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ADHD, addiction, and the years that finally make sense

2 June 2026•Abby•7 min read

Why untreated ADHD can lead somewhere nobody wants to go

This is a post I've been sitting with for a long time. It's personal and it's honest - and I'm sharing it because I believe it matters, not just to the people who recognise their own story in it, but to anyone trying to understand why some young people struggle in the ways they do.

I've been clean and sober since September 2006 - twenty years this year, with the support and help of Narcotics Anonymous.

And discovering, much later in life, that I also have ADHD has made so much of my past suddenly click into place.

Not in a way that excuses anything. But in a way that finally explains it.

"Everyone has ADHD these days"... or do they?

This is something I hear often, and I understand why people say it.

Everyone forgets things sometimes. Everyone feels distracted, overwhelmed, or procrastinates now and again.

But the difference is this: people with ADHD don't experience these things occasionally - they experience them all the time.

That said, as I've learned more about ADHD, I've also started to recognise traits in many of my friends, diagnosed or not. Which led me to wonder whether this is really about "everyone having ADHD", or whether I've simply spent my life gravitating towards people whose brains work in a similar way to mine.

Maybe this isn't about a trend at all. Maybe it's about finding your tribe.

Looking back: self-medication without knowing it

When I look back at my younger self and my use of substances, it's hard not to see it through a different lens now.

At the time, I didn't know I was self-medicating. I didn't know my brain was wired differently. I just knew that something finally made things quieter. Slower. More manageable.

But it wasn't only about quietening the noise. It was also about fitting in.

I had spent years feeling like I didn’t quite fit in, sensing that I was different but not knowing why, not being able to name it, just feeling it. Social situations that seemed effortless for other people made me feel anxious and exposed.

By the time I was 15, those feelings had built to a point where I took an overdose. I don't need to go into the details - but it tells you something about how much I was carrying, silently, without any framework to understand why.

When I eventually found substances that worked - that finally made the noise stop, made me feel like I belonged, or at least made me care less - of course I held onto them. The next 10 to 15 years were a combination of hard work, unfulfilled potential, and self-medication. Often all three at once.

I wasn't medicating a diagnosis. I was medicating a feeling I couldn't explain.

It's only in recent years, with greater understanding of ADHD, that this pattern has become clearer. Especially as more and more people I know from recovery have since been diagnosed themselves.

One friend said to me recently:

"If I'd been diagnosed with ADHD when I was younger, I probably never would have become a heroin addict. I hated the way it made me feel - but it was the only thing that shut my brain up."

She has now been clean and sober even longer than I have. Many others, heartbreakingly, are not so lucky.

Risk, dopamine, and never feeling comfortable in my own skin

When I'm honest with myself, my addiction wasn't only about numbing or escape.

A lot of it was about risk-taking, sensation-seeking, low self-esteem, and never quite feeling comfortable in my own skin.

There was a constant restlessness in me - a need for intensity, for something to cut through the noise and make me feel different. Substances gave me a confidence I didn't naturally have, quietened the constant self-criticism, and briefly made me feel like I belonged, both in my body and in the world.

I didn't have the language for it then, but I do now.

It was dopamine chasing. Trying to regulate an under-stimulated, over-thinking brain, without any understanding of why it felt the way it did.

ADHD, addiction, and the systems that miss people

A statistic that is often quoted is that around 25% of people in UK prisons have undiagnosed ADHD - a figure cited by the ADHD Foundation, and one that represents a prevalence five to ten times higher than in the general population. From my own experience taking a recovery group in a women's prison every week for three years, I've long suspected that the reality could be even higher.

A 2025 University of Cambridge study found that 50% of people arrested in London screened positive for possible undiagnosed ADHD. That figure stopped me in my tracks.

When you consider that ADHD is estimated to affect only 3-4% of the adult population, it feels impossible not to ask why this figure is so disproportionately high within the criminal justice system - and what might have been different if those individuals had been recognised and supported much earlier.

Looking more broadly at drug-related imprisonment adds another layer. Dame Carol Black's Independent Review of Drugs (2021), commissioned by the UK government, estimated that people with serious drug addiction occupy around one third of all prison places, and that approximately 50% of prisoners have an identified drug-related need on entry - figures since confirmed by the National Audit Office.

Research from a 2012 King's College London study found that among people in London detox units, 12.2% screened positive for ADHD with no prior diagnosis - but that figure only captures those who'd never been identified at all, and given that it is almost 15 years ago, before adult ADHD diagnosis became more widely available or understood, the true proportion with ADHD, diagnosed or not, would be considerably higher. In addition to this 70% of young adults with both ADHD and a substance misuse disorder said they used substances to self-medicate, not to get high.

When these figures are viewed alongside what we know about ADHD - impulsivity, sensation-seeking, emotional dysregulation, and a heightened vulnerability to addiction - it feels reasonable to assume that a significant proportion of these individuals may also be living with undiagnosed ADHD, and that for many, their drug use began as an attempt to cope with a brain that had never been understood or supported.

This is why early diagnosis and meaningful support matter so deeply. Not as labels. But as prevention.

Jails, institutions, or death

There's a saying in NA meetings: addiction leads to jails, institutions, or death.

I've sat in enough of those rooms to know how true those words are.

But the more I understand about ADHD, the more I think the same could be said for a diagnosis that is missed, dismissed, or never supported. The pathways are different. The starting point is different. But for too many people, the destination is the same.

I wrote about this in more depth in [Before Broken Becomes the Story] - the way that untreated ADHD doesn't just affect school results or careers, but can quietly shape the entire direction of a life.

The parental fear that keeps you awake at night

I've lost count of the nights I've lain awake worrying about my child and what the future might hold.

Every parent worries - that's part of the job. But when you add neurodivergence into the mix, alongside a neurological and genetic vulnerability to addiction, the worry takes on a different weight.

I don't catastrophise - but I don't minimise either. Because I've lived this. And I've listened to hundreds of stories over nearly two decades in recovery.

Awareness doesn't remove the fear. But it does offer something else: choice, understanding, and tools.

And tools matter.

Even in coaching spaces, the pattern is there

On my first ADHD coaching course, there were twelve of us in the cohort.

At least seven have openly shared that they're in recovery.

That's more than half.

It's not proof of anything on its own - but it is a pattern worth paying attention to.

So... does everyone have ADHD?

No. Of course they don't.

But for those who do, early identification, acceptance, and support are essential - not optional.

And for those who don't, education is just as important. Because misunderstanding ADHD doesn't just lead to stigma - it leads to missed opportunities for compassion, prevention, and real change.

This isn't about blame. It isn't about excuses. And it isn't about labelling people after the fact.

It's about understanding brains - earlier, better, and with far more humanity.

And in some cases, it may be about changing the entire direction of a life.

If any of this resonates - as a parent, or as someone who recognises their own story in it - a free discovery call is a good place to start.

Sources and further reading