My ADHD Assessment Journey

(And why Everyone’s Will Look Different) 

Before I begin, I want to be really clear about one thing: this is my journey. It’s not a template, a checklist, or a “this is how it should go” story. Everyone’s neurodiversity journey looks different, starts in different places, and moves at a different pace. This is simply my experience shared in case it helps someone else feel less alone, less confused, or a little more curious about their own brain. 

The idea that wouldn’t go away 

The idea that I might be neurodivergent popped into my head around seven months before I actually booked an assessment. I work with neurodivergent clients every day and specialise in autism, but I didn’t feel like I fitted the autism criteria myself. Still, something niggled. 

I started looking into ADHD in women and suddenly, some things felt uncomfortably familiar. 

Paying attention to my brain (and body) 

Over the next few months, I became much more intentional about noticing my brain and my body. What helped? What made things harder? I tried to look at this across every part of my life: being a wife, a mum, a friend, a business owner, and a therapist. 

What struck me wasn’t one big “aha” moment it was the patterns. The same struggles, the same fatigue, the same coping strategies showing up across multiple environments. 

“But you don’t look like you have ADHD…” 

I mentioned the idea to a few people and got mixed responses. Most of the hesitation came from the same place: I didn’t fit the stereotypical “bouncing off the walls” version of ADHD.  

Many women don’t. 

Talking it through in therapy.

I brought it up with my therapist and talked through why I wanted an assessment. Anxiety and uncertainty don’t mix well for me once the idea was in my head, I needed clarity. She encouraged me to go for it, reminding me that either way, I’d learn more about myself. 

That reassurance mattered. 

Telling my husband 

Next came telling my husband. Initially, he didn’t think I had ADHD either. But once I explained what ADHD can look like in women internally rather than externally he understood where I was coming from and encouraged me to book the assessment. 

That support made a huge difference. 

What the assessment involved 

The assessment itself included: 

A detailed developmental history 

Questionnaires completed by both me and my husband 

A supporting statement from my husband 

An interview with a psychiatrist 

Each part felt important and slightly daunting. 

The developmental history (aka: talking to Mum) 

The developmental history meant speaking to my mum, which I was nervous about. Despite my line of work, she doesn’t fully understand neurodiversity and tends to notice only the stereotypes or very visible difficulties. 

Her first response was: 

“What will you get from a diagnosis? Why are you doing it?” 

When I explained that I wanted to understand how my brain works day to day and gave examples of things I struggle with I was met with: 

“But everyone struggles with those things.” 

My response was simple: people might struggle with one or two, but it’s the combination of many difficulties, across multiple environments, that makes it a diagnosis. 

She still didn’t fully believe I was neurodivergent, but she was willing to answer the questions. 

As we went through my childhood, she described me as “fine,” academically successful, and a delight in class. But when I pointed out things like: 

Regularly needing days off school just to sleep 

Always having a tutor because I missed things in class 

The long-standing family joke list of “silly reasons Maddi cries” 

…I think something clicked. 

My school week was also packed with extracurricular activities, which may explain why dysregulation wasn’t obvious. But I’ve always picked my fingers and lips. Always. 

The supporting statement 

For the supporting statement, I shared information with my husband about how ADHD presents in women so he could understand it better. I also had the unique advantage of my husband being physically unable to lie — so I knew his answers would be honest, not influenced by what I’d shared. 

That felt grounding. 

The psychiatrist interview 

The questionnaires were fairly straightforward. The interview, however, had me so nervous. I was sweating. I couldn’t find the link. I was late. Nothing was going right. 

Thankfully, the psychiatrist was absolutely wonderful. He prompted me gently, explored both challenges and strengths, and had reviewed all my paperwork beforehand. 

At the end of the session, he told me I had a provisional diagnosis of ADHD, with the full diagnosis to follow once the report was finalised. 

After the call 

Once the call ended, I felt everything at once: validated, shocked, relieved, excited. 

I messaged friends, called my husband, and was met with “woo!”, “congratulations!”, and genuine warmth. That’s what a supportive group looks like and I know how lucky I am to have that. 

Telling Mum (again) 

When I told my mum, she said: 

“I guess that shows how much I know.” 

She then asked whether I’d be going on medication and what I’d do now I had a diagnosis. 

Reading the report 

Reading the report was surreal. When you see 16 pages pulling everything together, it’s hard not to think: how on earth did I not realise sooner? 

It was incredibly validating to read that my constant exhaustion likely comes from sensory overload that my need to nap isn’t laziness, but recovery. I’m keen to understand my sensory needs better to see if I can reduce some of that fatigue (as much as I love a nap, not needing them constantly would be nice). 

It’s also reassuring to now have something to add after a Google search: 

“mental fatigue ADHD” 

“managing a house as a mum with ADHD” 

“ADHD and burnout” 

Where I am now 

I’m writing this about a week post-diagnosis. I’ve processed it and I’m still processing it. 

My husband summed it up perfectly: rightly or wrongly, it doesn’t change how he sees me. But it does help us understand things better and problem-solve more effectively. 

And I think that’s the point. 

Understanding my brain doesn’t change who I am it helps me work with myself, rather than constantly feeling like I’m working against something I can’t quite name. 

If you’re at the beginning of your own questioning, sitting with a niggling thought you can’t shake  you’re not alone. And whatever path you take, it’s okay if it looks nothing like mine. 💜 

Maddi

From all of us at Onyx Therapy. We see you, we value you, and we walk this journey with you.