Why I wanted to become an ADHD Coach

Looking back, the signs were always there

Looking back now, the signs were always there — I just didn’t have the language for them yet.

Throughout my pregnancy my son was constantly wriggling, kicking and flipping. It honestly felt like he was training for something in there. I even remember being surprised when doctors told me to get checked if he didn’t move for an hour, because he was rarely still for more than ten minutes.

When he was born, that energy didn’t disappear. He barely slept. He was alert, intense and permanently switched on. Fifteen years ago, ADHD wasn’t something I knew much about. At the time, the best description I could come up with was the Duracell bunny.

Big energy, big feelings

As a toddler, he had endless energy and huge emotional outbursts. I assumed they were just toddler tantrums — part of growing up. It was only five years later, when I had another child, that I realised this wasn’t what we would now describe as neurotypical behaviour.

Even then, I resisted the idea of a diagnosis. I worried about labels. I worried it would define him, limit him, or follow him into adulthood. I convinced myself that it was better not to know.

Enthusiasm for everything (until it wasn’t)

My son was enthusiastic about absolutely everything. Football. Fencing. Karate. Lego club. Art club. Archery. If he heard about something, it instantly became an immediate must-do.

We would sign him up, buy the kit, rearrange our schedules — and then days, weeks, sometimes a month later, he was done. Bored. Ready for the next thing. I lost count of the number of apologies I made to clubs when he suddenly refused to go back.

It was frustrating and exhausting. And yet, he was popular. He had strong friendships, despite massive disagreements and emotional meltdowns. Academically, he seemed to be doing well. On the surface, everything looked fine.

When everything changed

Things began to unravel when he was nine.

In 2020, after months of homeschooling during lockdown, we made the decision to move from London to Wiltshire. We chose a prep school that prided itself on pastoral care, believing it would be the right environment for him.

It wasn’t.

He struggled to fit in almost immediately. After a second lockdown, things deteriorated further. He was constantly in trouble for being disruptive, shouting out, not paying attention, or not putting his hand up. We explained to his teacher that he had always done best when he felt liked and understood — that he would go above and beyond for teachers he connected with.

It was clear that this teacher neither liked nor understood him.

“He’s just naughty and manipulative”

I remember asking whether ADHD could be a possibility. The response was immediate and dismissive. I was told he was just naughty.

A child who had once loved school suddenly hated it. Messages from the school became constant — he was being unkind, disruptive, even a bully. We were mortified. Bullying is something we would never tolerate, but it didn’t feel right at all.

Eventually, the truth became painfully clear: he was the one being bullied. Worse than that, he was being singled out and excluded by his peers.

Every day, as soon as he got into the car, he burst into tears. When I tried talking to his teacher about this I was told he was being “manipulative”. This went on for weeks. The school did nothing to support us. Every morning he begged me not to take him in.

Reaching breaking point

Watching your child unravel while feeling ignored by the very people meant to care for them is one of the most helpless experiences a parent can have.

In the end, we had no choice but to remove him from the school.

His next school was different. They listened. They observed. They agreed that an ADHD assessment wasn’t just appropriate — it was necessary.

Finally being heard

At the time, CAMHS was our only NHS option, and our GP told us the waiting list could be up to three years. Thankfully, we had private healthcare through my husband’s job, which covered the assessment, though not medication or ongoing support.

After multiple consultations, questionnaires and teacher input, my son was diagnosed with combined ADHD.

It wasn’t a surprise.

What was surprising was the sense of relief. I finally felt heard. Validated. Like all the years of guilt, doubt and second-guessing suddenly made sense. The first half of the battle was over.

Why I chose to become an ADHD coach

Over the past three years, I have immersed myself in understanding what an ADHD diagnosis really means. While there is a huge amount of information available, I found very little meaningful one-to-one support.

I searched for a coach who could help my son navigate both ADHD and the challenges of being a teenager, but the few who specialised in this area were either fully booked or not the right fit. During this time, I also began to recognise my own ADHD traits — something my husband had been pointing out for years — and I am now in the process of seeking a diagnosis myself.

That lived experience — as a parent, an advocate, and someone learning to understand their own neurodivergent brain — is why I chose to train as an ADHD coach. Because no parent should have to fight this hard to be believed. And no child should grow up thinking they are “naughty”, “difficult” or “not trying hard enough”, when their brain simply works differently.

How I can help

If any part of this story feels familiar and you’re looking for support, I’d love to help. I offer a free 30-minute discovery call where we can talk about the challenges you’re facing and explore whether working together feels like the right fit for you or your child.