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WHAT YOUR DIAGNOSIS DOESN’T TELL YOU!

from The Neurodiva Dossier – 28-05-26

My musings on neurodiversity coaching as a late-diagnosed, middle-aged, neurodivergent diva.

Neurodiversity, ADHD diagnosis, AuDHD, Autism Coaching

I got my ADHD diagnosis in October 2018. I was handed a letter. It confirmed what the psychiatrist had found, summarised the assessment, and recommended next steps.

What it did not contain, and what no diagnostic document I have ever seen contains, was a single word about what I was good at.

Not one.

This is not a coincidence. Diagnostic tools are designed to identify and measure difficulties. That is their function, and within that function they serve a purpose. But function is not the same as completeness, and a document that tells you only what is wrong with you is not, by any stretch, the full picture.

When I was studying for my PGC in neurodiversity coaching at Birkbeck, I found something buried in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders- the DSM is the psychiatric bible used by clinicians across the world to diagnose conditions including ADHD-

It stopped me in my tracks when I read it.


The inconsistency nobody mentions

The DSM describes ADHD as “a persistent pattern of inattention and/or hyperactivity-impulsivity that interferes with functioning or development.(“ tps://cmhrc.org/info-dsm-5-criteria)

Persistent. Interferes. These are the words that frame the condition from the outset.

It goes on to describe ADHD using phrases like “fails to give close attention to detail” and “avoids tasks requiring sustained mental effort.” Fails. Avoids. Words that imply choice, or moral responsibility, in places where neither is actually present.

And then, quietly, without comment or apparent awareness of the contradiction, the same manual states that signs of ADHD “may be minimal or absent when the individual is receiving frequent rewards for appropriate behaviour, is under close supervision, is in a novel setting, is engaged in especially interesting activities, has consistent external stimulation, or is interacting in one-on-one situations.”

Read that again.

The “persistent pattern” that “interferes with functioning” — the definition of the condition itself — largely disappears when the environment is right.

When tasks are engaging. When support is consistent. When the setting suits the person rather than demanding the person suit the setting, the condition disappears.

The DSM does not remark on this inconsistency. It does not ask the obvious question that follows from it. But I will:

If the difficulties associated with ADHD are substantially reduced by environmental factors, how much of what we call a disorder is actually a mismatch between a particular kind of brain and a world that wasn’t designed for it?

I am not a clinician. I am not arguing against diagnosis. But I think this question deserves to be asked, and I think the people it most concerns — those of us with the diagnosis — deserve to hear it.


What diagnosis is, and what it isn’t

A diagnosis is a snapshot. Specifically, it is a snapshot of the worst of times — moments when coping strategies have failed, when the environment isn’t helping, when the gap between what a neurodivergent brain needs and what it’s being given has become impossible to paper over. It is not a portrait of the whole person. It is not a measure of potential. It is not a verdict.

We do not diagnose geniuses. We do not give people letters confirming their exceptional spatial reasoning, their extraordinary capacity for hyper-focus on subjects that interest them, their ability to make creative leaps that a more linear thinker would never attempt. These things are not in the document.

The diagnosis tells you where the system has identified a deficit. It does not tell you what you are capable of in the right conditions. It does not tell you what you have already achieved despite operating in environments that weren’t built for you — which, if you have spent decades undiagnosed, is likely to be quite a lot.


The environment question

This is the part that I find myself returning to, both in my own life and in my work with clients.

If your ADHD symptoms diminish significantly in the right environment — and the DSM itself confirms that they do — then a substantial part of the work is not changing yourself. It is changing, or finding, or building, the environment.

This might mean different working structures. Different kinds of deadlines, or support, or collaboration. Work that engages genuine interest rather than demanding sustained effort on tasks the brain finds meaningless. Physical spaces that help rather than hinder. Relationships — professional and personal — in which you don’t have to spend enormous energy masking and compensating just to appear functional.

None of this is self-indulgence. None of it is making excuses. It is, in fact, exactly what the diagnostic manual implies when it quietly notes that symptoms disappear under the right conditions — and then declines to follow that thought to its logical conclusion.

The logical conclusion is this: the problem is not in you. It is in the fit between you and your environment. And fit can be worked on.


What I wish someone had told me in 2018

I was lucky. Alongside the diagnostic letter my psychiatrist also handed me a separate document that let me know what the strengths of an ADHD brain were, but it wasn’t personal to me. I needed a complete document that said,

“Here is what we have found. Here is what it means and what it doesn’t mean for you. Here are the conditions in which you might thrive. Here are the questions worth asking about your environment, your work, your relationships, and your support structures. Here, also, are some of the things that brains like yours tend to be extraordinarily good at, because there are lots, and you deserve to know about them.”

Diagnosis was still the right thing for me. Understanding why my brain works the way it does gave me something I hadn’t had in over five decades of managing without it: context. And context is the beginning of self-compassion, which is the beginning of change.

But context is only useful if it’s complete. And a picture that shows you only your deficits is not complete.

You are not your diagnosis. You are considerably more than it. And some of what you are — the creativity, the intensity, the capacity for unexpected connection between ideas — is directly related to the brain that came with the diagnosis.

The letter didn’t mention that part.

I’m mentioning it now.

Find out more and contact me on my website – https://haywardcoaching.co.uk/tailored-coaching/

For more information on ADHD, specifically check out https://adhduk.co.uk

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