Diagnosed with ADHD in My Mid-Twenties: The Answer I Wasn't Looking For

In true ADHD fashion, I was asked to write this blog months ago. Naturally, my old nemesis, the invisible wall between knowing I needed to do something and actually starting it, got in the way. Executive Dysfunction, if we're being technical.

Ironically, once I finally opened a blank document, I wrote more than twice the maximum word count in one sitting. So, here we are: attempt number three, and hopefully the version that finally makes it out into the world.

Hi, I'm Julia, and I work within the Neurodevelopmental Service at Mind Professionals. I wanted to share what it was like for me to be diagnosed with ADHD as a woman in my mid-twenties and why I believe there are still so many misconceptions surrounding ADHD, diagnosis, medication and the systems designed to support such.

Like many people who receive a diagnosis later in life, I spent years wondering why everyday tasks seemed so much harder for me than they did for everyone else. Why could I never seem to organise myself? Why did I constantly feel overwhelmed? Why did I have to work twice as hard just to keep up?

The part I'm almost embarrassed to admit is that I have a degree in Clinical Psychology, yet I didn't recognise ADHD in myself until I started working in the field.

The reason is surprisingly simple.

I didn't look like the ADHD I had been taught to recognise.

If I asked you to picture someone with ADHD, what comes to mind? For many people, it's a little kid (typically a boy) who can't sit still, bounces off the walls, interrupts constantly, and is always in trouble at school.

While that absolutely is ADHD for some people, it is far from the whole picture.

ADHD can also be the quiet person who spends lessons staring out of the window, lost in their own thoughts. It can be the high-achieving student who appears organised on the outside but is mentally exhausted from constantly compensating. It can be the one who seems overly emotional, forgetful, anxious or "too sensitive". It can be someone who masks their difficulties so well that no one notices the enormous effort it takes just to get through the day. It can also be the person who is highly irritable or withdrawn when they're actually just overwhelmed by sensory input. – Isn’t it ironic that many of us are incredibly sensitive to noise while simultaneously being the loudest people in the room.

The point is this: ADHD doesn't have one face.

Unfortunately, many of our assumptions still do however.

Looking back now, it's not surprising that my ADHD went unnoticed. Once I eventually pursued an assessment and received my diagnosis, my overwhelming feeling was relief. Finally, there was an explanation. My brain wasn't "broken", lazy or incapable; it simply worked differently. But alongside that relief came grief.

Why hadn't anyone recognised it sooner?

How different would school have been if I had understood how my brain worked?

How many years of self-criticism could have been avoided if I'd received the right support instead of assuming I simply wasn't trying hard enough?

Working within the diagnostic field has given me another perspective on this. Although services strive to provide accurate assessments, identifying ADHD—particularly in girls, women, and people whose presentation is predominantly inattentive—can still be challenging.

In hindsight, I wonder whether I would have met the threshold for diagnosis as a child. Not because I don't have ADHD—I absolutely do—but because many of my traits could easily have been explained away.

"She's distracted, but she's just daydreaming."

"She's emotional because she's sensitive."

"She's chatty, but she's doing well academically."

"She's coping."

Except I wasn't.

I was coping in the way many people do: by masking, overcompensating and internalising my struggles until they became unbearable.

This is one of the many reasons why greater awareness of the different presentations of ADHD is so important—not just for clinicians, but for parents, teachers and anyone supporting young people. Schools in particular play a judicious role.  

Teacher observations form a valuable part of many ADHD assessments, but this also highlights the importance of ongoing training around neurodiversity. The better we understand what ADHD can actually look like, the more likely we are to identify children who might otherwise be overlooked. Of course, awareness is only one piece of the puzzle, and support matters just as much.

One of the biggest misconceptions I have also encountered is the belief that an ADHD diagnosis is simply a route to medication and that medication is the solution. As someone who has experienced the process myself, I can confidently say that it isn't that simple.

 After my diagnosis, I began medication and titration full of optimism. If I'm honest, a part of me believed it would switch my ADHD off overnight…it didn't.

 Medication has certainly helped some of my symptoms, in that my concentration has improved and some everyday tasks feel more manageable than they once did.

 But my ADHD didn't disappear.

 Executive dysfunction didn't vanish. Emotional regulation still requires conscious effort. I still need strategies, routines, understanding and support. Finding the right medication also took months of adjustments, patience and trial and error and I'm still learning what works best for me.

 Medication can be an incredibly valuable tool, but it is exactly that: a tool, not a cure.

 When I think about what I needed growing up, medication isn't actually the first thing that comes to mind. I wish someone had recognised that my brain worked differently. I wish I had been taught how I learn best instead of wondering why everyone else's methods never seemed to work for me. I wish I'd had adults who understood that struggling doesn't always look disruptive. Most of all, I wish I'd been given permission to stop measuring myself against neurotypical expectations.

 So, if there's one thing I'd like people to take away from my story, it's this, neurodivergent people are everywhere. We don't all fit the stereotypes. Many of us have spent years becoming experts at hiding our difficulties, often at enormous personal cost. Awareness is improving, but there is still a long way to go. The more we educate ourselves about what ADHD really looks like, the better equipped we'll be to recognise it earlier, provide meaningful support, and create environments where neurodivergent people can genuinely thrive, not because they've learned to mask who they are, but because they no longer have to.