I was diagnosed with ADHD at 46, combined type, alongside dyslexia. Like many people diagnosed later in life, the diagnosis didn’t change who I was, it changed how I understood myself.

For most of my life, I carried a quiet belief that I was somehow broken. I struggled with overwhelm, emotional dysregulation, and anger that felt out of proportion to situations. I found busy environments exhausting. I forgot names, lost things constantly, and couldn’t understand why everyday tasks seemed easier for everyone else. Without a framework to explain it, I turned that confusion inward.

At the same time, ADHD has shaped some of my greatest strengths. I can read a room like a crime scene. I spot patterns quickly, connect abstract ideas, and see the big picture fast. I’m creative, emotionally perceptive, and deeply attuned to people, even when I struggle to explain what I’m feeling myself.

Understanding my ADHD was a turning point. The words “to find myself is the final frontier” from one of my favourite trance tracks became very real. I stopped trying to fix myself and started learning how my brain actually works. Medication helped. So did learning when to step back and reset, and being around people willing to accept my ADHD traits rather than fight them.

My wife and I are both ADHD UK ambassadors because we want to help people who’ve spent years feeling confused, ashamed, or exhausted by their own minds. ADHD is not an illness to be cured. It’s a different way of being human. With understanding, support, and the right environments, people with ADHD don’t just cope, they thrive.

I’m diagnosed with ADHD, and I strongly suspect I’m also autistic. My experience of neurodiversity is closely tied to living with multiple sclerosis, and that intersection has shaped how I move through the world.

For much of my life, I’ve been criticised for ‘pointing things out’ or being difficult, when in reality I was sharing information or noticing patterns others missed. My imagination is vivid and creative, but it can also tip into catastrophising, especially when I’m overwhelmed or unwell. My brain can be so busy that my body struggles to keep up, and that disconnect is rarely visible from the outside.

One of the hardest parts has been knowing something isn’t right, but not being able to articulate why. That gap between understanding and expression can be deeply frustrating, particularly for women, who are so often mislabelled as anxious or depressed rather than properly listened to.

Alongside the challenges, my neurodivergence brings creativity, problem solving, drive, and determination. I see solutions where others see dead ends, and I’m motivated by fairness and change, even when it costs me energy.

My husband and I are ambassadors for ADHD UK because we want to widen the conversation, especially for women. Hormones, autoimmune conditions, and ADHD are rarely discussed together, yet so many women live at that intersection. ADHD can intensify over time, and that isn’t a bad thing. It can be the start of seeing the world differently, more clearly, and more honestly. Advocacy matters because understanding changes lives. And people deserve to be believed.