Hi, I'm Sarah. I'm an ADHD coach, scientist by training, and a woman who spent more than four decades not knowing she had ADHD.
From the outside, I looked successful. I did well at school, went to university, earned a PhD in Molecular Biology and built a successful career in scholarly publishing. On paper, I was doing everything I was supposed to be doing.
But behind the scenes, it was a very different story.
Things that seemed to come naturally to other people took an enormous amount of effort for me. I relied on perfectionism, last-minute pressure and sheer determination to get things done. I was constantly pushing myself, quietly struggling and burning out, while wondering why I couldn't seem to manage life as easily as everyone else.
And because I was achieving things, nobody really questioned whether something else might be going on. Least of all me.
It wasn't until my mid-40s, following a particularly difficult period of burnout, that I was finally diagnosed with ADHD.
The diagnosis brought an enormous sense of relief. Suddenly, so many things about my life made sense. But there was grief, too. Grief for the younger version of me who had spent years believing she wasn't trying hard enough, wasn't disciplined enough, or simply needed to get her act together.
And then came the question: How had I gone through more than four decades of my life without anyone recognising it?
As a scientist, my natural response was to dive into the research. My PhD had focused on hormone-driven breast cancer, so I was particularly fascinated by the relationship between hormones, the brain and ADHD — especially how hormonal changes can affect women at different stages of life.
I began to understand my own experiences through a completely different lens. Things I'd always considered personal failings started to make sense as differences in executive functioning, emotional regulation and how my brain responds to stress.
But I also realised how little support there was to help women make sense of a diagnosis later in life. Getting a diagnosis was one thing. Understanding what it actually meant for how I worked, lived and felt about myself was something else entirely.
That experience ultimately led me to leave the corporate world and retrain as an ADHD coach.
Today, I support women who, like me, have spent years appearing capable and successful while privately struggling to keep everything together. I help them understand their ADHD, challenge the self-criticism they've carried for years, and find ways of working and living that don't depend on constantly pushing themselves to the point of exhaustion.
But there's another part of this that's incredibly important to me.
I don't want the next generation of girls to have to wait until their 40s, or until they've experienced burnout, to understand their own brains.
For too long, ADHD has been overlooked in girls and women, particularly those who do well at school, appear organised or have become very good at hiding their struggles. I want to challenge the idea that ADHD has to look a certain way, or that academic and professional success means someone can't possibly have it.
As an ADHD UK Ambassador, I want to use my lived experience, scientific background and coaching work to raise awareness, challenge misconceptions and advocate for earlier recognition and better support.
Because I know how much difference that understanding can make. And I can't help wondering how different things might have been if I'd had it sooner.