The shame of ADHD

Recently, I’ve been feeling a lot of shame about having ADHD.

That surprised me – and probably many of you reading this. I’ve usually been good at blocking out what the media says, but lately, that hasn’t come so easily.

I’ve also stayed quiet with some of my more misinformed family members, people who still believe ADHD is made up, a lazy boy’s excuse. I haven’t corrected them. Worse, I’ve sometimes reinforced their misunderstanding, feeding their lack of awareness with my silence or even denial.

Looking back, that denial came from shame. I didn’t want to have ADHD. I didn’t want to be seen as lazy, weak, or broken. That internal conflict led me to say things I don’t believe – telling others ADHD doesn’t exist, or that I never had it. I even told people I can’t use ADHD as a reason for how I behave anymore.

Of course, that created confusion. People took me at my word. They began to treat me differently, and understandably so. The result was a slow build-up of pressure, confusion, and emotional distance that finally boiled over last month.

The turning point came when I sat down with my wife to watch Chris Packham’s documentary, Inside Our Minds, about ADHD. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it.

There’s a young man in the film, maybe in his mid-twenties, who creates a short piece called Tombola Man. He describes ADHD as being followed constantly by someone throwing balls at you. Each ball is a thought, a task, or a memory. They come at you randomly. One moment he’s brushing his teeth, and the next he feels an overwhelming urge to research the world’s biggest fish – which completely derails him from what he was meant to do, like going to the post office.

That visual hit me hard.

Despite my diagnosis, despite working in this space for years, despite coaching others with ADHD, it stopped me in my tracks. I realised how deep I’d gone into denial. Of course I have ADHD. Of course it’s real.

What was I thinking?

For years, I told myself I didn’t understand why people feel shame about ADHD. That, too, was denial. I had simply turned away from what I didn’t want to feel.

Watching that documentary reminded me of The Surrender Experiment by Michael Singer. One of his central ideas is that we can’t trust the voice in our heads – and this was a perfect example. That voice had been steering me completely wrong.

So, this moment became a line in the sand. I want to come back to myself, to this community. I want to lead with compassion again – for you, and for me.

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The truth is, over the past few months, my content has suffered. I’ve been less engaged, more reactive, sometimes even aggressive with those who disagreed with me. My compassion all but disappeared. Maybe my coaching clients didn’t see it, because I put everything I had into showing up for them. But inside, I was struggling. I was pouring energy into hiding the fact that I was running on empty.

Last Wednesday or Thursday, I broke down in tears. That almost never happens. I cry maybe once every five years. I’m not someone who cries easily, but this time I couldn’t hold it in. When I let go, the relief was overwhelming – like something heavy had lifted, like I could finally breathe.

In that release, though, was pain too. Pain at knowing I’d let people down. Pain at seeing how far I’d drifted from the truth and from myself.

So here I am, being as honest and vulnerable as I can be. I’m done turning away from this. I’m coming back to this community. I’ll be more present, more supportive, and less antagonistic. Especially when it comes to one of the most polarising topics of all: medication.

I still have strong views. I still believe that long-term medication use can be harmful, and I personally can’t imagine ever supporting the idea of giving it to children. But I also want to say this: your decision is your own. It’s not mine to make.

If you feel the benefits outweigh the risks, that’s valid. I only ask that you do two things. First, learn the risks for yourself. Don’t rely solely on what your doctor says. Do your own research. Second, understand what the real benefits are. If the benefit is simply that you can focus better at a job you hate – is that truly a benefit?

Your brain was built to work a certain way. Medication forces it to operate differently. Is that a good thing? That’s not a question with a clear answer. It’s a question of values, of philosophy. But it’s worth sitting with.

Anyway, I’m going off track.

The main thing I want to say is this: I’ve felt a deep, heavy shame about having ADHD. But over the past few days, that shame has started to lift. I’m feeling more open, more grounded, and more ready to embrace the truth of who I am.

I want to do more. I want to be here again – fully.

Thank you so much for reading. Until next week.

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PS: Group Coaching is coming. The launch has also suffered as a result of the mess I’ve made of myself this year.

But I’m more motivated than ever to make this the best it can be. So I’ll be launching with a maximum of 12 early adopters later this month — if you want to be one, hit reply and let me know.

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