Wired Differently: Discovering Life With ADHD
In our family of four, the neurodiversity divide is right down the middle - two neurodiverse females, two neurotypical males. That balance shapes the way we live, relate, and especially communicate. It’s been five years since my autism diagnosis. Since then, we’ve made communication a conscious family priority. We’ve had to learn how to listen differently, speak with more clarity, and above all, create space for understanding. But still, something didn’t sit right. There were moments that felt off - disconnects I couldn’t quite explain. Was it a gender thing? A parent-child thing? Or was it just that we had teenagers in the house?
Four Of Us
A year ago, I started exploring ADHD. Some of my lingering struggles didn’t feel entirely explained by autism alone. I kept hearing that many autistic people also have ADHD, so I followed that thread. What I found surprised me. Like autism, ADHD can present very differently in women - quieter, subtler, less disruptive. Inattentiveness. Internal restlessness. Impulsive thoughts that don’t necessarily lead to impulsive actions. The more I read, the more I questioned if this was me. When Autism and ADHD are combined they “fight” each other. It was eye-opening. But it also opened up a new question: Had I missed something even closer to home?
The ADHD Thread
My son had been wrestling with his mental health for around four years. He talks about it openly, which I deeply respect. In our house, mental health isn’t a secret. It’s just part of who we are. I’ve lived with my own struggles, and we’ve created a home where being yourself is not only allowed but celebrated. Autism and ADHD are frequent topics in our household. My children have neurodiverse friends, and conversations around identity and difference happen naturally. So, it didn’t shock me when my son began asking if I thought he might be autistic. I told him no. Not because I dismissed the idea - but because he seemed to reflect traits that I believed came from being raised by an autistic mum, rather than traits that were interfering with his daily life. But then, while I was researching ADHD, he let me in on something. He had been researching it too - quietly, on his own, for six months. He had always felt different. And the more he listened to his neurodiverse friends, the more he felt seen. The more he listened, the more it resonated.
My Son, My Mirror
When I finally listened - truly listened - it was like putting on a pair of glasses and seeing everything in sharper focus. I looked at my son through a new lens: ADHD. Suddenly, it was all there. The signs, the struggles, the ways he had been masking or adapting, not because he was lazy or difficult, but because he was wired differently. He didn’t fit the classic hyperactive profile. But once I understood the inattentive type, it was like reading a story I already knew by heart. For years, I had been parenting him as if he were neurotypical - like I was trying to make him fit into a system that didn’t fit him. No wonder he was struggling. We began to talk more. Reflect more. We looked back at his childhood, and all those missed signs started making sense.
The Lightbulb Moment
Once we had this new perspective, we made changes - small ones at first. We stopped trying to “correct” certain behaviours. We offered more flexibility, more patience, more tailored support. And the change in him was incredible. He was calmer, more settled. Not because he was being forced to change, but because we finally understood him better. Then came the question: did he want a diagnosis? For me, my autism diagnosis was validating. It gave a name to years of struggle. But when it came to support or strategies, I had to find those myself. If my son felt that a diagnosis would help him understand himself better or access support like medication, I was all for it. But if he chose to self-identify and that was enough for him, that was okay too. Two weeks before his 18th birthday, we saw our GP. Since the adult referral path was shorter than the child one, we agreed to wait until he turned 18. The GP submitted the referral, and that was the beginning of his official journey.
A Different Kind Of Support
The past year has been full of change. Not all of it easy - but all of it worth it. We’ve had to rethink how we function as a family. We’ve had to learn how to give each other space, how to ask for closeness, how to navigate the everyday complexities of living with different neurological needs. We still have rough days. We still get things wrong. But we get better at recovering. Better at owning our needs. It’s not always simple - especially for my husband, the only neurotypical member of our now officially neurodivergent household. His needs are just as valid, and we’re learning how to hold space for him, too.
Adjusting The Balance