If you read my last post, you’ll know I’ve been wading through a bit of a swamp recently. I shared quite openly about the struggles I’ve been facing—how the sheer volume of demands placed upon me—many of which, I’ll admit, I blindly volunteered for—left me feeling utterly overwhelmed, exhausted, and frankly, a bit lost. It hasn’t been the easiest season, to say the least.
But, as is often the way when the dust begins to settle and you start to catch your breath again, this period of burnout has led to some deep, arguably overdue, reflection.
The Internal Tug-of-War
You see, for a long time—pretty much as long as I can remember, actually—I’ve felt this distinct inner conflict. It’s like being pulled in two entirely different directions by two very different captains of the same ship. On one side, there is the autistic part of me that craves, loves, and deeply needs structure, routine, and steadiness. It wants the world to be predictable. But then, there is this other, contrasting part of me—a part that wants to throw caution to the wind, embrace chaos, chase the dopamine, and change everything up at a moment’s notice.
And it’s this internal friction, this constant jarring of impulses, that has led me to a decision: I’m going to pursue an assessment for ADHD.
Connecting the Dots (In Hindsight)
Actually, the seed was planted even before my own autism diagnosis. It happened while I was filling in the mountains of paperwork for my son, trying to secure him a referral for his own neurodevelopmental assessments. As I worked through the forms, ticking boxes for him, I kept seeing myself on the page. I remember wondering then if I should look at getting assessed for both. But in the end, I didn’t push for it—I was so focused on understanding my autism that I let the other slide.
Part of me really wishes I hadn’t. Looking back at my ASD report now, it actually highlighted several indicators for ADHD. It was there in black and white, waiting for me to be ready to see it. Recently, I’ve become acutely aware of my limitations, specifically regarding how much I can handle before the wheels start to fall off.
The Cycle of Novelty
I can focus intently on the things that interest me—hyperfocus is a wonderful friend until you realise you haven’t moved for four hours. But my interests themselves are a chaotic cycle. I’ll disappear completely into a new passion—be it art, crochet, or a sudden deep-dive into mycology—only to hit a wall—not necessarily of boredom, but a sudden craving for something new and novel—and drop it just as quickly. I end up cycling through them, leaving a trail of half-finished projects until I inevitably circle back round again.
And the “basics” of life? Keeping a tidy house, keeping up with the relentless cycle of clothes washing, or even taking care of myself? Without external pressure, those things can become lax, and the chaos starts to creep in.
The Shame Spiral and Emotional Dysregulation
Here is the vulnerable part, and the part that is hardest to admit. Being overwhelmed triggers ridiculously strong emotional responses in me that honestly don’t feel like me.
I consider myself a fairly gentle, loving dad. I want to be the calm anchor for my two kids. But when the sensory overload hits and the executive dysfunction kicks in, I can become loud and dysregulated. I think most people who know me—who know the “me” I present to the world—would be shocked by that.
I hate feeling like I’m not in control of my own reactions. And then? Then comes the shame. The crushing weight of beating myself up over my behaviour. punishing myself because of my limitations. Why can’t I just “keep it together” like everyone else seems to?
It’s Chemistry, Not Character
Science tells us that ADHD isn’t just about being “hyper”—it’s deeply linked to executive dysfunction and emotional dysregulation. It’s a difficulty in regulating not just attention, but emotion. Reading about this was a lightbulb moment for me. There is an impulsiveness within me that just jars against my autistic need for control, and realising that this might be a matter of neurology, rather than a moral failing, is monumental.
Why Now? The Intersectional Context
I’ve struggled with life for as long as I can remember. Fought against anxiety, big emotional reactions, and bouts of depression have been unwelcome companions on my journey. But the stakes feel higher now.
I’m a dad. I have these two incredible children who look to me for guidance, and I don’t want to struggle through their childhoods. I don’t want to miss the joy of them growing up because I’m too busy fighting a war in my own head, and I certainly don’t want them to see me drowning in overwhelm. If there is a better way—a way to be more present, more regulated, and kinder to myself—I owe it to them, and to the younger version of me who struggled in silence, to find it.
I did consider simply trying to simplify my life. And, realistically, I might need to look at doing that at some point. But currently, the only way I can envision achieving that is by reducing my work hours. And if I’m honest? I don’t want to do that. It feels like a failure—cue more being hard on myself. I want to thrive, not just survive by shrinking my world down to a manageable pinpoint.
Taking the First Steps
So, what does moving forward actually look like in practice? It looks like taking action, even when it’s scary.
I have contacted my GP and have an appointment made to discuss being referred for an assessment. It felt like a massive hurdle just to reach out—phone anxiety is very real for me, so I utilised their online appointment service instead. Even then, hitting ‘send’ brought up that old, nagging worry that I’m just wasting their time or making a fuss over nothing. But I pushed through, and it’s done.
To prepare, I’ve done a few practical things:
- The Screener: I filled in a pre-assessment screener with the provider I’d like to be referred to. The results strongly suggested the need for an assessment, which was incredibly validating.
- The Evidence: I’ve researched the specific traits that resonate with me and listed the areas I’m worried about.
- The “Why”: I’ve written down exactly why I want to pursue this—not just for a label, but for a further explanation of who I am, and possibly to explore if medication could be the tool that helps bridge the gap between my intentions and my actions.
I’m nervous, naturally. But I’m also hopeful. I’m hoping that understanding this impulsive, chaotic, creative part of my brain might just help me make peace with it.
I’ll keep you posted on the appointment. Until then, if you’re feeling that tug-of-war inside, just know you aren’t the only one holding the rope.
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