Now that I know: Reflections on my ADHD Diagnosis

I finally have my ADHD diagnosis.

In December I was diagnosed with Combined Type ADHD - Inattentive and Hyperactive/ Impulsive.

And honestly? I’m still letting the words settle in my body. It's strange. I’ve spent so long dancing between “I’m absolutely ADHD” and “I’m definitely making this up,” that actually hearing it confirmed felt both obvious and surreal. Like someone gently placing a mirror in front of me and saying, “See? You were never imagining it.”

You’d think that being told something you already knew wouldn’t be such a shock. But it was. Especially the Hyperactive/ Impulsive part. I was mostly expecting the Inattentive type but the Hyperactive/ Impulsive type definitely came as a shock but also made complete sense.

The Moment It Became Real

The assessor told me, in that calm clinical tone they seem to master, that I met the criteria. I nodded. I even smiled. But inside, a younger version of me crumpled with relief.

She had waited a very long time.

That’s the thing about getting a diagnosis later in life. It isn’t always for the person you are now. Sometimes it’s for every earlier version of you who survived without understanding why certain things felt harder, louder, heavier, more overwhelming, or why you carried so much shame for things that were never actually your fault.

The Weight I Didn’t Know I Was Carrying

Since beginning my training to become a Master Intuitive Psychology Coach, I’ve spent months sitting with my unconscious patterns, beliefs, and the internal narratives that shaped me. I had already suspected ADHD for a while, and yet I kept pushing the idea away with the same familiar thoughts:

“You’ve coped this long.”

“You manage fine.”

“It isn’t that bad.”

“Don’t make a fuss.”

This is the conditioning talking.

The parts of me trained to minimise my struggle because I didn’t want to be “too much.”

But the more I worked with my inner child, the more undeniable it became: I wasn’t just coping... I was compensating. Constantly. And that realisation broke something open in me.

Letting the Younger Versions of Me Breathe

When the diagnosis was spoken out loud, I didn’t think of 40-year-old Natalie.

I thought of 7 year old Natalie, trying her absolute best to be “good.”

I thought of 12 year old Natalie, wondering why she couldn’t focus like everyone else.

I thought of 17 year old Natalie, sitting up writing coursework essays at 1am the night before the deadline, wondering why she was so rubbish and couldn't do the work in good time.

I thought of the countless versions of me who internalised the message that she just needed to try harder. This diagnosis is not for present-day me. It’s a gift I’m giving to them - all of those younger versions of me.

A way of saying:

You were never broken.

You were never lazy.

You were never “too emotional,” “too distracted,” or “not living up to your potential.”

You were neurodivergent, navigating a world not designed for you, without the language to explain it.

What I Know Now

Since the diagnosis, nothing has changed. And everything has. My life looks the same. But I feel different. There is a deep softening happening inside me. A new level of compassion. A sense of finally being aligned with myself rather than constantly working against myself.

And the truth is, I didn’t need someone to tell me I had ADHD in order for it to be real.

But hearing it said aloud… having it validated… being seen in that way… it’s healing in a way that you can't quite explain unless you have experienced it.

But I have to say, it is taken me a while to really feel all of this. My default is to feel numb and that's definitely what my initial response was. This is also my conditioning. It is easier to feel nothing than to feel so much that you don't know what to do with it all. So it has been a few weeks of processing and reflecting.

If You’re Considering an Assessment…

I’m not here to persuade you one way or the other. Only you know what is right for you.

But if you’re standing where I stood, hovering on the edge of self-doubt, convincing yourself that you’re “fine”, maybe pause for a moment and ask:

Which version of me needs this?

Who inside me is waiting to be understood?

Maybe the diagnosis isn’t for who you are today…

but for who you were then.

And if that’s the case, then perhaps, just perhaps,you deserve that understanding, too.

With love,

Natalie x