Bottle Tree Counselling

I received the nickname “Motor-mouth” in high school. A teacher gave it to me commenting I could talk under six feet of wet cement with a mouth full of marbles. I never felt like I quite fit anywhere, floating across social groups like some kind of loud fringe-dweller. My school reports routinely read “needs to be more organised”, “not meeting her full potential”, and “Megan is adept at expressing an opinion orally”. At home, I disappeared into novels (this was the 80’s kids, no mobile phones) or out horse-riding for hours. I have always HATED the thought of licking a paddle pop stick, it makes my skin crawl. Certain sounds make me physically flinch and some textures are completely abominable.

In my early twenties as a mother, I struggled to stay on top of housework, collected unfinished projects of all sorts and found I was often easily irritated. I thought that not coping was normal for a mum. I lived on coffee (white and two thanks) and cigarettes, routinely forgot to eat and had a memory like a sieve. Being a good mum felt like an impossible dream and I routinely beat myself up for not being able to manage things like every other mother I knew. Why did everyone else have their shit together and I couldn’t remember what day it was?

I did my university assignments at the last minute, frequently said the wrong thing at the wrong time and made impulse purchases far too often. I spent most of my life believing I just sucked at everything a woman was supposed to be good at. Laundry washed and dried in a day, well that’s doable, but putting away was definitely a seven to ten business days…maybe. I felt like a failure, a lot of the time. I couldn’t understand why, even when I was busy all the time and utterly exhausted, I still couldn’t stay on top of what seemed like the bare minimum. I also felt like I couldn’t ask for help, because then everyone else would know I was failing.

My belief that I was useless started changing the day I found a document entitled “Thirteen impacts on your executive function if you have ADHD”. Have you ever had one of those “WELL FUCK” moments? That was mine. Cue hyper-focus research mode. I did every online test I could find. I was secretly convinced I couldn’t possibly have ADHD and I was just a useless woman. I spent several months down a rabbit hole that took my focus away from a lot of things. Finally, age 45, I got up the courage to go to a doctor and asked for a referral so I could know OFFICIALLY if I was right or not. I was lucky, my doctor gladly referred me.

Two months later, I sat in a psychiatrists office rehashing childhood nightmares, negative experiences and adult shame. I walked out of that office, emotionally exhausted and with two sets of what I now refer to as “Capital Letters” – ADHD and ASD. For the uninitiated, my clinical diagnosis is Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder – combined presentation and Autism Spectrum Disorder Level 1. I ignored the autism diagnosis for the first six months and focused on learning as much as I could about ADHD in women. Over time I began to realise that I had more than a few peculiar quirks that were not due to my ADHD. I finally had to admit that I had a lot more quirks than the average person.

The more I allowed this acknowledgement in myself, the more autistic I actually started to feel. I discovered through yet more research that this is a common experience of late diagnosed neurodivergents, as you realise you’ve been masking behaviours for years, you slowly start to take the mask off and stop pretending things don’t bother you. I allowed myself more kindness when I was overwhelmed, I didn’t force myself into things I was uncomfortable with, I took time to reset when I needed it, and I started speaking up when I didn’t like something.

The greatest benefit of my diagnosis has been the knowledge that I wasn’t a failure, or useless, or hopeless. It was learning that for my entire life both myself, and the rest of the world, had been expecting my brain to do things a certain way, the neurotypical way. My brain cannot do that. I’ve learnt how to harness my strengths, how to love myself for my differences, and how to be gentle with myself when I’m overwhelmed. I’ve spent hours researching the best ways to support people with ADHD and Autism, not just for myself, but for anyone that I meet in life who needs that help. I have found great joy in helping others discover their own strengths and harnessing them for their ultimate benefit. I love nothing more than seeing someone embrace their own diversity and flourishing by using their strengths.

You may ask why I’m finally telling you all this now? Why I am disclosing my diagnosis to the world when I don’t need to? I’m doing this now, because I have chosen to no longer hide. I’m choosing to step into authenticity and showing the world who I am. I’m showing the wonderful people I work with what living a daringly authentic life can look like. I’m embracing the difficulties I have interacting in a world not designed for me and others like me. I’m owning my neurospicy brain and the abilities it gives me to be empathic, intuitive, focused, investigative, stubborn and sassy. I’m sharing my experiences of navigating a world that appears to me to be some kind of torturous fairground – it’s too loud, too bright, the wrong temperature and often smells icky.

I’m not “on the spectrum”, I don’t have a deficit of attention. I can make eye contact, navigate social situations (most of the time) and function in a job. I’m highly empathic, I feel everyone’s emotions, I hear everything and the smallest noise can distract me. I lose my train of thought mid-sentence and lose things I just put down. I procrastinate, struggle to find motivation for boring chores and need background noise most of the time. I over-analyse, over-think, I people please (well, I’m recovering) and I’m hyper-independent.

I’m not less than, and I don’t want pity. I want the world to understand that different does not mean less than. I can do things others can’t. I am not devalued by my different brain. I embrace my neurodiversity and I teach others to do the same. I am passionate about helping others who have ADHD, Autism, trauma and other neurodivergent conditions. I am a passionate supporter of people accessing the medical professionals that they need to find out for themselves what is going on for them. I am undertaking my doctorate in autistic research and I will never stop advocating for the acceptance of those who are different. In the words of the most amazing Chloe Hayden “Different, Not Less”.