The children who mask, the adults who were missed, the parents running on empty, and why understanding matters
We know neurodiversity exists. ADHD, autism, dyslexia, dyspraxia and other neurodevelopmental differences are spoken about far more openly than a generation ago. Yet alongside that awareness sits another reality: the waiting lists are long, and while a child waits, childhood doesn’t pause. They still have school, friendships, sensory environments, emotions and sleep to somehow manage, and their parents still have to get everyone through another day.
For me, this has never been about collecting labels. I believe in enabling the child in front of us. My experience of neurodivergence, parenting neurodivergent children and working in healthcare led me to study neuroscience and the psychology of mental health, because I wanted to understand why we think, learn and respond differently.
When we give something a name, are we labelling somebody, or finally giving them the understanding they need to thrive?
Why Does Everyone Seem to Have ADHD or Autism Now?
There is undoubtedly more public awareness, and social media has made information, good and bad, extraordinarily accessible. But increased awareness doesn’t mean every energetic child has ADHD, or that every difficulty requires a diagnosis. A TikTok video cannot diagnose ADHD; recognising yourself or your child in a list of traits is not the same as a proper assessment, and nothing here replaces one.
But the opposite matters too. Greater recognition doesn’t automatically mean fad. Perhaps we’re simply getting better at recognising people who were always there, including adults who were the children nobody noticed decades ago.
What Does a Diagnosis Actually Change?
It doesn’t change the child; the child leaving an assessment is the same one who walked in. What can change is everybody else’s understanding: “they won’t concentrate” becomes “why is concentration difficult?”; “they’re being difficult” becomes “what is happening here?”
That doesn’t mean removing boundaries or accepting harmful behaviour. It means understanding whether somebody needs a different route to the same destination. Sometimes understanding why is the beginning of working out how.
“But They’re Fine at School”
My eldest is sixteen; I became a mum at twenty-one, and didn’t recognise everything then that I can see now. I was fortunate: teachers saw signs before I did, referrals happened without a fight, and I was never once called into school about his behaviour. At school, he held things together. At home, things looked completely different. A child who is managing at school isn’t necessarily a child who is coping.
The Coke Bottle Effect
Imagine shaking a bottle: noise, changed plans, a missed instruction, sitting still, watching every word, an unwanted touch, unwritten social rules, something uncomfortable they can’t explain. Shake, shake, shake, but the lid stays on through the school day. Then they get home, the door closes, and everything comes pouring out.
That doesn’t prove a diagnosis; there are many reasons children behave differently across environments. But “we don’t see that here” should never mean “there isn’t a problem.” Home is often simply where a child feels safe enough to stop holding it together.
To the Parent Who Is Running on Empty
Somewhere, a parent is reading this after an awful day: an explosion at the door, a three-hour bedtime, every strategy failing. Am I doing this wrong?
You can understand behaviour as communication and still find it hard to live with. You can love your child completely and need ten minutes away from them. Both can be true. If your child is safe and you need a moment, take one, then tell the school, the professionals, whoever needs to know, that you’re struggling. Don’t be ashamed to say this is hard.
Some days will feel pointless. Then you’ll get up and advocate again, because when your child can’t explain what’s happening, you are their voice. If you or your child are ever in crisis, contact your GP, NHS 111, or in an emergency, 999.
Where Your Child Sits on a Waiting List Is Not a Parenting Score
Services are stretched, thresholds exist, and the most urgent clinical risks are understandably prioritised. That doesn’t make waiting easy, but a long wait, a declined referral, or a low priority ranking is not a reflection of how much they’re struggling, how much you care, or how good a parent you are. If something changes or risk increases, say so and ask again.
Support Shouldn’t Always Have to Wait for a Diagnosis
A child’s needs exist the day before the diagnostic report arrives too. Some schools already do this well: predictable routines, visual information, movement breaks, smaller task stages, a calmer sensory environment. Not every adjustment needs a label, and what helps a neurodivergent child often helps others too. Someone once told me, “it’s so nice speaking to somebody who gets it.” Often, that’s the real need: to be heard, and pointed toward the right next step.
Masking Can Be Remarkably Convincing
The quiet child, the academically successful child, the polite child, the child whose parents are never called into school: none of them is necessarily coping. Some children become extremely good at watching, copying and suppressing what they’re experiencing. We see the result, not the cost. And those children grow up.
Neurodivergent Children Become Neurodivergent Adults
They become employees, parents, nurses, teachers, business owners. Some build lives that fit how their brains work; some become extraordinarily good at compensating, held together by calendars, alarms and perfectionism, until something changes and those systems stop working.
Undiagnosed Men Matter Too
Some energetic boys found an outlet through sport or practical hobbies; others were simply called lazy or told they weren’t reaching their potential. Some built careers that happened to suit their brains: fast-paced, practical, self-employed, no two days the same. Then a promotion, an injury, parenthood or a relationship ending removes what had been keeping things afloat. Perhaps the neurodivergence didn’t appear. Perhaps what enabled them to function did.
And Then There Are the Women Nobody Noticed
The girl who wasn’t disruptive, who did her work, who learned the rules and masked well, could be missed entirely. She grows into a capable woman, wondering why ordinary things require so much effort. Then, for some, another transition arrives.
ADHD and Menopause: An Important Conversation, but One That Needs Care
Hormonal change may interact with attention, executive functioning and mood, but research specifically on ADHD through perimenopause and menopause is still developing, so the biology shouldn’t be made to sound simpler than it is. Sleep, memory and concentration can also shift with menopause alone, independent of any neurodivergence. For a woman who has spent decades compensating, the combination can be particularly hard. “What has happened to me?” Perhaps she hasn’t become incapable; perhaps we’re finally seeing what the coping always cost. This deserves individual assessment, not a single universal explanation, and anyone noticing these changes should raise them with their GP or a menopause specialist.
The Hidden Face of ADHD in Women: What I Learned Through Diagnosis, Research, and Real Support
I Know What It Is Like to Build a Life Around Your Brain
I don’t work well doing one thing at a time. I’m doing two courses right now because I absorb information better moving between them. A traditional classroom, sitting still with no outlet for stimulation, is almost physically uncomfortable for me. Music, fidgets, movement: I need it to concentrate, and I’m also very good at my job. Those things aren’t contradictory. I masked at school too, but I had practical hobbies outside it that gave my energy somewhere to go.
“I Have Undiagnosed ADHD”
At thirty-two, I wanted an explanation. I hadn’t taken antidepressants or anti-anxiety medication, and wasn’t prepared to treat something I didn’t believe fit without exploring an alternative first; that was the right call for me, not advice for anyone else, and medication decisions should always sit with a prescriber. I told my GP what I’d been experiencing and why I suspected ADHD, and she listened. No fight, no need to convince her that a woman who’d built a career and raised children could also have ADHD. I was referred. I know I was fortunate; not everyone’s route to being heard is that straightforward, and pathways vary by area and GP.
Neurodivergence Can Bring Strengths, and Still Be Genuinely Hard
We’ve swung from framing neurodivergence purely as deficit to calling everything a superpower. Neither is the whole story. Curiosity, creativity, hyperfocus and unconventional problem-solving are real strengths, but strengths don’t cancel difficulties. The same hyperfocus that produces extraordinary work can make switching tasks agonising. Someone can thrive in a crisis and struggle with an ordinary Tuesday. We should be able to talk honestly about both, without pretending the hard parts shouldn’t be hard.
We Shouldn’t Be Teaching Children to Become Better at Hiding
I don’t want the goal to be a neurodivergent child who’s simply good at looking neurotypical. I want them to understand themselves, know what overwhelms them, and feel able to ask for help. And I want them to find their thing, whatever it is, because support isn’t about lowering the ceiling. It’s about removing unnecessary barriers underneath it.
Diagnosis Should Be a Beginning, Not an Ending
A diagnosis doesn’t define somebody, excuse behaviour, or remove boundaries. At its best, it explains patterns, informs support, and eventually helps a child understand themselves. So perhaps the real question isn’t “why does everybody need a label now?” but “how many people did we fail to understand before?” Because the children who weren’t recognised didn’t disappear. They grew up: some flourished, some masked, some reached midlife before understanding why ordinary life took extraordinary effort.
I don’t want children unnecessarily labelled, diagnosed from social media, or every difference medicalised. But I don’t want them dismissed either. I want understanding, proper assessment, and opportunity. And to the parent reading this after an impossible day: you don’t have to be perfect, or pretend you’re coping. Ask for help. When your child can’t find the words, be their voice. Use it.
Understanding neurodiversity isn’t about deciding what somebody can’t become. It’s about understanding what they need, so they have the chance to discover what they can.
Different Minds. Different Needs. Brighter Futures.
Amy Royle Founder of NAAVoices. She holds a BSc in Adult Nursing, a PGCert in Neuroscience & Psychology of Mental Health, and certificates as an ADHD Coach, Neurodiversity Coach, Trauma Healing Practitioner, Narrative Therapy Practitioner and Narcissistic Abuse Healing Practitioner.
NAAVoices.com
Important Information
This article combines lived experience, professional reflection and general educational information written in a personal advocacy capacity. Nothing here constitutes clinical advice, assessment or diagnosis for any named individual, and it is not a substitute for advice from an appropriately qualified and regulated professional. My nursing, postgraduate and coaching qualifications do not make me a specialist diagnostician of neurodevelopmental conditions; assessment, diagnosis and treatment decisions should always go through the appropriate professional pathway.
Where this article references research on ADHD, masking or perimenopause, this is a general summary of an evolving evidence base, not a systematic review; readers seeking the underlying literature should consult NICE guidance and peer-reviewed sources directly. All personal anecdotes are Amy’s own and shared with consent; no other identifiable individual’s personal or clinical information appears in this article.
If you are worried about your own or your child’s development, wellbeing or safety, please contact your GP, NHS 111, or, in an emergency, 999.
