Suspecting ADHD in Midlife: My 18-Month Waitlist Diary

I didn’t arrive at ADHD lightly.

This wasn’t a trend I picked up online or a label I wanted to try on. It came after years of anxiety that never quite explained everything, after menopause turned the volume up on my brain, and after a moment of unexpected recognition that stopped me cold.

A friend of my daughter was diagnosed with ADHD.

She started describing traits. Struggles. Patterns.

And then she paused and said, gently,
“You know… I see a lot of this in you.”

I laughed. Dismissed it. Felt strangely defensive.

And then I went very quiet.

From Anxiety to “There’s More Going On Here”

For years, anxiety had been the explanation offered — and the one I accepted. It fit well enough to keep moving.

But once ADHD entered the frame, anxiety stopped making sense on its own.

The hyperfocus.
The overwhelm.
The emotional intensity.
The lifelong effort just to appear “together”.

I did what many women do at first:

• Denial
• Minimising
• Soldiering on

Until I couldn’t.

Breaking point doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it’s just exhaustion tipping into fear.

The GP Appointment I Nearly Didn’t Make

I went to my GP armed with notes, examples, years of bottled-up confusion — ready to fight my corner.

Instead, something unexpected happened.

I was listened to.

Really listened to.

I talked. I cried. I outpoured everything I’d been carrying. And when I finally stopped, bracing myself for dismissal, my GP simply said:

“Yes. This sounds very much like ADHD.”

The relief was immediate.

The next sentence was not.

“NHS ADHD assessment wait times are around 12 to 18 months.”

The Shock of Waiting

There’s something uniquely cruel about being told:
“We believe you… now wait.”

Wait, while still working.
Wait, while still masking.
Wait, while your coping mechanisms crumble.

Eighteen months suddenly felt like an impossible stretch of time to remain functional.

I phoned the assessment centre after a year, “I’m waiting for an ADHD assessment”, desperate for clarity, only to be told politely:
“We’ll contact you when it’s your turn.”

No milestones.
No support.
Just waiting mode.

How long can someone stay in that state without breaking?

The Wild West of Private Assessments

In the meantime, I researched. Constantly.

That’s when I discovered a disturbing parallel world of “assessment services” — slick websites promising short waits, charging thousands, many operating under Right to Choose.

Some have since failed CQC inspections. Some have been shut down.

And the patients?

Left diagnosed. Or misdiagnosed. Or medicated.
Then abandoned.

I also learned that some of these fast-track services have been accused of over-diagnosing, particularly in women — which only fuels the narrative that ADHD is “fashionable” or “an excuse”.

It’s terrifying to navigate when you’re already vulnerable.

Trying to Cope While Waiting

I tried to help myself.

Supplements.
Lion’s Mane. Magnesium.

Each one an expense. Each one a small hope.

Magnesium upset my stomach badly. The physical symptoms triggered anxiety. The anxiety fed the ADHD spiral.

Even “self-care” felt like another thing I was getting wrong.

Resolutions came and went. Some helped. Some failed.

Nothing replaced certainty.

Work, Silence, and Self-Advocacy I Couldn’t Do

Work became harder.

Comments landed that I couldn’t challenge:
“You seem flustered.”
“You have too many tabs open.”
“You’re trying to do too many things at once.”

Petty. Untrue. Wounding.

I didn’t disclose my suspected ADHD. I didn’t dare.

In a small business, would reasonable adjustments be welcomed — or resented?
Would honesty protect me, or mark me as a problem?

I stayed quiet.

And silence has a cost.

Seeing It in My Child

Perhaps the most confronting part has been seeing the same patterns in my adult child.

Traits I recognise instantly now.
Struggles I once dismissed as personality.

It brings urgency. And guilt. And determination.

If nothing else, I want her journey to be gentler than mine.

Why I Started Writing This

This blog began as an outpouring.

A way to stop the thoughts endlessly circling.
A place to make sense of waiting.
A way to say: this is harder than people realise.

If you’re reading this and wondering whether to speak to your GP — please do.

That first step doesn’t fix everything.
But it starts the clock.
And it matters.

This is a long journey.
And waiting doesn’t mean you’re standing still.

It means you’re surviving something invisible — and that counts more than you know 🤍

If this resonates, you’re welcome to share your thoughts in the comments below. Your experience might help someone else feel less alone 🤍