Two Years In: What My ADHD Diagnosis Means to Me Now

By Rhianna Essex, Founder of Love Local Essex and Suffolk

It’s hard to believe it’s been two whole years since I sat in my appointment and heard the words, “You have ADHD.” Two years. On the one hand, it feels like just yesterday I was grappling with a lifetime of unanswered questions and frustrations. On the other, it feels like an eternity of learning, unlearning, and finally, truly understanding myself.

Before diagnosis, my life often felt like I was trying to run a race designed for someone else, always tripping over invisible hurdles. There was the constant sense of overwhelm, the executive dysfunction that made even simple tasks feel monumental, the emotional dysregulation that could swing me from elation to despair in moments. I blamed myself, internalised the “you’re not trying hard enough” narrative, and carried a heavy burden of shame.

A turning point for me, a crucial piece of the puzzle I now understand, was during the lockdown in 2020. My youngest daughter was just eight months old when the world shut down, and suddenly, I was confined to my house with my loved ones 24/7. At the time, I was diagnosed with postnatal depression, and it made sense – the intense emotions, the struggle to cope. But looking back now, with the clarity of my ADHD diagnosis, I see it differently. The overwhelm of being constantly confined, with no escape from the noise, the emotional dysregulation of my kids (and my own!), and the sheer sensory input of a full house, was just too much for me. My ADHD brain, already working overtime, simply couldn't regulate in that environment. What presented as postnatal depression, in hindsight, was my undiagnosed ADHD screaming for help under pressure. That period was incredibly difficult, but it was also a pivotal moment, forcing me to confront what I was experiencing and ultimately leading me down the path to answers.

The diagnosis wasn't a magic fix, but it was the key that unlocked so many doors. It wasn't about excusing behaviours, but about understanding their root cause. It gave me a framework to comprehend why my brain worked differently, why certain things were a struggle, and why other things came so naturally.

The Journey Since: More Than Just a Label

In the past two years, I’ve been on a whirlwind journey of discovery. Here are some of the biggest shifts and what they mean to me:

Self-Compassion, Finally: This has been perhaps the most profound change. I’ve started to replace self-criticism with self-compassion. Instead of being annoyed at myself for losing something or getting distracted, I can now say, “My ADHD brain is doing its thing right now, and that’s okay.” This shift has been revolutionary for my mental health.

Understanding My Strengths (and Weaknesses): While ADHD presents challenges, it also comes with a unique set of strengths. My hyperfocus, when harnessed, can be incredibly powerful. My ability to think creatively and connect disparate ideas often leads to innovative solutions. I’m learning to leverage these strengths while also acknowledging and strategising around my weaknesses.

Building a Toolbox of Strategies: The past two years have been all about experimentation. What helps with executive dysfunction? What reduces overwhelm? From using visual timers and noise-cancelling headphones to breaking down tasks and setting realistic expectations, I'm slowly but surely building a personalised toolkit that helps me navigate my day more effectively.

Silence is Golden: This has been a massive revelation. I hadn’t realised quite how much noise overwhelms me and what it does to my brain and how I react to things. For me, one of the most important things is understanding that I need to be alone. I need to be in silence, and I need to just reflect. If I give myself these opportunities on a regular basis, my overwhelm has become less. It hasn't disappeared, but it is definitely becoming more manageable.

My Friendships Haven't Changed, But I Have: It's interesting how some relationships evolve after a diagnosis, but for me, my core friendships remain as strong as ever. The biggest shift isn't in them, but in me. I now understand why my brain works the way it does, and this internal clarity has led to a much deeper sense of self-acceptance. I've learnt that the expectations I put upon myself, and that I put upon my friends, have been unhealthy. By being my authentic self, my expectations of both these roles are ever-evolving. Being authentic in front of my friends and family is key. I have two young children, aged 12 and 5. My 12-year-old daughter received an autism diagnosis in October 2024, and I truly believe that my own journey of learning and being honest about my neurodiversity has been incredibly helpful in managing her communication of how she feels with her neurodiversity, too. This means I can communicate my needs better, feel less guilt about my challenges, and ultimately, be a more authentic friend and parent. My friends haven't changed, but my relationship with myself within those friendships, and with my family, has become so much more honest and self-accepting.

Rhianna at an Umbrella Hub Creative Workshop

Connecting with a Community: One of the most comforting aspects of diagnosis has been finding an incredible community of fellow ADHDers. Sharing experiences, tips, and simply knowing I’m not alone in this journey has been incredibly validating and empowering. I've found particular comfort and made new friends with so many other neurodivergent women. The Umbrella Hub has been a constant source of support for me, whether it be the support meetings, the online group, or the friendships that I have made and forged through this wonderful community. The memes alone are worth their weight in gold!

Advocacy and Education: The more I learn, the more I feel a pull to share that knowledge. Whether it’s gently correcting misconceptions or openly discussing my experiences, I believe that open dialogue helps destigmatise ADHD and fosters a more understanding world.

Getting Comfortable with the Uncomfortable

Two years on, a powerful feeling that truly stands out is a newfound ability to get comfortable feeling uncomfortable. Living with ADHD means that sometimes, things will be messy, chaotic, or overwhelming. Strategies don't eliminate all challenges, and sometimes growth demands pushing past what feels easy. I've learned to sit with the discomfort of executive dysfunction, the frustration of an unexpected sensory overload, or the awkwardness of communicating my unique needs. Instead of fighting these feelings, I'm learning to acknowledge them, breathe through them, and understand that discomfort is often a sign of growth, not failure. This

acceptance of the 'uncomfortable' moments has brought a deeper layer of peace and resilience to my life.

A Walking Contradiction

Perhaps one of the most fascinating revelations of this journey has been recognising myself as a walking contradiction. On the surface, I may seem like a confident, social person, capable of holding my own in any conversation and entering a room with ease. But what people often don't see is the immense internal struggle that can precede these moments. I genuinely struggle with social anxiety, the sheer overwhelm of noise in busy places, the worry about how many people will be there, and the detailed planning of how I will get to and from an event. Once I'm there, yes, I can navigate it, engage, and appear completely at ease. But the energy and emotional labour required to do so are significant. Understanding my ADHD has allowed me to acknowledge this internal battle without shame, to recognise that my outward appearance isn't always a true reflection of the calm I feel inside, and that both parts are authentically me.

Looking Forward:

My relationship with my ADHD is still evolving. It’s not always easy. There are still days when the frustration bubbles up, when I feel overwhelmed, or when I just wish my brain would conform to neurotypical expectations. But those days are fewer and farther between.

What I’ve gained in these two years is invaluable: a deeper understanding of myself, a newfound sense of self-acceptance, and a powerful sense of being myself is enough.

ADHD is a part of me, but it doesn’t define me. It's a lens through which I experience the world, and now, for the first time, I feel like I'm finally learning to see clearly.

If you’re reading this and are on a similar journey, know that you’re not alone. It’s a process, not a destination. And it's a journey well worth taking.