From the Cover: The Truth About Late ADHD Diagnosis in Women, Dr. Sam Ballington's Personal Journey

For most of my life, I believed that something about me was “wrong”. I was the child who seemed capable but inconsistent, bright yet distracted, enthusiastic but unfocused. At school, I was often described as a ‘dolly daydreamer’. I was the pupil staring out of the window while others appeared effortlessly engaged with the task in front of them. Teachers sometimes recognised potential in me, but they also noticed distraction. They observed unfinished thoughts, wandering attention, and an imagination that appeared to drift far from the classroom. What they did not see, because we lacked the language for it then, was ADHD.

My diagnosis came quite late in life. Much later. And when it did, it did something remarkable: it helped me understand myself.

Not the version of me others believed I should be, or the one shaped by criticism or misunderstanding, but the version of me that had always existed.

The Girl Who Daydreamed

Growing up, I was not regarded as a “problem student”. I was quiet, polite, and mostly invisible in the classroom. My mind was active, but my behaviour was not disruptive enough to raise concern. Like many girls with ADHD, my difficulties were internal rather than external.

Instead of hyperactivity, I experienced intense daydreaming. Instead of impulsivity, I had racing thoughts and vivid imaginary worlds. My attention could focus on things I loved, but it would drift away from things that felt meaningless or rigid.

School systems are often designed for linear thinkers: sit still, listen, write, repeat. For children whose minds operate differently, that structure can feel like attempting to run through deep water.

Despite this, I performed reasonably well. I understood that GCSEs were important. At that stage of life, the message was clear: if you didn’t achieve those qualifications, your options became very limited. So, I worked hard enough to get through. I achieved good GCSE results, even though the path to them was not always smooth.

But I never thought of myself as an exceptional student. I felt average. Capable, maybe, but not extraordinary. It would take me many years to realise that it was the environment, not my ability, that had been the limiting factor.

The Missing Piece

For many people with late ADHD diagnoses, there is a realisation that is both relieving and heartbreaking.

Relieving, as the puzzle pieces suddenly fit together.
Heartbreaking because you start to wonder how things might have been different if someone had recognised it earlier.

In my case, that reflection added an extra layer of complexity. Like many survivors of childhood trauma, I had spent years questioning how much of my identity had been shaped or taken away by the experiences I endured. If you read one of my early articles, you’ll see that I suffered abuse from my father, and I felt that who I could have been was stolen from me.

Trauma can distort how you see yourself. It can cause you to question whether your difficulties are due to damage, weakness, or failure.

When I got my ADHD diagnosis, everything shifted.

It helped me realise that the way my brain functions is not a result of trauma. It is not something broken. It is simply how I have always been wired.

That realisation gave me something profound: the understanding that the person I had become had not been taken from me.

I had always been her.

Learning on My Own Terms

As an adult, education felt very different. When I went back to learning later in life, I was no longer limited by rigid classroom expectations. I could study in ways that suited my brain. I was able to explore deeply into subjects that intrigued me. I could hyperfocus whenever curiosity sparked. And the outcomes proved to be transformative.

Over time, I earned three master’s degrees and eventually a PhD. Not because I had suddenly become more intelligent, but because I had finally taken control of how I learned.

For many neurodivergent individuals, the difference between struggle and success is not ability; it is environment. When the environment changes, the possibilities expand significantly.

My journey through higher education enabled me to explore the fields that mattered most to me: childhood development, education, trauma, and how children communicate through play.

These interests ultimately influenced my professional mission.

Turning Experience into Advocacy

Today, I am the founder of the Association of Child and Family Coaches, a professional organisation committed to raising standards in training for those who support children, young people, and families.

The Association's mission is simple yet essential: to ensure that individuals working with children, especially those who have experienced trauma or are neurodivergent, receive safe, ethical, and evidence-based support.

Too often, well-intentioned professionals enter this space without sufficient training in safeguarding, child development, or trauma-informed practice. The potential consequences of this can be significant.

Children who have faced adversity deserve practitioners who genuinely understand their needs. Families navigating neurodiversity deserve guidance based on knowledge and compassion.

The Association of Child and Family Coaches exists to support that vision. For me, for my eldest daughter, who is neurodivergent herself, and for all neurodivergent children and adults.

For me, this work is deeply personal. My academic research, professional practice, and lived experience all align with one core belief: children deserve environments where they are understood instead of being corrected.

Reframing the Story

One of the most important changes after my ADHD diagnosis was the ability to reframe my own story.

Instead of viewing my childhood struggles as proof of inadequacy, I started to see them as examples of a system that failed to recognise alternative ways of thinking. Rather than considering my daydreaming a flaw, I saw it as a form of imagination that later became vital to my work in play-based communication and therapeutic coaching.

Instead of wondering what I might have become if life had been different, I began to grasp something entirely different.

I had become exactly who I was destined to be. The challenges I faced shaped my empathy. The questions I asked shaped my research. The path I followed shaped the work I now do. None of it was wasted.

Shared Journeys

Late diagnosis is common, especially for women and girls whose ADHD is less obvious. Many adults are diagnosed in their thirties, forties, or even later, often after years of misunderstanding themselves.

Their stories are powerful.

“I was diagnosed at 52 after undergoing therapy for severe domestic violence. The therapist requested a referral after months of treatment. The diagnosis gave me clarity and an understanding of myself and the challenges I faced throughout life, as well as my deep need for justice in an unjust world. The diagnosis helped me to heal and ended the constant inner battle that I must have caused the abuse myself”, Mandy S

“I was diagnosed last year at the age of 45. For most of my life, I struggled with feeling like I wasn’t a proper grown-up, despite having all the trappings of adulthood. I just couldn’t seem to organise myself consistently. I would focus on one part of my life, and the rest would suddenly fall apart. I have a successful career because I found something that plays to my ability to hyperfocus on interests, yet I still find it difficult to do the less enjoyable tasks that every job requires. I always felt like I was on the verge of being discovered. Since my diagnosis, I now have a much better understanding of how my mind functions and how to organise my life more effectively to manage the problems and challenges that ADHD presents. I’m hopeful that medication might also bring further clarity; however, seven months after my diagnosis, I am still waiting for that”, Nicola F

“After my diagnosis, I felt genuine, validated, alive, and like I finally had a way to explain everything about myself. I used to subconsciously think I was a mess in many ways. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t do many things others could. Now I love myself more than before, and I am much happier because I can tell everyone why I do the things I do. I can also tell new friends when I meet them; and if they get it, we’ll be friends; if they don’t, we won’t”, Jessica S

Each story varies, but the themes are often alike: relief, clarity, and a renewed sense of self.

Moving Forward with Understanding

Receiving a diagnosis does not alter the past. It does not rewrite childhood experiences or erase the challenges that once seemed insurmountable. However, it provides something incredibly valuable: understanding. This understanding enables individuals to let go of years of self-blame and view their past with greater compassion.

And perhaps most crucially, it allows them to move forward knowing that their minds are not broken; they are simply different. For me, that realisation did more than explain my past. It reaffirmed my purpose.

The child who once sat quietly daydreaming in the classroom has grown into someone who now works to ensure that other children, especially those who think differently, are recognised, supported, and empowered.

And that, perhaps, is the most important part of the story.

The dreamer was never lost.
She was simply waiting to be understood.