(Image description- me a 44 year old white woman with brown curly hair, wearing sunglasses, feather earrings, a blue dress and bright pink long cardigan. Blue sky's with some clouds and railings in the back ground, I am holding up a plastic cup of slushy and pulling a funny face at Witney Music festival.)
Living with ADHD and dyslexia has always been a huge part of my life, shaping my experiences and influencing the way I navigate the world. These invisible disabilities come
with their unique challenges, and accepting support for them has been a journey in itself.
I was diagnosed with dyslexia in 2008 when I started university at 29 years old. This meant that for most of my childhood and adult life, I just thought I was stupid, that something wasn’t right, and my brain was a bit faulty.
I always found it weird. I had friends who were really smart—some went to university, some had amazing jobs—and I didn’t and couldn’t. Yet I could understand the complex theories they would discuss, I could hold my own in conversations, and from an intelligence level, I felt equally matched. But academically and within the workplace, I wasn’t. I was way off their abilities. This real juxtaposition made me really confused. Then, during the lockdown in 2020, I decided to pursue a diagnosis of ADHD, which I had been suspicious of having for a number of years. Yes, I am ADHD too.
After the diagnosis, I had the usual anger, upset, and grief. I wondered what would have been different if I had known earlier. Once I got through that, I decided I needed to learn as much as possible so I could help reduce the impact of my symptoms on my life, with a bid, to help me live an easier life. This is what I have been doing. During this time, I think although I know ADHD and dyslexia are disabilities, (I spend all day working with adults and young people who share my disabilities to varying levels), I have been ignoring my own disability. I have spent my time figuring out how to make my life easier without any acceptance. So I am pondering, why?
ADHD and dyslexia are often referred to as invisible disabilities because they aren't immediately apparent to others. There's no wheelchair or hearing aid that signals to the world that we have these conditions. This invisibility can sometimes make it harder to accept and ask for help, both from society and from ourselves.
For a long time, I struggled to acknowledge the full impact of my disabilities. Growing up, I was often told that I was careless, with phrases like, "She could work harder," or "She understands but if she could just apply herself." A teacher at school once called me "slap dap happy," reinforcing the misconception that I was just not trying hard enough. These misconceptions left a lasting impression, making me feel like I had to push through on my own, without the need for any special accommodations or support.
The stigma and misconceptions surrounding ADHD and dyslexia are deeply ingrained in our society. This societal attitude, known as disability oppression, is so pervasive that many of us internalise it. We start to believe that our struggles are personal failures rather than the result of living in a world that isn't designed for us.
Even as I began helping others navigate their disabilities and access the support they needed, I found it difficult to apply the same principles to myself. It was easier to see the need for accommodations and support in others and ignore my own needs.
A few years back, a friend told me about the Access to Work program. She explained it is designed to provide practical support to individuals with disabilities, helping them thrive in the workplace. She strongly recommended that I apply. When she told me about it, I was hesitant. The ingrained belief that I should be able to manage on my own was hard to shake. I worried about being perceived as weak or incapable, both by others and by myself, and I remember thinking, "How will anyone be able to help me?"
It took me two years to apply for Access to Work support. The process seemed daunting, and my own internalised beliefs made it even harder. However, the more I struggled, the clearer it became that I needed help. ADHD made it challenging to maintain focus on executive function tasks, and timekeeping and hyperfocus would lead me in many unnecessary directions. Dyslexia affected my ability to organise information, and I would misread things and often put out posters or advertising without knowing if my media made sense or was accurate. These difficulties were not due to a lack of effort on my part, but rather a need for appropriate support.
Last week, I received a phone call from a lovely case manager from Access to Work. "You have been awarded 16 hours a week," she said.
"Wow," I thought. "That’s amazing! I can have someone help me." I was amazed and really grateful. I came off the phone dazed and excited. Then a wave hit me. I am disabled! 16 hours a week! I am really disabled! That old friend, grief, was back—the one who popped in when I was first diagnosed—and she came with a big bag of shame.
"You don’t need help—you can do this. You don’t have a disability; you’re a fraud. You can do these things; you just need to work harder. You’re lazy; just get on with it. Don’t ever tell anyone; they will report you because you don’t look disabled." Wow! Those are all the things I can be arsed to type! There are more.
Receiving the Access to Work award is a significant milestone, but it has also brought new challenges. Now, I have to find someone to help me, which involves a huge number of tasks that require administrative skills and reading comprehension and decision making. This process takes up all my energy, highlighting the very struggles I sought support for in the first place.
Accepting support from Access to Work has been transformative. It's not a sign of weakness, but a recognition that I deserve the same opportunities to succeed as anyone else.
This experience has taught me the importance of self-acceptance and the need to challenge societal norms that stigmatise invisible disabilities. It's a continuous process of unlearning harmful beliefs and embracing the reality that needing help is okay.
Through my work, I strive to empower others with disabilities to seek the support they need. I want to raise awareness about invisible disabilities and challenge the stigma that often surrounds them. By sharing my story, I hope to inspire others to recognise their worth and advocate for the accommodations that enable them to thrive.
Living with ADHD and dyslexia is part of who I am, but it doesn't define me. Embracing support, I hope, will allow me to live more fully and authentically. I encourage anyone struggling with similar challenges to reach out, seek support, and remember that you are not alone.
Reach out so someone safe!
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