First published on myneurodivergentstory.blog
Finding the Words for Who I Am
For most of my life, I didn’t have the language to explain why things felt different for me. Why I could be both brilliant at something one moment and paralysed by the simplest task the next. Why noise, chaos, and expectations could drain me faster than anyone seemed to understand.
Now, at 46, I’m waiting for formal diagnoses for ADHD and Autism. I’ve already completed screenings (not a formal diagnosis) for DCD (Developmental Coordination Disorder, Dyspraxia), Dyslexia, and ADHD — and I’m learning how much of my life makes sense through that lens.
I’m also learning how much I’ve survived through sheer determination. Neurodiversity burnout, depression, trauma recovery — they’ve all been chapters of my story. But they’re not the whole story.
Discovering My Differences
It began by accident at university. A group of psychology students needed volunteers for their project. I signed up — and when they reviewed my results, one of them said:
“Abi, did you know you’re dyslexic?”
I didn’t.
They showed me the results: a huge gap between my verbal and processing scores. That night, I phoned my parents — and my mum said something that changed everything:
“Yes, we knew. Why do you think we played all those word games with you as a child? We also played catch to help with your dyspraxia.”
Okay — but that didn’t really change much. Back in 2000, I was just someone who was considered difficult, who had already, in my very first week at Freshers’ Fair, come to blows with the halls of residence bursar (and that’s a story for another time!).
So when I was asked if I wanted extra time in exams, I shrugged and said, “Why would I need that? I always finish before time’s up anyway.” Nobody explained what else might help or what the implications of dyslexia and dyspraxia really were. My parents said they’d taught me coping mechanisms so I could get through life — okay then, so I assumed I didn’t need anything else. Because that’s what it was like in the 1980s and 90s when I went through school.
How It Changed in 2024
Everything shifted during therapy in 2024. I had started trauma and PTSD counselling — my fifth round of therapy overall — and thought I was coping fairly well. Then, one day, my therapist said something that stopped me in my tracks:
“What would you say if I said neurodivergence might be part of the mix here?”
They couldn’t diagnose me, but they suggested I explore it — pointing me towards some YouTube channels and books. And suddenly, so much began to click into place. At that point, we were talking about DCD, Dyslexia, and ADHD.
Reading on Hard Mode
When the university found out, their only response was: “Do you need extra time in exams?” I remember thinking — what would be the point? I always finished early anyway. Extra minutes wouldn’t stop my brain from jumbling letters mid-sentence. So nothing changed.
Fast forward to this year. During a conversation with my neurodiversity coach, I admitted that I’d never really had any practical help for my dyslexia. I didn’t even know where to start. She explained that some specialist opticians can test whether coloured filters make reading easier. That immediately caught my attention — I’d already noticed that certain colours or colour combinations made text almost impossible for me to read.
I remembered being at school and asking teachers not to write in green, red, or orange on the board because, no matter where I sat, I couldn’t make out the words. I just assumed it was an eyesight problem, but no teacher or optician ever suggested there might be another explanation.
With my coach’s guidance, I finally found an optometrist who offered colour screening. And that’s when everything changed. A simple green background stopped the words from vibrating. For the first time in my life, the page stayed still.
It hit me then — I’d been reading on hard mode for over forty years without realising it.
This post is Part 1 of my ongoing series, My Neurodivergent Story. In Part 2, I’ll talk about living with dyspraxia, sensory experiences, and how “clumsiness” became one of my biggest teachers.
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