I was once on a list of two people who lost their work passes at the Guardian more than anyone else. I am chronically chaotic: my wardrobe includes unfolded jumpers and items thrown on top of each other. I am driven by what I can only describe as an inner motor that wants to be doing new things at all times.
Given all these symptoms, it’s surprising that it took me until the age of 34 to get a diagnosis of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), and it came alongside the birth of my first child. When I was pregnant, it was suggested I might have the condition. As I struggled with the physical and hormonal changes of carrying a child, my mental health plummeted. I was referred to the perinatal mental health team. There, I listed the many symptoms that had plagued my life. ADHD is a lot more than being forgetful. I have had bouts of insomnia so bad that I thought I would never sleep again. My life was driven by impulsiveness that left me ruining relationships and struggling to maintain certain friendships. I was constantly trying to numb an overactive mind.
