My ADHD Story

Ambition, But No Map​

Known for being bright and academically strong in school, I graduated with a degree in Journalism and Politics, landed a corporate job, and launched the English-language side of an Urdu community newspaper originally founded by my dad – blending my love of writing with a drive to amplify underrepresented voices.

On the surface, I was doing well. But underneath, I felt like I was constantly falling short of the life I wanted to build. No matter how hard I worked, I couldn’t keep up. I burned out repeatedly, spiralling into depressive episodes, then forcing myself to start again from scratch. It became a vicious cycle that slowly eroded my self-worth and self-trust.

I was repeatedly told I was “lazy” or “not applying myself” – but the truth was, I was working harder than anyone around me.

Burnout on Repeat

I knew I had the skills. I knew I was smart. But I felt like I was working three times harder than everyone else just to stay afloat – and even then, the success never lasted.

Still, I kept pushing – spending years trying to “fix” myself with therapy, courses, and self-help books, hoping the next thing would finally make me more organised, more productive, more emotionally contained. But nothing ever stuck. The harder I pushed, the more I ignored my body’s signals.

What I didn’t realise was that I was using neurotypical systems to manage a neurodivergent brain. I tried to follow the blueprint for success, but it wasn’t built for brains like mine – so, when it didn’t work, I blamed myself. Had I understood how my brain actually worked, I might have gotten further with less struggle.

Instead, I internalised every setback as proof that something was wrong with me, and became even more determined to prove there wasn’t. So I masked harder and harder, just trying to fit in.

Eventually, I burned out completely. My nervous system was in overdrive from years of masking, overworking, and self-blame. When I finally went to the doctor, I was misdiagnosed with depression – but the root cause, undiagnosed ADHD, was missed entirely.

Navigating Two Worlds

As a second-generation South Asian Muslim woman, I was navigating a life shaped by two very different sets of expectations.

On one hand, I wanted to build something of my own – meaningful, creative, self-directed. On the other, there was an unspoken social pressure to follow the “good South Asian daughter” path: get a degree, secure a stable job, be domesticated, get married, have children.

I tried to follow both paths. But in the process, I lost myself and never really managed either.

The result was emotional exhaustion, intensified by masking in professional spaces where I had to shrink, filter, and translate myself just to fit in. Being visibly different in predominantly white environments, constantly managing how I was perceived, added a layer of hypervigilance to everything I did.

The Crash

With undiagnosed ADHD, poor executive function, emotional sensitivity, and an overwhelming pressure to prove myself, I was living in survival mode. My personal relationships suffered. My nervous system was constantly on edge.

And every time I broke down, I didn’t think: “Maybe the system is broken.” I thought: “There’s something wrong with me.”

Eventually, the cycle caught up with me. I was signed off work with stress and burnout, completely depleted – physically, emotionally, mentally. I didn’t just feel low; I felt broken.

When I Finally Saw it

It was my sister who first connected the dots, after attending a talk on ADHD in women. As she described what she'd heard, it felt like she was describing my entire life. What followed was a rollercoaster of emotions, as I began to re-evaluate everything I thought I knew about myself.​

It was a shock and a relief at the same time. I hadn’t recognised it myself – I didn’t realise ADHD could look so different in women, that I’d spent years masking it without even knowing, and that it was genetic. Ironically, we’d suspected my dad had ADHD long before I ever considered it in myself. But because he was a man, the traits were seen as harmless quirks - his quick shifts in attention were seen as curiosity, his impulsiveness as charm, his risk-taking as boldness.

In a South Asian man, they were tolerated, even admired. In me, they became reasons I was “too much" – that’s how gender and cultural bias in ADHD plays out.

For the first time, something made sense. All the struggles I’d blamed myself for – the emotional dysregulation, the overwhelm, the inconsistency – they weren’t personal flaws. They were patterns. They were explainable.

But relief quickly gave way to frustration. My GP told me the NHS waiting list for an ADHD assessment was seven years. Even going private meant waiting 18 months – and without a diagnosis, I couldn’t access medication.

I was desperate for something to help, but there was nothing immediate on offer.

That’s when I discovered ADHD coaching.

The Space That Saved Me

With no diagnosis, no access to medication, and nowhere else to turn, ADHD coaching became my lifeline. It helped me stop blaming myself, reconnect with the authentic me, and finally build a life that worked for me.

Since then, I haven’t had a single depressive episode. That’s how powerful it was for me.

I did eventually receive a diagnosis, and I’m still on the waiting list for medication – something I’m open to trying. But by then I’d already learned that medication alone wasn’t the whole answer. While it can quieten the noise, it can’t untangle shame, rebuild self-trust, or help you live in line with your values. Coaching gave me those skills, and that's what sustained me.

And I knew I wasn’t alone. So many of us are misdiagnosed, misunderstood, and failed by the systems that don’t see us. I remember how lost and broken I felt, and I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else feeling that way. I wanted others to have what I finally found: support that sees you, hears you, and actually works.

That’s why I became a coach.

Why I Became a Coach

I trained with ADDCA, the global leader in ADHD coach training, because I’ve seen what happens when support lacks rigour – how it can replicate the very harm people came to heal from. I wanted to offer something better: coaching rooted in care, integrity, and a deep respect for those too often left behind.

As a South Asian Muslim woman, I know what it’s like to be left out of the ADHD conversation – overlooked by the systems meant to support us, and misunderstood within the communities we belong to. Culture, faith, gender, neurodivergence – each adds a layer to how we experience the world. And too often, it goes unseen.​

That’s why I created The ADHD Way, a space where you don’t have to explain yourself. Where your identity isn’t a barrier to being supported, it’s part of the picture. Where you can reclaim your voice, your story, and your way of being, on your own terms.

And while I work with people from all backgrounds, I hold space for those who’ve never seen themselves represented in ADHD spaces – because our stories deserve to be centred too.

The ADHD Way is the space I never had. One where your identity is honoured, your experience is valid, and you can build a life that fits your mind, your way.