I had just become highly skilled at masking it.Reclaiming my diagnosis as an adult was like switching on a light. Everything started to make sense. My struggles weren’t because I was lazy or broken. I just had a different kind of brain. One that thrived on interest, not obligation. One that needed structure, affirmation, and space to be curious. It was this journey — of unlearning shame and rediscovering my strengths — that inspired me to co-author ADHD… Now What?, a book that helps others navigate their own late-diagnosis experience and build a life that fits.My psychotherapy training had never mentioned neurodiversity. My own therapy had never explored it. But ADHD coaching did. It reframed everything. Instead of asking what was wrong with me, it helped me ask what was right. It gave me the tools to understand myself, not as a collection of problems, but as someone with a distinct way of experiencing the world. I started learning about executive function, interest-based motivation, and rejection sensitivity. These were concepts that had never been named in my earlier support systems. I began to make sense of my patterns, not pathologise them.And more than that, coaching introduced me to positive psychology. For the first time, I had language for my strengths. Not just talents, but deep inner resources - like creativity, emotional intensity, and intuition - that had been buried under years of shame. I realised I’d been designing my environments backwards, trying to squeeze myself into systems that weren’t made for me. ADHD Coaching helped me flip that script and start building spaces that actually worked.That’s when I met Katie Friedman, my co-author and co-founder of Gold Mind Academy. We bonded over our shared experiences of burnout and being “too much” or “Not enough” in all the wrong places. Together, we imagined what it would look like to create the training programme we both needed when we were younger. One that centres neurodivergent voices. One that helps ADHDers become coaches who understand not just the challenges of ADHD, but also the power of working with your brain, not against it.I still carry the scars of growing up in a world that saw me as too loud, too chaotic, too emotional. But I’ve also found strength in those same traits. They’re the foundation of my creativity, my empathy, my drive. I’ve turned what once felt like deficits into a life that feels aligned and meaningful. And I now support others to do the same.ADHD isn’t a flaw. It isn’t a phase. It’s a different way of experiencing the world. When we’re supported to understand ourselves, we stop wasting energy trying to be someone else. We start building a life that fits.Alex Campbell is a psychotherapist, ADHD coach, and co-founder of Gold Mind Academy. Their book ADHD… Now What?, co-authored with Katie Friedman, is out now from Jessica Kingsley Publishers.Related...How Do You Spot ADHD In Kids? Expert Shares The Subtle Signs To Look For At Home And SchoolWaiting Endlessly For ADHD Or Autism Assessment? 'Right To Choose' May Get You Seen SoonerRSD May Be 'Common' With ADHD – Here Are Its Symptoms

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