The One with the Pediatrician (or Navigating adult ADHD in Luxembourg)

As I entered the waiting room of the pediatrician’s office in November 2018, age 34, the episode of ‘Friends’ from which I borrowed my title was totally on my mind. There I was, sans child, scheduled to meet Dr B. for the first time. I took the only free seat which of course was next to the giant stuffed dog toy. The dog was smiling. I was not. I was Ross, “still” seeing a pediatrician in my thirties. Looking for proper treatment of my condition, I was waiting for my first appointment with one of the very few medical doctors in the country to have specialised knowledge of how my brain works. Deep down, I knew one day I would laugh off this episode of my life, and so I took a selfie with the giant dog. 

This post has been brewing inside my head for a while now. There was always going to be this post. There was always going to be this day where I finally and decidedly put the words out there to a wider audience than those I see every day. Not that I’m proud. Not that I’m ashamed. I just am. I am an adult with Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD - in French Trouble déficit de l'attention avec ou sans hyperactivité or TDAH). 

It has become self-evident over the last couple of years that my (differently-wired) brain power would be channelled towards setting up a business that would help others, including adults that struggle due to ADHD. This post is about that decision. It is intended to be truthful, thankful, and helpful.

Ignorance is not always bliss 

I was not one of those kids bouncing off the walls or unable to stay seated (and in another post I will address most misconceptions people still hold about ADHD). My school results ranged between excellent and good (chronologically speaking). I obtained full scholarships and received school awards. I surfed my way through school and most of university (thank you caffeine pills and more) and never had discipline issues (although admittedly my teachers would say I was a bit of a pain in the ass… charming, smart, but tiring, argumentative and never ok just accepting things as they are). 

For as long as I can remember, I didn’t feel normal. The others, it seemed, had “it” easier. As a child I used to believe self-discipline was something that happened to people, because I certainly could not make it happen for myself. Age 6, I remember praying, asking God to help me not eat all the chocolates in my advent calendar by December 2nd again (this really annoyed my mum). In high school during free periods (remember, les heures de perm’?), others were either occasionally or regularly getting an early start on their homework. This happened to me never. I would chat, daydream, draw, entertain, debate (with others or in my head) … and then 30 minutes had passed, and then entire period. Where have all the free periods gone? 

Something was clearly ‘up’ with me but I didn’t know what.

Pause. Rewind. Play. 

Somehow I made it to and through university and 2008 finally put an end to what felt like an exhausting masquerade of an education. When I started job-hopping working in 2009, I was full of hope. I thought I was entering a system where recognition and progress would be based on results only - not process, not order, not politics. I thought outcome would matter more than output. That thinking fast and wanting things to improve, quickly, now would be seen as positive. No need to go into details here – LinkedIn is sufficiently populated with other people’s articles on this disillusion. Let’s just say former colleagues (the few that still speak to me from my first jobs), would say I was charming, smart, but tiring, argumentative and never ok just accepting things as they are. Pause. Rewind. Play. 

That’s right. Nothing had changed. The non-sense that is the world of work was squeezing the life out of me and ten months into my first job, I was on some sort of medication. Sitting in Dr W.’s office, I would ask him what was wrong with me: why couldn’t I just “get on with it” like the others, why couldn’t I just “do my job”, stop questioning the way and the why? When the same pattern emerged again in my second job, Dr W. investigated further: I was 27 when he told me I had ADHD. The results were clear. There was finally an explanation for much of how I handled life, work, frustration, and my compulsive Nutella eating.

Relief, bitterness 

Being diagnosed with ADHD triggered relief and bitterness. Relief that there was an actual scientific explanation for why my intentions usually did not translate into action. But, then there was also bitterness… “the things I could have done had I known”.

After a few years of therapy and medication, I was still missing two things: a medical doctor who was actually specialised in ADHD*, and a career path that I was in control of (rather than controlled by). I didn’t need therapy anymore. My impulsive behaviour had much improved by year seven of my mixed-bag treatment: I was no longer clapping in public when a disliked colleague would announce their departure (yes, that’s where I’d started from). I didn’t need to be ‘healed’: I was ready to succeed with my ADHD, and not in spite of it. 

In 2018, I learned during an event that Dr B., the ADHD-specialised pediatrician, realises how underserved ADHD adults are in Luxembourg and extends her practice to some of us. Thank you, Dr B. It was during the same neurodiversity event that I ran into Coach H., and my future career. A Netherlands‑based ADHD coach, H. offered a free coaching session after the event. And then it happened. Someone who had a very clear idea of what my challenges had been was helping me shatter some age-old beliefs I had held onto very hard for a very long time. The session was draining, uncomfortable, and extremely necessary. I thanked Coach H. and told him I hoped to be able to one day help others like he had just helped me. And then I decided that “one day” would be now. And that’s how I decided to become a coach. 

Coaching and the left-handed corkscrew

Do I only coach ADHD people ? No. Having spent 35 years in the neurotypical world, I have a good understanding of the way typical brains work by now, even if it is not the most natural way for me. My level of proficiency in neurotypical thinking is close to my level of English - ‘near-native’. Even if – full disclosure- I will always understand an ADHD person better, I feel equipped to coach people outside of neurodiversity. Look at most left-handed individuals – they have learned to use objects almost exclusively designed for the right-handed. 

But the converse is less true. Take a right-handed person handling a left-handed corkscrew for the first time and you’ll see what I mean. (Yes, I have carried out this experiment.) They’ll be able to do it eventually, but watch them try “their” way again and again and again before they even contemplate the idea that the actual design of the object might be different. If you have an atypical brain and need to be coached, your well‑being and happiness cannot be worked on through the same lens as with people’s whose brain chemistry is within the ‘norm’. For example I find the concept of ‘grit’ very engaging, but I know I cannot turn to it for my own personal development. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way” simply isn’t true for ADHD individuals and it will destroy their mental health if stubbornly being applied to them. 

Neurodiversity seems to be ‘hot’ these days in the HR consulting world. And this new-ish attention and effort to extend our comprehension to an ever-increasing pool of human diversity is certainly welcome, insofar as it helps people live, work and create value together. But as I watch HR managers, employee resource groups, and indeed consulting firms and fellow (non-neurodivergent) coaches latch on to the latest ‘trend’ in recruitment and diversity & inclusion, I cannot help but wonder: do they realise we’ll still be here when they’ve moved on to follow the next buzz?

Coaching individuals with atypical brains (ADHD, giftedness (les hauts potentiels), people on the autism spectrum, dyslexia, …) is a craft that cannot and should not be improvised. It must be studied, dove into and perfected and finessed over years of either personal or professional experience or both. If you have an atypical brain and are looking for a coach, be demanding. Ask your coach about their own experience with neurodiversity. Find out if they can hear and feel your narrative all the way into their guts and bones.

Be demanding. Be well.

*Dr W. was never specialised in ADHD. The fact that he kept looking beyond his area of expertise and diagnosed my ADHD means he is a great professional, one to whom I will be forever grateful.