Insight hears from adults navigating the life-shaping consequences of living with ADHD. Watch the full episode .
I was 33 years old when I was diagnosed with . I didn’t know it at the time, but the day of my diagnosis would turn out to be one of the great milestones of my life.
Growing up, I was amazed at anybody who was ambitious and driven. Well into my adult years I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could ever work on something from start to finish. The whole concept of finishing a task was foreign to me.
I grew to assume the world was made up of those who can, and those who can’t – and I was definitely the later.
I was always highly capable at school, but my grades didn’t reflect this. A typical report card would say something along the lines of “Matthew could do so much better if he just put his mind to it”.
For the most part, the problem was that the content didn’t interest me. Or it was too easy (or too hard). I was consistently bored.
When I was 24 my son, P, was born. He arrived two weeks late and, even then, he wasn’t in any kind of hurry. He was perfectly happy to stay where he was and had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the world.
We laugh now that he wasn’t overdue, he was just running late. If you knew him, you’d get the joke.
The whole concept of finishing a task was foreign to me.
It’s surprising how many similarities there are between the symptoms of and the behaviours of a toddler.
P was about four years old when it became obvious that the apple had fallen very close to the tree.
He was clearly a bright kid - no question - but he struggled with everyday things. Even simple tasks took a frustratingly long time to get done.
Sometimes we’d try to keep track of the number of requests that would have to be repeated before it was done. We always lost count.
He wasn’t naughty - just slow. Glacial. Far happier to be lost in his own head than out amongst the world with the rest of us. He was consistently bored.
Matt and his son received their ADHD diagnosis' around the same time. Source: Insight
After going through the long and expensive process of having him diagnosed, it was his paediatrician that suggested I look into it for myself.
We had told him about some of the many similarities between us, and he had picked up on some others himself. Surprisingly, we’d never formed the connection. It seemed so obvious once he pointed it out.
'Like someone had cleared a fog'
The process for me was much faster. The genetic aspects of ADHD meant I cleared a lot of the hoops I would have otherwise had to jump through had it not been for P’s diagnosis.
I was diagnosed within a couple of weeks and started treatment immediately. The difference it made is hard to put into words.
It was like someone had cleared a fog. Within a few days I could organise my thoughts. I could focus. I got a glimpse of what life is like for ‘those who can’.
It wasn’t long before I could actually finish things.
In the years since then, things have gone from one strength to the next.
I’m in the best shape of my life. My marriage is the kind they write books about (the good kind). I’ve become incredibly successful in my career, and even completed an extremely complex and highly coveted industry certification held by less than 400 people worldwide.
By all accounts I am nailing life.
'My diagnosis gives me a connection with my son'
Despite all of the amazing things that have come from my diagnosis, I do my best to not forget where I’ve come from. I’m one of the lucky ones you see.
The stigma attached to ADHD means there is still an alarming number of people who remain undiagnosed.
There’s also a surprising number of people who are diagnosed, but don’t respond well to the treatments available. I will always be grateful for where I have landed, even if it took a long time to get here.
Better late than never.
Above and beyond all of this, I can honestly say that the single best part of my diagnosis is the connection it gives me with my son.
We understand each other in ways no one else can.
We see the world the same way. For all intents and purposes, he is me at 13 years old – but with a diagnosis.
He’ll never have to accept being one of those who can’t. He’ll never have to accept the world overtaking him. He will be nailing life from the very start. What could be better than that?
