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The Silver Spoon Narrative

I ’m getting really tired of the narrative that I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth. That life is the one I would have dreamed;  that I’ve had everything handed to me, and that I couldn’t possibly understand what it feels like to struggle. So let me tell you a little story. When I was 12, my friend and I used to walk home past a house where a man called Jerry lived. He was always nice to us, and if I’m honest, we liked the attention. I know how fucked up that sounds now, but we were 12. We didn’t know what grooming was. We didn’t understand what was happening. When he did things that were a bit weird, we laughed about them. We thought it was funny. If Snapchat had existed back then, we’d probably have been recording it all and sending it to each other, laughing about how strange he was. That’s how little we understood. Over a few months, we started deliberately hanging around outside his house. He had a massive aviary in his back garden, full of budgies, finches, doves and al...
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Wired Differently; Loving The Same

  I was diagnosed with ADHD and autism at 41. Typing that still feels strange. On one hand, it explains so much of my life that never made sense. On the other, it breaks my heart a little, because I can’t stop replaying my years as a mum with this new knowledge that I wasn’t “mental” as I had convinced myself I was after being told that for years. The assessment itself was intense; hours of questions that forced me to pick apart who I am. The psychologist noticed things I’d never paid much attention to; how I fiddled with my hair and touched my face when I was anxious, how my words tumbled out too fast, how I apologised constantly, and how harsh I was on myself. She saw me more clearly than I had ever seen myself. Afterwards, I felt both relief and grief - relief that there was finally a name for the way my brain works. But grief for all the years I didn’t know, especially the years raising Fin and Imi.  That’s the hardest part. I feel so much guilt when I think about my paren...
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Have I told you I’m Autistic? Finding Myself at 41

At 41 I have finally learnt I’m autistic and have ADHD. Getting that diagnosis felt like someone handed me the key to a house I’d lived in my whole life but always as a guest, never as the owner. It was a mix of relief and grief; relief that there was finally an explanation for why I feel the world so intensely, and grief for all the years younger me was treated as “too much” or “too difficult” when really I just couldn’t process things the way others could. The funniest part? My friends had been calling it for years. “You’re so autistic.” “You’re definitely ADHD.” I’d laugh it off, roll my eyes, and insist it was just “lolsies.” Turns out… they were right. Annoyingly right. They are always  right about me, which is both comforting and irritating in equal measure. Younger Me: Weird, Eccentric, Chaotic… and Wonderful (As It Turns Out) I was the child who was always a bit much .  Weird, eccentric, chaotic and messy. I had strange OCD patterns, especially with flicking light swit...
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