Flourishing with ADHD: Why Coaching? Why now?
My ADHD story
Why did I become an ADHD coach?
What does ADHD actually feel like?
Who else is living with this?
Why does this matter right now?
What does flourishing with ADHD actually look like?
Ready to start flourishing?
My ADHD story
I was diagnosed with ADHD in late 2015, during what I can only describe as a difficult chapter of life. I was burned out after five intense years of political community organising at Citizens UK—work I loved, but work that filled every waking moment, leaving no space to process the traumas of broken relationships and complex family histories.
My brain, like many others, is a double helix of badly spelled distractions that draw me down cul-de-sacs like a hungry Hansel following breadcrumbs of dopamine.
For years, I thought this was a personal failing. Then I learned it had a name—and more importantly, I learned I wasn't alone.
Why did I become an ADHD coach?
I became a coach because I experienced first-hand how transformative it is to finally feel seen, heard, and understood—not judged for the ways my brain works differently.
My mother had been diagnosed with ADHD a few years before me, in her late sixties. At the time, I was sceptical. It felt like she'd found a silver bullet that explained everything—an excuse, I thought unkindly. Like many recent converts, she was zealous about it. I resisted.
But by the time I reluctantly sought my own diagnosis, I was tired, lonely, and bruised. My nine-year relationship and marriage had ended. I'd left a job I loved under painful circumstances. I'd stepped away from the church community that had shaped my adult life. My relationships with my parents and brother had broken down entirely.
That constant ADHD feeling of not quite being good enough had driven me towards burnout—always working a little harder, longer hours, seeking stimulation in ways that weren't healthy, putting strain on every relationship in my life.
When the diagnosis came, I was fortunate. Medication started to work quickly. Things got quieter. I could concentrate for longer. It felt miraculous—like someone had turned down the background noise in my head.
But medication alone wasn't enough. What truly changed things was the experience of being deeply listened to. Through coaching, I felt seen, heard, and respected—perhaps for the first time. And that created space for me to start listening to myself.
I trained as a coach shortly after my diagnosis. Partly, I'll admit, because coaching is expensive and I thought: why not learn these skills myself? It was a risky, very ADHD decision—putting training on a credit card without a clear plan. But I sensed that coaching skills would help me live my life better, and maybe help others too.
Meds helped turn down the noise. Coaching made space for me to start listening to myself.
What does ADHD actually feel like?
ADHD isn't a failure of attention—it's a challenge of regulation. Too much, too little, can't start, can't stop. It touches every area of life.
The clinical definition describes ADHD as persistent patterns of inattention and hyperactivity-impulsivity. But that language was designed for diagnosing children, and it misses so much of what adult ADHD actually feels like.
Dr James Kustow, a UK psychiatrist who has ADHD himself, offers a more useful framing. He describes ADHD as a "dysregulation disorder"—difficulties regulating attention, yes, but also emotion, sleep, time perception, motivation, even physical sensations. Too fast. Too slow. Too long. Too short. Too hot. Too cold.¹
This captures something important: ADHD isn't just about distraction. It's about the exhausting effort required to regulate everything—to manage transitions, to start tasks, to stop tasks, to keep emotions on an even keel. It takes enormous mental and emotional energy to do what others seem to do effortlessly.
And the statistics tell a sobering story: 80% of adults with ADHD also live with another mental health condition—anxiety, depression, addiction.² It's hard enough for someone like me, a privileged white man with plenty of support. It becomes a serious justice issue when we look at who actually gets diagnosed and helped.
Who else is living with this?
ADHD affects around 8% of all humans—every creed, colour, and gender. Yet the systems meant to help us are riddled with inequity.
In Lambeth, where I'm based, over 90% of young people diagnosed with ADHD are white and male—despite the population being less than 50% white and less than 50% male.³ Women's symptoms are often masked by pressure to conform. People of colour face stereotyping and institutional bias.
Many of us with ADHD share a deep sense of not being seen, heard, or respected. Of not quite fitting the script we feel we're supposed to follow. Of being constantly creative, constantly curious—and constantly exhausted by a world that wasn't designed for brains like ours.
I've learned that we're all looking for our tribe, our people, our community. Many people today feel disconnected from common purpose, isolated in a world that mechanises our distractions and monetises our need for dopamine.
But I've also learned something important: it's possible to find our people without violently othering everyone else. We can build intimate connections without needing to be above, better than, or having power over others. We can create communities rooted in compassion, connection, and justice.
Lived experience, I've come to believe, is a design advantage. The people closest to a problem often have the best solutions. And those of us who've struggled with our brains have learned things—about attention, about regulation, about systems that actually work—that could help so many others.
Why does this matter right now?
Technology has been weaponised against executive function. The attention economy profits from our distractibility. The need for support has never been more urgent.
We live in a world where smartphones and algorithms are specifically designed to exploit our need for novelty and stimulation. The attention economy is the enemy of executive function—that ability to pause, think, and act in line with our values and intentions.
This affects everyone. But for those of us with ADHD, whose brains are already more sensitive to stimulation, it's particularly destructive. And these are precisely the kinds of minds we need for the complex challenges the world faces—creative, curious, able to see connections others miss.
A world in which all brains can flourish would be better for everyone.
What does flourishing with ADHD actually look like?
Flourishing means radical acceptance of who you are, combined with the courage to pause, rest, and write your own story instead of reading someone else's script.
For me, flourishing means continuing to accept the ways my brain is different—and that this sometimes comes with challenges and needs that are also different. It means being kind to myself. Having the courage to pause, to give myself rest and space to think.
It means learning to write and then live my own story, rather than constantly feeling like I'm reading the wrong script.
If anything gives me permission to flourish, it's all the ways I haven't. The burnout. The perfectionism. The broken relationships. The years of trying to do too many things at once, most of them perfectly. I'm still learning.
But I believe that flourishing is possible. And I believe coaching can help.
The real power of coaching is fundamentally about deep listening with powerful questions. When we don't learn to listen well—to others and to ourselves—it strains our relationships and increases disconnection. Through coaching, I help people develop those same skills I've learned: recognising emotions, articulating needs, making choices aligned with values.
It's not therapy. It's future-focused and action-oriented, built around developing practical skills and systems that work with our brains.
Ready to start flourishing?
If you're tired of fighting your brain and ready to start working with it, I'd love to hear from you.
Book a free consultation and let's explore whether coaching could help you build systems that actually work for the brain you have—and the life you want to build.
You're not alone. And you're not broken. Welcome home.
References
Kustow, J. (2024). How to Thrive with Adult ADHD. London: Sheldon Press.
Young, S. et al. (2016). BMC Psychiatry: Adolescence as a risk period for ADHD.
Local Welcome (2021). ADHD diagnosis inequities in Lambeth.
Flourishing Health provides ADHD coaching services based on lived experience and professional training. We are not medical professionals and do not provide diagnosis, treatment, or clinical therapy. Always consult with a licensed healthcare provider for medical advice.