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.
So the suggestion was made by a psychiatrist. And then, like many people, I faced a huge wait. Awareness about ADHD has risen among women in recent years. But, alongside it, so have NHS waiting times for treatment. I was told that I would have to wait three years for answers.
I put the diagnosis at the back of my mind, but pregnancy was a huge challenge for me. One of the ways I have always managed my condition is through movement. I realised that if I ran myself to a point of exhaustion I would be able to sleep, so running became my medicine. I ran miles and miles, competing in half-marathons and taking pride in how fit and active I was. Being pregnant meant for the first time in my life I was forced to slow down, although I definitely tried not to. I was the woman who was sprinting on a treadmill days before she gave birth. I gawped when a clinician said that for the last few weeks of pregnancy I should try to relax.
When my son was born my ADHD symptoms came into focus. The first few weeks of parenthood were a blur of excitement. I loved giving birth, perhaps because of my desire for stimulation – it was the ultimate high-octane experience. And then he was in the world, demanding that I breastfeed him, which meant sitting down for long periods of time and enjoying the routines of caring for a new life.
I sat with him and let him feed, but my mind would wander off to new things that needed pursuing while I had time off work. I thought about travelling the world with him, writing some stories as I went. Big and bright ideas would come into my mind, which needed to be actioned immediately. When I saw the psychologist who was treating me during the first year of my little boy’s life, she would say: “Stay with him, Sarah.” And her words would bring me back down to earth.
So, I decided I needed answers and sought a private diagnosis, which was expensive. They asked my parents to fill in a long form explaining what I was like as a child. For women, ADHD is much more internal, which is why it often does not get picked up. I was the little girl who was “away with the fairies”, who never “thought before she spoke”, who was imaginative and creative, but never knew when to stop.
The psychiatrist said I had it, and offered treatment in the form of medication, which I am still thinking about taking. I have been on an antidepressant since I was 27, and I have found it hard to get support to come off it, so taking another drug is something I want to consider carefully. My psychologist suggested I set up my own support group for mothers with ADHD, which I have not done because being a new mother back at work is challenging enough.
I spoke to other people in the ADHD community who said there is little out there for mothers. It’s another area where the health of women is ignored.
And the whole time you’re under the spotlight of what society tells you a mother is: she’s selfless and patient. She sits with her child for hours playing, takes on all the chores and loves the mundanity of motherhood. I can barely manage a household without the addition of a child. I would go to mother groups and see them all smiling and cooing at their children. All I could think about was how dull an hour of baby music was, or wanting to get up and leave the room. I would forget key items needed for the day and then beat myself up for not being as organised as everyone else. I wanted to be the best mother and offer my son everything I had – but what if what I had to offer looked different?
The one thing I’ve learned from this whole experience is to play to my strengths. They say every person with ADHD has a superpower. For me, that’s my endless creativity, my ability to hyper-focus and to get immense amounts of work done when I am completely fascinated by a subject. It’s also important to use the strengths of others in areas you fall down in, and endless support from my therapist, family and partner has helped immensely.
I have always connected with children, because I have never lost a sense of play and adventure. With my son, I know I can offer him this. I don’t see things like everyone else and I will bring that into my job as a mother.
In some ways, the things I have achieved in my life are partly down to my condition. I have broken into journalism by moving up from a non-editorial role, which is uncommon. I have been able to compete at a high level in exercise because it stimulates me. If my son has the condition, I will know exactly what to do to help him make the most of not always following the rules. It is through seeing the world differently that it is changed – all the great thinkers of our time probably had some sort of neurodivergence. And seeing the world of motherhood through a lens that others don’t allows me to define it on my terms. So I might not be the most organised, but I will definitely be the most empathic and fun, and that’s OK.
Sarah Marsh is a Guardian news reporter