«I think I have ADHD.”
It is one of the sentences I hear most often in my practice.
ADHD (Attention-Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder) is a neurodevelopmental condition characterised by persistent difficulties with attention and/or hyperactivity and impulsivity that can interfere with everyday functioning. But behind this diagnosis, there is always a unique person and a unique story.
Sometimes it is a teenager who cannot concentrate in class. At other times, it is an adult who has spent years feeling as though they are always running late, forgetting things, or struggling to organise their life in the way they would like.
Many people come to me after reading information online, watching videos, or recognising experiences in others that seem very similar to their own. I don’t see this as something negative. On the contrary, putting a name to our distress can be a relief. It can help us understand that we are not alone and open the door to seeking help.
But something else can happen.
Sometimes the diagnosis comes before the story.
So I often ask:
—What makes you think you have ADHD?
And, little by little, one question leads to another.
When did you first start feeling this way?
What was happening in your life at that time?
What does giving a name to what you are experiencing mean to you?
I am not looking to provide an immediate answer. Nor am I trying to confirm or rule out a diagnosis within the first few minutes. What matters is allowing these questions to open up others, because it is through this process that each person can begin to encounter something of their own story.
Gradually, the conversation shifts. It is no longer only about ADHD. It becomes about the person sitting in front of me.
The way they experience their life.
The demands they have grown up with.
The times they have felt that they were never enough.
Everything that has shaped the way they are in the world.
We do not always find the same answers. And that is precisely what matters.
Because two people can share the same diagnosis and yet suffer for completely different reasons.
When the person receiving the diagnosis is a child, the question becomes even more important.
A child cannot always explain in words what is happening to them. Often, they communicate through play, restlessness, silence, difficulty concentrating, or the way they relate to the people around them. Their behaviour communicates too.
That is why, alongside asking what is happening to the child, it is worth asking what they might be trying to express, and what place we, as adults, occupy in that story.
Parents’ concern is understandable. When a child is suffering, we all want to find an answer as quickly as possible. Yet perhaps the question is not only what is happening to the child, but also what they need from us in order to be heard.
Listening does not mean excusing every behaviour or giving up on boundaries. It means trying to understand that, behind a symptom, there may be distress that has not yet found another way to express itself.
We live in a time that needs to classify, name and label. Diagnoses are useful. They can guide assessment, facilitate communication between professionals and, in many cases, make it possible to access appropriate treatment and support.
But a diagnosis never tells the whole story.
No manual can explain how each person has experienced what has happened to them. No classification can replace the unique journey of a life.
Sometimes, both adults and parents of children come to therapy hoping that the answer will be medication. And this is understandable. When someone is suffering, we all want to relieve that suffering as quickly as possible.
Medication can be necessary and very helpful in certain circumstances. This is not about rejecting it, nor about making it the only answer. Relieving a symptom and understanding what that symptom expresses are not opposing tasks; often, they complement one another.
What no medication can replace is the work of listening to a person’s story, understanding their suffering, and discovering the place that symptom occupies in their life.
Therapeutic work is not about the psychologist possessing the truth about the person sitting in front of them.
It is about accompanying that person so that, through questions that open up further questions, they can gradually come closer to understanding something of their own truth.
No two stories are the same.
And that is why no two people are the same, even when they share the same diagnosis.
ADHD may be part of the explanation.
But it can never replace the person.
Because behind every label there is still someone with a unique story, a singular way of suffering, and their own way of finding a path forward.
Perhaps the real beginning is not discovering which diagnosis we have.
Perhaps the real beginning is daring to know our own story a little better.
Image created through a creative process in dialogue with artificial intelligence.
Deja un comentario