(In this Lived Experience piece, William shares his story of growing up feeling different, navigating work, anxiety, and responsibility long before he had language for what he was experiencing. Like many adults, his understanding came later in life—bringing clarity, self-compassion, and meaningful change. We’re grateful to William for sharing his experience, and for the reminder that it’s never too late for things to make sense.)
My name is William.
I am forty-three and live with my partner, my son, and our two Chocolate Labradors.
I was born and brought up in Glasgow and have lived in the greater Glasgow area most of my life.
When I was younger, I remember always feeling confused—surrounded by people who seemed to understand things at school, while I was mostly agreeing without really taking anything in.
I could never get to grips with Maths—especially maths—and this difficulty followed me into adulthood until I began studying Civil Engineering.
I always felt different but could never put my finger on why. I struggled in some areas and excelled in others, and none of it made sense, though I didn’t dwell on it.
I had terrible anxiety. Family holidays were rare, and when they did happen, I would be sick with anxiety every night away from home. Even surrounded by family, I couldn’t settle. I assumed I was just “home sick.”
When I was around 14 or 15, I experienced a life-changing event which set off a chain reaction. Shortly after, I started working with my uncle as a labourer on civil engineering jobs. It was physical, and I loved that, but I hated being told what to do or why something had to be done a certain way. I felt bullied—but looking back, I simply didn’t understand how to handle pressure or prioritise tasks. Everything felt equally urgent, so I just worked as hard as I could.
By 18, I was managing most of the projects I worked on, and honestly, I approached them all the same way—and did pretty well.
On one project, when I was about 20, I turned up to meet the contractor. I introduced myself and explained that specialist equipment was arriving and needed offloaded. The site manager laughed and said, “Come back when your dad gets here.” He meant I looked far too young to be in charge. That moment sent me into a spiral, and I decided on the spot to go to college and train as a Civil Engineer.
While studying, I started working as a trainee engineer. Within months, I was promoted to Contracts Engineer and suddenly running my own projects. **I didn’t know why management trusted me, but I knew I could deliver—**as long as things went to plan.
What I wasn’t prepared for were the “what if” scenarios: What if things went wrong? What if I had to work with someone I didn’t get on with? Those feelings took me straight back to school—anxiety, confusion, fear. I realised I couldn’t cope with that forever.
I stuck with it, but always felt different. I could do the job well, but I couldn’t tell whether the praise I received was genuine or just kindness.
From around age 20 and for about ten years, I was sick every morning from anxiety. I could no longer “muscle” my way through things; I had to use my brain in ways that felt unnatural to me.
Over the years, I developed coping mechanisms. It began with a Maths lecturer who noticed many students struggling with calculus. He broke the numbers down and related them to real scenarios. He taught us to sketch, draw, and visualise instead of relying on verbal explanations. Suddenly everything clicked. Using a boat travelling at 27 degrees for three hours to explain bearings made sense.
This visual way of learning helped me enormously. I developed other strategies for coping with crowded spaces, work events, and social gatherings. It was draining, but I functioned—and functioned well.
I started working for myself in 2016, which gave me more control and fewer outside pressures. Around 2022, I was chatting with my accountant—now a close friend—about quirks and icks and all the things that made us feel “different.” It was one of those conversations where I knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it because our brains worked so similarly.
Later that day, he told me he had been diagnosed with ADHD at ADHD Direct. I was intrigued. I knew the NHS was under pressure, so I booked an assessment with ADHD Direct for a quicker and more efficient route.
I received my diagnosis while working away from home. I took the call from the hotel lobby, and I was the most attentive I have ever been on a phone call.
For the first time in my life, my “thing” had a name: ADHD.
It took nearly a year after diagnosis for me to seek help. I tried speaking with my GP, who was caring but unable to provide much support. I was offered an NHS referral, but it could have taken years. My GP explained that if ADHD Direct offered shared care, that could be a route to treatment.
By that time, I was heavily overweight, inactive, and gripped by daily anxiety.
I returned to ADHD Direct, discussed medication options, and since then I’ve been supported by both ADHD Direct and my GP practice.
I feel a responsibility to share my experience. If I could go back and give my younger self a diagnosis, support, or even a name for what was holding me back, I truly believe my life experience would have been better. So if sharing my story helps even one person—young or old—then it’s worth it.
As of today, I am approximately 10.5 stone lighter, I walk, run, eat healthily, and make better decisions. I no longer suffer from crippling anxiety or indecision. I am more content and happier—and I hope others might feel encouraged to seek help after hearing my story, the way my friend’s story encouraged me.
My journey hasn’t been as difficult as some—mainly because I didn’t know I was on a journey. I was just trying to live life with the cards I was dealt, often feeling those cards were stacked unfairly against me.
I know others have faced setbacks in seeking diagnosis and support. I encourage anyone going through it to keep going. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to share my story.
Since my diagnosis, the medication process has been straightforward. The shared-care support from my GP and ADHD Direct has been invaluable.
Living with ADHD now is, honestly, a hoot. I’m more confident, more open about my needs, and more understanding of my quirks—like why I may still forget things or finish your sentence (with good intentions).
I still have the same traits I’ve always had, but they no longer feel like a burden. Instead of being unable to leave the house except for work—where I felt I had to be someone else—I now love being out in public. I enjoy meeting new people, working in the city or away from home, and exploring new places.
I’m more focused at work. The boring tasks I used to procrastinate over for days or weeks? I now prioritise them, get them done, and move on to the parts I enjoy. Honestly, I’m not sure there’s anything I dread anymore.
I love being able to enjoy life with my partner, Sharon, and my son, William. It feels wonderful to be confident—for myself and for them.
