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 parenting. The nagging. The snapping. The moments when I was too overwhelmed or distracted to be the calm, patient mum I thought I “should” be. I told myself I was just failing. That I was too impatient, too disorganised and too much.

And of course, my ex-husband’s words didn’t help. I have stayed silent for the sake of my children, but I have learnt that this doesn’t serve anyone. For years I was told I was “mental,” that I was a “shit mum,” that I had “ruined my kids.” I carried those words like a truth, even when I was trying my hardest. Hearing it from someone who was supposed to have loved me and have my back only made the guilt louder. It’s hard not to wonder if my children believed it too. I was none of those things. 

In recent years, I’ve still been fair; keeping things civil; trying to present a united front, and even protecting his image. But I won’t lie anymore. The reality is his words cut deep, and they shaped the way I saw myself as a mother. Pretending otherwise only keeps me stuck in silence. I didn’t deserve that. 

There were the times I rushed back to work after having them because I couldn’t bear being at home full-time as a mum. Being at work gave me structure, predictability, and a sense of control that home life often didn’t. At home, the noise, the mess, the constant demands would overload me until I snapped. At work, at least there were rules and routines that made sense. At work I didn’t have to deal with golf shit everywhere, unpredictable home life and someone telling me I was mental, an over sharer and lazy.

However, when I went back to work, I also felt guilty for not being able to “just enjoy” being at home like other mums seemed to. Now I see that it wasn’t because I didn’t love my children, it was because my ADHD and autism made home life so much harder to process. I wasn’t running away from them. I was running from the overwhelm. But back then, all I saw was failure which was made worse but constantly being reminded of all my “flaws.” I still made dinner every night, washed their clothes, took them to their clubs and events. Never ever actually putting myself first. 

This is what I’ve come to realise - ADHD and autism are disabilities. That’s not an excuse, it’s a fact. For over forty years I was living with hidden disabilities, untreated, unsupported, unrecognised. I wasn’t a bad mum, I was a disabled mum doing her absolute best without the tools or understanding I needed. That changes everything. 

But those same traits - the hyperfocus, the determination, the need to keep pushing forward - have also made me successful on my own. I actually do better alone and not in a relationship. They’ve helped me survive, adapt, and build a life for myself and my children (however distant things may be right now) even when the odds felt stacked against me. 

Still, the sadness creeps in. I look back and ache for the mum I could have been if I’d understood myself sooner. If I’d had the language, the support, the self-compassion I’m only just beginning to learn.

But here’s the truth - Fin and Imi are the very best part of me. They are the reason I want to keep moving forward, not stuck in the past. They didn’t grow up with a “shit parent.” They grew up with a mum who loved them fiercely, even when she was exhausted and frazzled. A mum who kept going, even when her brain made things ten times harder than they needed to be. I love them more than anything and nothing will ever change that.

I’m still figuring out how to forgive myself, how to move forward without drowning in “what ifs.” But I’m starting to believe that being honest about this - with myself, with them, with others - is part of that healing.

Because the truth is, I wasn’t broken. I was undiagnosed, and I’m still their mum. I’m proud that they have a very independent, successful mum too- one who keeps learning, keeps growing, and keeps loving them fiercely every single day.

I can’t change the past or the opinions of others, and I can’t change the way others have seen me. What I can do is hold onto the truth I know now - that ADHD and autism don’t make me a bad mum. They just make me “me.” Fin and Imi didn’t grow up with perfection, but they have always had my love and backing. And for them, I will never, ever give up. They are the very best part of me.

I no longer have a relationship with my father. When I reached out at my lowest point of figuring myself out, he didn’t show up. I was met with hostility. That hurt, but it also reminded me that I will never be the parent he is. I put my children first, even if my brain doesn’t always show it the way others might. I literally cannot help who I am, and constant criticism can feel unbearable - but I’ve learned to protect myself and cut out what makes life harder.

I know that the criticism and unkindness I faced along the way made the journey harder. I don’t yet know exactly what life will look like from here, but I’m learning to navigate it with this new understanding of myself, and with the friends and family who accept me as I am. ADHD and autism don’t change the love I have for my children, or the commitment I have to keep showing up for them - one day at a time.