I’m writing this article just days after an appointment with my GP to discuss trialling ADHD medication. Upon receiving my ADHD diagnosis last month, I was filled with hope—not only could I continue understanding my brain a little better, but I could also get the support I needed to live comfortably.
But, much like when I was diagnosed as autistic last year, I quickly learned that support for late-diagnosed individuals with ADHD is severely lacking. My GP informed me that, because of the borough I live in, they are not allowed to prescribe ADHD medication to anyone. Put simply, if I want to trial medication, I have to go down the private route, which I cannot afford.
So why, when more people than ever are receiving diagnoses for neurodevelopmental disorders like autism and ADHD, is there still such a lack of support available?
My latest conversation with my GP echoes a similar one I had last year when I was seeking counselling to come to terms with my autism, on top of a life-changing event in which I was discriminated against at work because of my disability. I was specific in what I needed: talking therapy with someone who understood neurodivergence and could counsel me without expecting me to adhere to neurotypical norms. Therapy can, in fact, be quite damaging for autistic people if the therapist isn’t experienced in working with neurodivergent clients.
Yet, my GP simply told me that no counselling services were available for adults with autism and that there was nothing they could do. With some pushing, I spoke to the mental health practitioner at my local surgery, who said they’d asked around and found a service for me—I just had to call them to set everything up. But when I did, it turned out this establishment was not a therapy service at all—it was a day centre for neurodivergent adults. Once again, I was sent in circles.
Eventually, I had to find services myself and then contact my GP to sign off on funding for me. I’ve been on a waiting list for around six months since then.
I genuinely thought this time would be easier. I have an ADHD diagnosis. My doctor prescribes medications. So, in theory, I should be able to just walk in, show them the relevant paperwork, and get a prescription. Surely, this was meant to be straightforward? I even assumed going down the Right to Choose route to get my diagnosis wouldn’t change anything. Yet, I’ve now been informed that my practice does not share care agreements with private providers, despite Right to Choose being an NHS-funded pathway.
So, once again, I’m at a loss. With the way my ADHD manifests, I consider myself someone who may genuinely need medication to function in a world that typically overwhelms me. It’s not about preference; it’s about survival. I genuinely fear for the direction this country is heading. I’ve applied for PIP to help with the daily costs of living as a disabled person, but with the current government making cuts to disability benefits, I’m not holding my breath. Yet, if my only option for ADHD medication is private healthcare, how else am I supposed to fund something that could be life-changing?
I’m just angry. I really am. After spending half a decade waiting for various diagnoses, I thought this period of my life would be liberating—that once I had the answers I needed, I could access the support to move forward. But unless I fight for it, that’s not going to happen.
And that’s why I do this—why I share my experiences as a late-diagnosed neurodivergent woman week in, week out. I don’t do it for attention. I do it because our struggles are ignored, overlooked and dismissed. These conditions aren’t being ‘over-diagnosed’, and not everyone is ‘a little bit neurodivergent’. These mindsets are harmful to people like me, who have struggled their entire lives to exist in a society that constantly tells them they’re either too much or not enough simply because they think differently.
The world’s view of neurodivergence needs to change. The damage this lack of understanding and support does to late-diagnosed neurodivergent individuals is astounding. It’s no wonder that suicide rates are disproportionately high amongst neurodivergent people.
But I will continue to fight. Not just for myself, but for every neurodivergent person who feels like they’re drowning in a system that refuses to acknowledge them. My first step is fighting for medication that could change my life for the better. The next is ensuring that others don’t have to endure the same neglect from a system that should be there to support us, not force us to justify our existence at every turn.
This photo was taken last weekend after two days of work, gym and lunch with a friend. I wasn’t asleep—I was just so overwhelmed I couldn’t even bear to sit in a room with proper lighting. This is why neurodivergent people need more support.