Imagine you live in a society of wheat farmers. Everyone knows that being a wheat farmer is the right thing to be. The farm you’ve inherited sits on a wide, open plain. You have enormous machines to do the heavy work — fertilising the soil, planting the seeds, bringing in the harvest. The government supports you financially. The education system was designed, from the beginning, to make sure you could be the best wheat farmer you could possibly be. Research into wheat farming is plentiful. The weather on the plain is mostly predictable. Your life, while not without difficulty, is broadly manageable. Now imagine your farm is high in the mountains.

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.

From ‘The Neurodiva Dossier’ There’s a moment I remember vividly from before my ADHD diagnosis in 2018. I was sitting in yet another meeting, wondering why everyone else could apparently absorb information effortlessly, take organised notes, and follow a linear agenda, while my brain was simultaneously in three different conversations, two creative tangents, and a mild existential crisis.… Read more: DOES MY ADHD MAKE ME A BETTER NEURODIVERSITY COACH?