Finding My Footing After an Adult ADD Diagnosis

28 Jul 2025

In the latest edition of our lived experience blogs, we hear from Magda Hassan, Assistant Professor in Marketing

At the age of 39—three years into motherhood—I finally learned that the swirl of racing thoughts, frantically searching for the phone I was already talking on, staring into a fridge wondering why I had nothing to wear, bursts of late-night ideas, and occasional tidal waves of overwhelm had a name: ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). Far from a blow, the diagnosis felt like opening a window in a stuffy room. At last, I understood why I process the world differently and, crucially, that none of it is a moral failing.

Since then, I’ve discovered I’m far from alone. A growing number of women receive their diagnoses after becoming mothers. The fresh load of routines, sensory input, and sleep deprivation acts like a stress test; the traits we once masked become impossible to ignore. I like to frame this not as ‘being thrown over the edge’ but as an unexpected invitation to try and understand ourselves better.

That clarity has been liberating. Over time I’ve begun to own my neurodivergent brain with all that comes with it. Yes, ADHD still trips me up: with brain freezes, procrastination and my working memory occasionally takes the afternoon off. But alongside those challenges come strengths I wouldn’t trade for anything - lightning-fast idea generation, the capacity to hyper-focus when interested or in a crisis, endless curiosity, and a talent for lateral thinking. These traits power my research (although sometimes not at the rate I desire), my teaching, and even my parenting. Honouring both sides of the coin is an ongoing practice. Some weeks I ace it; other weeks I over-commit, miss a detail, or slide into burnout. The difference now is self-compassion. I take breaks, workout to be able to sleep at night, and celebrate the systems that work.

More importantly, I’ve learned to ask for what I need. When I brought my DASS report to my managers, Antony Potter and Matti Jakkola, their response was unreservedly supportive. Together we agreed on reasonable adjustments that let me do the best I can. Their openness reminded me that many colleagues genuinely want to help; they simply need to know what helps.

So, this post is for every neurodivergent colleague or student who is still hesitating. Your differences hold extraordinary value. Own your voice, list the adjustments that would let you thrive, and have the conversation. If your first approach meets a closed door, knock elsewhere: I promise you there are people in this school ready to listen. Living and working with ADHD is not a solved puzzle; it’s a moving mosaic.

But today, I am comfortable in my skin, grateful for the gifts my neurodiverse wiring brings, and hopeful that sharing this story helps someone else stand a little taller too.