Welcome back, beautiful soul!
Today’s words have been carefully crafted by Courage and her dear friend, Compassion. They adore alliteration 💖
I share them with trepidation, trust, and the hope that they touch your heart, and restore your relationship with any parts of yourself you previously disowned or criticised—no matter what labels you have, suspect you may have, wish for, or rail against (because you hate labels 😜).
But first…
…An unplanned detour. I intended to write this early this morning, ready for my UK friends to perhaps read over Saturday breakfast. I woke up early, ready to go.
But then my brain reminded me I needed to check the website I shared below.
Then, I noticed said website invited story submissions about experiences after ADHD diagnosis.
Then my brain lit up!
Delighting in the Dopamine, I checked in with my heart: Would we like to do this first? I felt the warm tingles of an emphatic YES. How hard could it be to condense my story into 1000 characters? It would only take a minute.
*Newsflash* It did not. 😳
Hours later, having NOT met my writing buddies as planned (thankfully, it’s an invitation, not a Should), I wrote this in time for afternoon tea dinner 🫖. Despite my best intentions, sometimes I feel a different flow. It costs me dearly to fight it… even though I tried for years.
And so, I was absent. Again. 🫣
Welcome to my brain…
Acquiring A Four-Letter Label
I hovered nervously on the edge of my chair, heart hammering, face flushed… despite the cool November air. Trying to calm my mind monkeys, I focused on my breath.
The psychologist reappeared and confirmed my suspicions. I was unprepared for the tidal wave of emotions that swept my long-held composure aside. I'd lived with a feeling of being ‘different’ for so long. Now, I had a label to explain why. 🏷️
She asked if I was surprised by my diagnosis: primarily inattentive ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder). I replied that I was more surprised by my sudden deep sadness for Little Helen, the girl who didn’t fit in. She masked her true self to stop being bullied, shapeshifted to fit into a world that didn’t understand her, and spent five decades feeling flawed.
Now, as I reflect on my journey during ADHD Awareness Month, I realise how much I've grown. Not only do I understand myself more, but I’ve also grown to appreciate the kindred community I had but didn’t fully embrace. This diagnosis didn’t just explain my entire life; it also gave me a roadmap for the future.
However, I had to start walking a long, sometimes lonely road ahead first...
Step 1: Taking Ownership
When I first shared my ADHD diagnosis with friends and family, reactions were varied.
Some responded with love, empathy and curiosity, eager to learn how they could support me. But others were dismissive, offering unhelpful comments like, “We’re all a little ADHD,” “Why do you want a label?” or “You’re trendy now.”
These responses stung. 🐝
After spending so much time hiding (and judging) my struggles, I was finally brave enough to be vulnerable. It felt like some of the people I trusted most didn’t understand. Thankfully, I knew better than to trust my initial reactions. Reassuring my brain that I loved it, despite it telling me people were mean, I asked my heart to show me what gifts my friends’ words offered.
My ever-faithful heart reassured me that my friends did care. They didn’t understand ADHD, the significance of this label to me, or know how best to respond. And that was okay.
Because, in all honesty, before I realised I had ADHD, I was the same.
ADHD, especially in women, is still widely misunderstood (though thankfully, this is sloooowly changing). For many, including former me, the term conjures images of hyperactive young boys… not a middle-aged woman who has spent her life quietly masking her struggles. It was up to me to open up, share, bridge the understanding gap and communicate differently. I had to lead the way.
This was the gift—an invitation to connect more deeply by being authentic rather than continuing to camouflage my inner chaos. It was an opportunity to be real… and see what happened.
Scary as hell. But essential.
Step 2: From Masking to Unmasking
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been an expert at ‘Game Face.’
Like many neurodivergent women, I learned to hide my real feelings behind a smile. This was useful when dealing with traumatic situations as a former radiographer and sonographer. Not so much in daily life.
I contorted, hiding my true self behind an impenetrable mask the moment other people let me know I was being too weird. People-pleasing, I unconsciously chipped away at myself. I know now I wasn’t just masking for others—I was masking for myself, too. It was a survival strategy to avoid rejection and the pain of feeling “other.”
But it came at a cost.
I felt I was constantly failing and didn’t understand why. I was too clumsy, slow, quiet, and daydreamy. I struggled to organise, plan, or be consistent, feeling shame when I couldn’t keep up. Exploring ever-evolving ‘life hacks’ became exhausting, but I didn’t know how to stop or ask for help… so I burned out constantly.
Receiving the ADHD diagnosis was like someone handing me a permission slip to play.
I could pause, stop pretending, and begin unmasking—not just for others but for myself. The process was sloooow. It took time to identify and peel back the layers so I could embrace the parts of myself I had hidden away. It was like digging for treasure… although there were traumatic moments too.
Thankfully, I had a wise, wonderful guide to support me in those early days, a kindred soul and possible future collaborative partner (watch this space!). I already offered myself compassion, but she taught me to stop using the energy of ‘proving naysayers wrong’ to fuel me and instead follow the call to ‘ripple out love’.
Honouring this was scary. But a game-changer.
Step 3: The Turning Point
That November morning, the psychologist’s words landed like puzzle pieces clicking into place.
But although the diagnosis felt like a relief, it was also a reckoning. I had to face the reality that Little Helen spent years battling invisible barriers—barriers no one, not even me, saw or understood. I wasn’t simply ‘weird,’ forgetful, or incapable of Adulting; I was neurodivergent. Wired in a way the world didn’t see or accommodate and often misunderstood.
As I contemplated this over the following weeks, I realised ADHD wasn’t just a label—it offered a new lens through which I could reinterpret my entire life experience. It extended a hand, welcoming me to new pastures… where I could forgive my flaws and feel more free to be ME.
Perhaps, in doing so, I could inspire others to do the same, regardless of their labels. Because they may not be obvious, but we all have them.
Labels don’t define us, but they can still make us feel stuck and small. Acknowledging them can be a liberating act of self-love.
As I became more comfortable with my diagnosis, I learned over and over again that simply telling people about my ADHD ‘label’ wasn't enough. The term came with preconceived notions that often didn't align with my experience. I needed to find a way to help others truly understand what it meant for me to live with a neurodivergent brain.
Not just for me but for others like me.
So we could bridge the understanding gap, create more authentic connections, and build better lives.
Scary as hell. But I CHOSE to find a way.
Step 4. Building Bridges Through Metaphors
I realised that using metaphors and analogies, which came naturally to me, might be the perfect bridge builder.
With help from my magical soul sister, Jodie, I started by redefining ADHD as A Different Helen Daily. A playful reframe that helped me explain ADHD in a way that felt empowering rather than pathologising.
Each day, I wake up as a different version of myself, depending on how well I manage the twenty-seven simultaneous TV channels running in my brain. Some days, I’m energised and productive. On others, I struggle to start the simplest of tasks.
I’m still me—just a different, unmasked, therefore unpredictable version. 🙃
My reframe eased the way first, giving others implicit permission to relax. I might then describe my thought process as navigating a jumbled library or my attention span as a butterfly flitting between flowers. These visuals painted a clearer picture of my internal world, allowing others to connect with my experiences more intuitively.
No Shoulds. More a gentle invitation.
I subsequently felt free to be honest when I lost the conversation thread due to my mind wandering. Instead of nodding and pretending to follow, I would say, "I'm sorry, my brain just flitted to another flower. Could you please repeat that last part?". If I’m unclear what someone is trying to ask, “Would you mind saying that another way?”.
Though initially uncomfortable, this honesty led to more meaningful and authentic conversations and had an unexpected ripple effect on my relationships.
Friends commented that they felt more comfortable being their true selves around me. My previous colleagues appreciated my unique perspectives and creative problem-solving abilities. In new friendships, I found that leading with honesty about my neurodivergence set a tone of acceptance and openness from the start.
Scary as hell. But a game-changer.
Final Thoughts, Special Interests & Side-Quests
Through these conversations, I’ve deepened my relationships in ways I never thought possible.
The more I open up about my neurodivergence, the more others open up to me. The more they open up to me, the more honest I am about who I am. I don’t use my brain as an excuse and never view myself as a victim. I am not. I am wise, strong, sensitive, compassionate and often sometimes crap!!
Still me… just more me.
I’m learning to show my quirks, such as singing random lyrics (often made up), changing accents at the drop of a hat, and quoting Withnail & I. I’ve done these things since childhood but stopped doing them ‘out loud’ unless I really trusted someone. I apologise more when I mess up. I apologise less when I haven’t!!
I share my excitement, rituals, special interests, and many sidequests. I chatter away about Sherlock and Holmes, my sister's cats, who all currently live in my flat with me. I’m more honest about my feelings and struggles. For example, even though I write daily, my love letters can take hours. They are sometimes often too long… like this one.
I’m working on it. And finally, I’m okay with that. 😉
Sharing personal stories is vulnerable but has immense power. I’ve found that when I let love lead and invite compassion—for myself and others—I create space for more authentic, fulfilling connections. It’s liberating.
Little Helen feels honoured. And very much approves. 🙌🏻
It’s scary. But a game-changer.
Over To You…
We are all a little bit ‘different’, and by embracing those differences, we can create more meaningful and compassionate connections with the people we love.
What aspect of yourself have you been hiding that, if shared, might deepen your connections with others? What metaphors might help you share this?
I invite you to share your reflections in the comments below if that feels helpful to you (or others). Let’s continue this conversation and build a community of understanding, compassion, and acceptance.
Thanks for reading, lovely soul. May you always find your way home to your wholeness.
Until next time, go gently and give yourself grace,
P.S. If you’re curious about my journey, or have questions about neurodiversity, don’t be shy… comment below, or DM me. I’m not the best at getting back to people quickly, but I’m sloooowly getting a little better at that.
P.P.S If you’re on a similar journey, have lots of special interests and you’re a fan of side-quests, you might love the fabulous 💖
🙃🙃🙃🤗🤗🤗😘😘😘😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰
Another HSP / Empath here. Learning about these traits has helped me enormously when it comes to managing (and protecting) my energy!