This week I’ve been reflecting on how my ADHD shows up in my life, and how a blessing can sometimes feel like a curse. Same coin. Different sides.
I often say I’m not afraid of a blank page. I’m creative, I love to explore, and I’m regularly accused of chasing bright and shiny things. That isn’t a fair characterisation of what’s happening. I don’t abandon things because I’m bored. I leave when I’ve extracted as much of the experience as I want or need. There is a critical difference between boredom and knowing when to leave something alone. I think that’s a strength.
But there is a downside. I achieve things and don’t even acknowledge them. I’m always raring to go, always with multiple plates spinning. I’m a multitasker extraordinaire, and it costs me in energy and in impact. If I could stay the course just a little longer, or spread myself a little less thinly, I might make more of a difference.
Pattern recognition is such a gift, but it sometimes limits my communication. I process at speed (I’ve even earned the nickname RoiBot), but I don’t always have the words, or the ability to slow my thoughts down enough, to describe every step that got me to a conclusion. A fair bit of it happens subconsciously, so I couldn’t explain it even if I wanted to. People get frustrated. People assume I’m wrong. Then the thing I predicted happens months later, and no one remembers they dismissed it and me.
Why am I reflecting on this now?
Because I’m exploring whether my son also has AuDHD, and I keep having to push against conditioned reactions to behaviours I display myself. I was diagnosed late. I’ve spent years covering and pretending, so sometimes it takes me a minute to lock into my own neurodiversity before I can help him find coping mechanisms when he’s distracted or can’t fully articulate a thought.
Then I realised.
The more of this journey I take with him, the more I notice what’s missing. There is very little workplace support for neurodivergent working parents who are raising neurodivergent children. There are books on managing your own condition. There are books on parenting someone else. There are almost none on parenting when you’re in the same position, when neurodivergence converges and also collides.
I’m lucky to have some parents in my network who are sterling examples, and I learn from them. But how do we truly unlock that balance?
Even the law isn’t clear. There are routes to reasonable adjustments for an individual, and there are support systems for parents in many organisations. Nothing brings the two together, or recognises that one person may need both, and that neither should take precedence over the other.
Same coin. We just haven’t built the workplace that sees both sides.