I have been going through a period of graual acceptance of what it means to have “ADHD”. At first I thought it was what caused me to engage in attention-seeking behaviours, what made me a bit rouge and why I was always up for a laugh.

They are indeed some of the symptoms, though I have been grapling with the more insidious ramifications.

As I began learning about my condidion; I was aghast at how ADHD had seemingly dictated the course of my life and there were many times where my heart sank. There were also times where my shoulders eased and I was able to let go many of the things which had plagued me.

My ego was in tatters though. Finding how much of what made me “special” and “different” was attributable to a common condition was sobering. It was like reading a book about me, though a far truer depiction of reality than one I would have produced. The actual words used in conversations I had with my parents, sounded loud and clear, cutting through to the core.

I was shocked to read of an interaction with my Father which personified much of my childhood; an 8 year old boy, shrouded in self-loathing and despondantly staring down at his feet. Then came the last and most true sentence – “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know!!?” and “Why?! Why?! Why?! can you not just… was often hurled back, my father’s fury and anguish mingled with his desperation for me to succeed and subsequent disappointment in me.

Again, I would answer – “I don’t know.”

There was also a great sense of relief in the mixed bag of emotions and there were many times where my shoulders relaxed and I let something deep inside go. Initially, though, I saw my whole life as a set of symptoms attributable to a common disorder that effects around 5% of children. I saw that I had stumbled blindly through life and that this ADHD had caused me a great deal of anguish. I can feel embarrassment tugging at me as my mind flicks over past events.

As I read more about the condition; I found my sense of self was not only in jeapoardy but rapidly dissapearing. I had been summed up in four letters, flamboyancy, charm and self-depricating humour included and it felt like a low blow; head spinning in cripling self-analysis and really rather overwhelmed by it all.

I also started to realise it wasn’t all my fault, that I was not entirely to blame, and that I’d had little control, if any, over many an outcome of my behaviour. Relief started to flood over me as I discovered that I was not lacking or moraly deficient in the way my school reports, family and surroundings insisted I was.

The shame is still there today, but I can distinguish its dreaded scent and tell it to bugger off. Life is better and I have learned to manage my symptoms, most importantly, excercise a great deal of compassion and put in place contingency plans, including medication.  Subsequently I have found a sense of worth; it was uncomfortable and alien to begin with, though it now serves as a firm bedrock for my quality of life. And life is good!

I remember falling to my knees inside. The dreams of having my own business, coupled with the constant self-flagelation and torment which stemmed from never realising them. “Henry has such potential” ringing in my ears; along with the agonising frustration and desperation which came from never being able to translate anything into action!

The texture of various walls, outside various clasrooms, which I faced, not having learned my Latin vocab or done my prep.

I now come to 10 year old me, sat on the Drawingroom floor, surrounded by the expectant faces, furrowed brows and the piercing eyes of my senior family members. My clammy hands are tensely fidgeting as the report is delicately passed to Grandpa, to be read aloud.

“Henry needs to concentrate. He can do better if he puts in the required effort!” Were common themes throughout my school days; there was little hope and I pity the boy who sat there, sweatty and anxious.

Grieving is a necessary process for anything which is hard to swallow. It is how I have found peace with myself and those 4 letters.

Although many of the instances of my life were written with frighteneing accuracy, I am my own me, someone, not something is there, underneath it all, with all of the skills needed to flourish and stand out as special and different. It’s just that I can see there is a block in allowing what is inside to come out:

I am well meaning, gentle and thoughtful, as well as exceedingly bright. I know what’s going on most of the time and have an inate wisdom, though seem not to be able to apply it to myself, or at least act in accordance with it much of the time.

The ADHD is just something which needs addressing, not head on – that is futile and for the first time I will use the word can’t. Where many will step over an obstacle, I cannot and it is as if have no legs. In learning about and accepting myself and my abilities, I can stop beating myself up about not being able to climb certain walls, head back to the drawing board and build a staircase or some contraption to get me over.

ADHD medication is something which has allowed me to function in a way similar to how I imagine many do naturally. It comes with a heavy cost, but I can accept it, for the benefits it temporarily bestows. With acceptence of what ADHD meant about who I was, or at least learning about the machinery I have been given, I have the clarity to see beyond the wall in front of my face and beable to let go of any frustration or shame surrounding me.

I have learned to find peace, nurturing the considerable strengths I posess and accept that being a round peg in a square hole is indiscriminate. It is therefore my responsibility to get on with finding my niche and start thriving, putting to use many of the extraordinary benefits of having ADHD.

I realise that those four letters are not who I am, they do not make me less, they have really little bearing than to uncover ways in which to harness who I am, the talents I posess and get on with living a life which is indeed “different” and, with out a doubt, special – my mother tells me so!