The day I got my ADHD diagnosis, I didn’t have any mates to call. That was a stark reminder that, to date, I had lost countless special people. Having jumped from one ‘best friend’ to another from a very early age, always teetering on the edge of rejection with each person, I’d reached a point in life where there was no easy way to meet new friends, and the lost friendships were irretrievable.
During my ADHD assessment, one questionnaire asked me to rate my impairments in forming and maintaining close relationships and my ability to socialise. Another asked if I was unpopular with other children, was bossy or teased other children growing up. It all started to click for me: ADHD might have contributed at least to my general arseholeness and dwindling capacity for other people.
“When it comes to assessing people for ADHD, we’re looking into how they form relationships,” says consultant psychiatrist Dr Mohamed Abdelghani. “Do they go very quickly into friendships without seeing a lot of the red flags, is it that they have a lot of broken friendships that perhaps they should not have got into in the first place? Then, what’s the quality of the friendships that survive?”
“I always wondered why I was never fully accepted in to anyone's close-knit group.”
Author of Understanding ADHD in Girls & Women, Dr Joanne Steer lists the ways in which we struggle as adult friends, too: tiring of or struggling to keep up with social contacts (and the resulting perception that we are uncaring or self-absorbed), low self-worth and fear of rejection. The emotional lability and mood swings aren’t a total treat either, let’s be honest; some of the ADHD traits are a lot for a friend to manage or forgive.
“I think most of the issues people with ADHD encounter in adult friendships come down to expectations, and it’s different for men and women,’ says Dr Abdelghani. “Whereas male friendships can be quite transactional, women are often expected to call at regular intervals, provide deep emotional support, acknowledge the other person’s complex feelings and behave appropriately during both happy and sad occasions. It can be overwhelming for someone with ADHD.”
If we can break this down to the simplest terms, it feels a bit like this: coping with neurodivergent life = overwhelming = less capacity for friends. Regardless, I have to acknowledge that, even with the best of intentions, a friendship with me can be a raw deal.
Many women have waited years for a diagnosis.
I wasn’t always a social pariah, by the way. I had a lot of friends growing up, collecting them from various schools and clubs. They were intense friendships formed quickly over any scrap of common ground as I yearned for connection and acceptance of my weird little self. I didn’t see red flags, I didn’t hold back – I was all-in with each new friend.
I’d get jealous of other friendships, but I was also more loyal and unreservedly loving than other kids my age, perhaps, so it all balanced out a bit, I hope. But still – having many best friends always seemed to work well for me, especially given variety is the key to keeping us ADHDers interested.
Of course, I found that this was quite a lot of people to juggle and, once we grew up and moved to different ends of the country, the list of incredible people and rewarding friendships fell by the wayside.
At university, it became harder to excuse some of my behaviour as my friendship groups grew smaller and more intense, and I was less able to hide and regulate my sometimes extreme emotions and hyper-fixations, especially from those I lived with. None of those friendships survived the first years out of uni, either imploding or just fading into nothingness. I counted my workdays as social events because by the time I got home each evening, my social capacity was at zero.
By thirty-four, I had become an awkward and distant figure, fully aware of my tendency towards overwhelm, flawed communication style, forgetfulness, lack of impulse control and filter, and – most shameful, perhaps – my propensity to tire of someone. I was just sitting there, wondering: Where was that (romanticised) group of people who always have your back? I’ve been with my husband for twenty years, why can’t I hold down a friendship? Why do I always mess it up?
We all need to remember that being neurodivergent doesn’t have a look.
It was the ADHD diagnosis that held up a mirror to the ways in which I’d behaved in so many friendships, finally removing the excuses that I had always used to self-soothe – it was their fault, it was a bad match, it was the circumstances – and forcing me to accept: it was me. I found communication overwhelming, dodging the calls I later realised would have kept long-distance friendships afloat. I suffered intense mood swings, going from bottling everything up in silence to exploding when the tipping point was reached. I had a short fuse, and I was impatient – how fun is that to hang out with?
There are so many stories to tell. The raging rows when I could not accept another person’s point of view or criticism, and couldn’t communicate my own points properly. The ghosting – at first, unintentional forgetfulness and then, a case of easing my shame and embarrassment by actively ignoring the person and situation. My main crime, I think, is inconsistency, which is something that crops up in all areas of my life – I am consistently inconsistent. Within friendship, that translates as unreliable, all-or-nothing, too much, not enough.
There are, of course, plenty of positive aspects of a friendship with ADHD. We love hard. Once there’s an initial connection and reciprocated interest in one another, I’m head over heels.
My friends with ADHD similarly love hard – those connections are so joyous because we all feel accepted and safe at last. We are passionate advocates for one another. We are natural problem-solvers, and – while this is purely anecdotal, I’ve got to say it because it’s true of everyone I’ve met with ADHD – we are often empaths. We feel your highs, your lows and the in-betweens. We give of ourselves wholeheartedly; we are here for long, meandering conversations that go to the deepest places.
I was 37 when I was finally diagnosed with ADHD. What took so long?
But even if you can overlook our trickier traits, it’s not always explosive rows that end even the best of ADHD friendships; neglect can also play its part.
I can be an exceptionally absent friend. It’s not an intentional ghosting – when we are not constantly reminded of people, they fall clean out of our heads. Overwhelm plays its part, too – I’ll flake on social engagements and dodge calls because I simply don’t have the capacity to deal with another person and their own complex set of needs in the way I know is required.
Looking back at those I have loved and lost, I sometimes thought those people were too high maintenance – I have had a couple of friends who have lived a fair distance away, for example, and, for them, consistent communication was important. And fair enough! Everyone needs support and connection.
But a phone call could feel overwhelming. Then I wouldn’t pick up a couple of times, and then I’d fear that slightly ‘off’ tone of someone who feels let down, and then I’d start to justify it in my head – she’s too needy, she hasn’t a clue what’s going on in my life, I’m really busy right now... Then I’d actively avoid that conversation, and we all know how that ends. If the person is forthright, there might be a confrontation, but mostly those friendships just wither and icy resentment kicks in. Which, weirdly, then makes you feel really rejected, even though you’re the one who messed it up. Then came the deep grief at that person’s loss.
People with ADHD are not a list of flaws or shortfalls – we’re whole and trying our best.
The friends who still put up with me regularly acknowledge that there will be long periods without contact, but that, when we reunite, it’s as if no time has passed; there is a tacit understanding that the relationship is based in the now. I don’t feel anxious. There is an abundance of love and a deep understanding of one another. It’s not based on remembering birthdays or even the weekly phone call, it’s looser than that, but I love them so much.
The fallout is that I’ll never be ‘their person’, their best friend, their soulmate because I don’t put in enough to get that back. I’m not the first person they think of in times of need or ultimate joy, and there will always be other, better friends who will support and celebrate them when it counts. But there’s huge comfort in knowing you will find those who embrace you for who you really are.
Is It My ADHD?: Navigating life as a neurodivergent adult by Grace Timothy is out on 27 February (Allen & Unwin, £16.99).
Seeing the way the condition is treated in the media has made me even less confident in talking about potentially having ADHD with those close to me.
