For my whole life, I’ve felt uncomfortable in my own skin but it wasn’t until I became an adult that I realised that I was neurodiverse.
I was diagnosed with depression as a teenager. I don’t remember anyone really being interested in what was going on for me or why I felt sad. Instead, I muddled through, completing university and climbing the career ladder in adulthood. Despite my exterior success, I was struggling inside.
My mind raced all the time, and I was so knackered after navigating the demands of a neurotypical workplace that I’d crash and burn at home.
I struggled to feed myself and was a perpetual insomniac. I’d also have massive emotional meltdowns and struggle to soothe myself and was incredibly sensitive to rejection. I thought I was damaged goods.
A realisation
It was only when I began training to be a therapist that I realised I could be neurodiverse.
I’d undertaken rigorous therapy training (which one of my tutors described as ‘a controlled nervous breakdown’) and learned so much about myself, processed so much and come so far in my journey of self-knowledge and self-compassion and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with me.
© ShutterstockMost of my fellow trainees didn’t seem to be impacted by the training in the same way that I was.
Then people close to me started to be diagnosed with ADHD (and/or Autism). I started noticing it everywhere. During the pandemic, I became utterly obsessed. I’d spend most evenings researching ADHD and autism, reading people’s stories, taking online tests, devouring research, compiling lists of possible traits and reflecting on my past.
Seeking diagnosis
I finally sought a diagnosis in 2022. After hearing so many horror stories of women being dismissed by the NHS I couldn’t face going to my GP, so I got my diagnosis privately.
When the psychiatrist told me I definitely had ADHD, with a big old dollop of autistic traits, I cried with relief. When she acknowledged what it had cost me to do so well in life, I sobbed. Never before had I felt so seen and validated.
© ShutterstockIt’s a huge privilege to have been able to get diagnosed this way. So many are still waiting, still beholden to their inner imposter, misdiagnosed and misunderstood.
Post-diagnosis, I started therapy with a neurodivergent therapist, which was incredible. To be acknowledged in both my neurodivergent glory, but also in the difficulties that come with being neurodivergent in a neurotypical world, without having to explain myself, was incredibly healing.
Specialising in ADHD and Autism
This inspired me to work as a counsellor specialising in ADHD and Autism, through a neurodiversity-affirming lens.
This means that I don’t see neurodivergence as something to be fixed, rather just how some people are wired. Understandably, many of my clients believe they need to be fixed, owing to often being treated as different or ‘wrong’ throughout their lives.
This is known as ‘internalised ableism’ and a lot of my work, both for myself and my clients, revolves around undoing these self-limiting beliefs.
© ShutterstockMy approach isn’t one size fits all. I aim to get to know each individual and work collaboratively with them to foster self-compassion and acceptance, as well as looking at how to develop a toolbox that helps with their unique challenges.
I think what really makes a difference is knowing you’re in a room with someone who gets it. To be seen and understood in all your neurodivergent glory and to have the costs of being neurodivergent in a neurotypical world acknowledged can be incredibly healing.
I see being a neurodiversity affirming therapist as a journey, not a destination, and am a bit wary of those who claim to know it all.
Instead, I strive to keep learning, to stay open to whatever comes up in the work and to allow myself to be touched by each of my clients. I prefer to see therapy as a healing relationship between two humans rather than my being an expert with all the answers.
Jess is a BACP-registered counsellor, find out about working with her.
