Living with ADHD is a constant balance between managing my thoughts and emotions and trying to find a space where I feel understood. For most of my life, I didn’t know what was going on in my brain, just that it didn’t seem to work like everyone else’s. I’d try to get things done but would often hit walls, feeling frustrated, misunderstood, or like I wasn’t trying hard enough. When I was diagnosed with ADHD in August 2024, it was like the fog finally lifted. But the road to understanding myself and navigating life with ADHD hasn’t been easy, and it certainly hasn’t been linear. ADHD has made me question everything from how I work to how I interact with others, to how I fit into the world. But I’ve also learned that there are tools, strategies, and people that can help make this journey a little more manageable.
Medication has been part of my journey, but it’s been a bit of a rollercoaster. I started with Elvanse, which made me feel like I was on ecstasy for four days straight. I didn’t know the difference at the time and thought it was normal, just my body adjusting to the medication. Turns out, it wasn’t. My partner at the time rang me he was dealing with ADHD 360, who are my ADHD specialists, to let me know the clinician had advised me to stop taking it. I said, “Well, too late looks like I’m off my head for another day.” That was definitely a funny moment in the madness.
Then came methylphenidate, which seemed to work until they increased the dosage. Suddenly, I felt like I was losing control. It was too much, and I felt like I was going crazy. So, for now, I’m not medicated and am waiting for a new, lower dosage while trying to stay on top of the daily grind responding to emails, writing application forms, and staying engaged with my work.
Despite the challenges, I’ve found ways to manage. One of the tools that has really helped me is AI. I know there are ethical debates about it, but for me, AI has been a lifesaver. It acts as a kind of personal assistant, helping me to clarify my thoughts and communicate more effectively. With ADHD, formalising words can be difficult. I often get frustrated because I can’t find the words fast enough, and it’s embarrassing to lose my voice mid-sentence. AI helps me organise my thoughts, allowing me to speak my mind more clearly. It’s almost like having a system in place that understands my brain and can help me articulate what I’m thinking.
I also experience Auditory Processing Disorder (APD), which makes it hard to process and understand everything someone says the first time. Sometimes, the words just don’t land, and it takes me a while to fully grasp what’s being said. This can be especially difficult in conversations or when I’m trying to focus on something, like watching TV or listening to someone speak in a noisy environment. Using subtitles when watching TV helps me a lot, as it gives me that extra bit of clarity I need to follow along. With ADHD and APD, it’s like my brain needs more time to catch up and process the information, and that delay can be frustrating.
And then there’s something else that shapes this journey, something I didn’t even have a name for until recently: Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD). It’s more than just taking things to heart. It’s an intense emotional reaction to real or perceived rejection, criticism, or failure. With RSD, a short email reply, a bit of feedback, or even silence can send me spiralling into shame and self-doubt. It’s physically painful. And in the arts world, where you’re constantly putting yourself out there and facing judgement — it’s exhausting. But knowing what it is has helped me understand myself better. It’s helped me be gentler with myself, and to build systems of support that honour those feelings without letting them define me.
Physical activity helps ground me. Whether it’s kickboxing, the gym, or just moving my body, it helps regulate my emotions and gives me a release. So do people. Partnerships matter. My close friend, Jen Wilson, part of Irregular Arts and also neurodiverse, is someone who’s really helped me through. There’s something powerful about knowing someone just gets it.
In the creative industries especially with a lack of consistent funding I think what we need more of is collaboration and mutual support. It shouldn’t be every artist for themselves. We should be able to say: “Hey, I can help with that,” or “I’ve got capacity — let’s share the load.” That model of collectivism is how we all keep going.
It’s been a rollercoaster. Getting diagnosed later in life means learning to meet a whole new version of yourself. That’s hard. It’s painful. It’s joyous. It’s exciting. It’s frustrating. But it’s worth it. Because I am worth it.
This is exactly why Dhamaka Arts exists, to create space where neurodiversity, self-care, and authentic storytelling are not only included, but centred. Dhamaka Arts is rooted in care, culture, community, and joy. It’s being built with the values I hold dearly: that people matter, and the way we treat people matters. It’s about ensuring that the people we collaborate with, whether in workshops, rehearsals, or performances, are cared for, supported, and held with dignity. That they can bring their full selves into the room.
I want to create a culture where things don’t have to be rushed. Where neurodivergent people aren’t made to feel “less than” for needing more time, for communicating differently, for processing things in ways others may not understand. That means centring care and designing access into the foundation of everything we do — not as an afterthought, but as the heartbeat of the work.
That’s the kind of arts ecology I want to be part of and help build.
Where do I go from here? The next step is taking it one day at a time. Leaning on those I trust. Trusting that support structures can and should exist in our industry. Believing in myself more. Learning to speak my truth, without judgement or shame. Creating spaces where others can do the same.
Because we, as neurodiverse people, exist. We are not broken. We are not faulty. We are worthy of love, of understanding, of space.
And if you’re reading this you are not alone. You are seen. You are loved. You are powerful. And you are capable of more than you give yourself credit for.
You’ve got this. And at Dhamaka Arts, we’re building a space where you always belong.
Dhamaka Arts 