It seems like every day I see a new, creative way for my ADHD to be dismissed, a new example of a determination to silence women newly diagnosed with the condition.

This time, after months of complaining that too many people are self-diagnosing their ADHD, it looks like people have moved on to villainising those who do get diagnosed with ADHD – or, more specifically, those who seek the help of private ADHD clinics. Take, for example, an upcoming documentary produced by BBC’s Panorama. Initially, it was entitled The ADHD Scandal, with the ‘scandal’ in question described as false diagnoses. The show has since been renamed as Private ADHD Clinics Exposed, but the fact that the original angle perpetuated the idea that the growing number of ADHD diagnoses were somehow “scandalous” suggests to me that the producers’ minds were made up about ADHD long before they conducted this investigation.

The investigation purports to hold these “exploitative” clinics to account, pointing to a high number of diagnoses. The show’s description says that a reporter has gone undercover as a patient at these clinics, to show that “diagnoses are being handed out to almost everyone who books an appointment”. As someone who was diagnosed by a private ADHD clinic – someone who scrimped and saved for months because I was let down by the NHS – this is nothing short of devastating.

Seeking an ADHD diagnosis was not a decision I took lightly. I already have a childhood diagnosis of autism, so I’m all too aware of how these labels can be helpful as well as harmful. On the one hand, receiving an autism diagnosis meant I could access accommodations at school. It meant teachers could actually understand what I wrote, and ensure I had enough time to properly process the answers; I went from a struggling student with little-to-no prospects to the top of my class with some of the highest scores in my sixth form.

But on the other hand, it served as a constant reminder to teachers and peers alike that I was ‘different’. I was picked on, pitied and consistently underestimated. On the handful of times people chose to talk to me, it was with the tone usually reserved for five-year-olds and reinforced the idea that I was seen as ‘lesser’. 

So, the pros and cons of an ADHD diagnosis were something I researched heavily before going to my GP. I ultimately decided to go for it because, despite the limitations it posed in terms of respect or how people perceive me, it got to a point where the symptoms were getting in the way of my life too intensely for me to ignore. Issues such as executive dysfunction, time-blindness and emotional dysregulation were profoundly impacting all areas of my life, including my work, my personal relationships and my education. 

I suspected that I would probably be dismissed on account of not being a male – I’d seen it all before when my autism diagnosis was delayed because I didn’t fit a diagnostic model that was exclusively built around the experience of autistic boys, but the way I was increasingly unable to do the things many people took for granted made the very clear signs of ADHD impossible to ignore.

I did the thing we’re all conditioned to do, which was to reach out to my NHS GP. I filled out the questionnaires, ticking box after box with ‘very often’ and passed the benchmark scores with flying colours. If it was possible to get an A* in ADHD traits, I’d have definitely got one. It was pretty damn obvious I had it, and my GP even agreed with me. 

But then came the news that I’d have to wait five years to get a diagnosis. This neurological condition was tagged onto an overcrowded ‘mental health’ division which meant I’d have to wait half a decade to even get a piece of paper validating my struggles. I was curtly told by a tired receptionist over the phone that I should probably leave it unless I had the money to go private.

As a first-generation student who was working alongside my degree during a pandemic, I didn’t. I really didn’t. I was informed of a scheme known as Right to Choose, which is where you can transfer care to a strictly vetted, NHS-affiliated clinical commissioning group if you require more urgent treatment. “Great,” I thought. “So I wouldn’t have to pay hundreds of pounds after all.” Only I did, because the backlog even for this scheme was growing by months, and every day the NHS presented a new speedbump that would delay my assessment by even longer. I gritted my teeth and worked a hell of a lot of overtime to get the money together for a private appointment. This isn’t something that I’m proud of, and I certainly don’t think other people should do the same thing. I was overworking when I was already finding the bare minimum hard enough because I desperately needed that assessment, and there was no other way I could access it.

You shouldn’t have to work yourself to illness to be taken seriously, but it was a physical and mental burden I had no choice but to endure if I wanted to find some kind of resolution for all the weird symptoms I was experiencing. I worked and I waited for months on end until, finally, on the day of the appointment, it was confirmed at long last that I wasn’t inherently a failure. I wasn’t lazy, stupid, irresponsible and an all-round bad person. I had ADHD. There was a reason for all of this.

When the fully accredited, highly trained doctor explained this all to me, I tried to play it off, acting like I knew this all along. But when he hung up I cried with the sheer relief and catharsis of it all. 

Almost two years on from this day, I’ve continued to communicate with this clinic, and have been granted the help, resources and empathy I desperately needed for god knows how many years. I’m not drugged up to my eyeballs on stimulants – I’m still figuring out what medication works for me – but what I can say for certain is that the peace of mind my diagnosis alone has granted me makes it worth every penny. 

I’d still be nowhere near the top of the waiting list if I stuck with the NHS, and as emblematic as that is of our broken system, it also serves to show how much of a lifeline these private clinics can be. I dread to think what my life would be like now if I never got diagnosed, but that doesn’t seem to matter as the ‘war on ADHD’ rumbles on. No matter what I or anyone else in my position does to try to be taken seriously, we’ll always be dismissed and disbelieved. But I’ll never see ADHD as a dirty word, and I’ll forever be grateful to the clinic that validated what I’m up against. 

Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.

Main image: Getty