Words by Azryah Harvey
Comprehending my ADHD diagnosis at the age of thirty has been hard. Here’s why I’m challenging social norms and preexisting perspectives on disability.
I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) at the tender age of thirty.
While I see symptoms described in satirical Instagram reels and people frequently sharing their experiences in Twitter threads, I have yet to see similar experiences from those who struggle to comprehend the ‘disorder’ (for lack of a better word). I’m assuming this is an experience that many others have had to deal with – but, personally, it isn’t one that I see articulated as much.
By this, I don’t mean I don’t understand ADHD in the medical sense, I do. But rather in its social context.
Neurodiversity is a relatively modern term coined in the 90s by Australian sociologist Judy Singer.
It’s used to communicate the natural diversity of people’s minds and has been popularised in recent years as a way to describe neurological and developmental conditions. Before reading about its origins, I always thought, ‘Isn’t neurodiversity just an inevitable condition of humankind?‘
It’s reassuring to know that the concept of the term was to communicate that very idea, it sometimes makes me question the validity of my ADHD diagnosis even more. If neurodiversity is both natural and inevitable, what does that mean for the labels and terms that we apply to certain people? Why are some differences pathologized? Why do certain differences feel like a deficiency? And why are we othered against the ‘neurotypical’ minds of the world?
The World Health Organisation characterises a mental disorder as “a clinically significant disturbance in an individual’s cognition, emotional regulation, or behaviour. It is usually associated with distress or impairment in important areas of functioning.”
I get it. And I accept this description is accurate, but it still leaves me with some questions.
As a society, disability is commonly viewed as a problem that exists in a person’s body and requires medical treatment.
Now, this is also known as the medical model of disability, which is one of three overarching models. The other two? Well, they’re the social model and moral model.
To remedy a disability, the medical model essentially requires treatment or care to fix the disability. This has historically been the most widely shared and normalised perspective of disability. But, when we look at neurodiversity and the conception of the social model — it’s raising some questions.
Don’t get me wrong, this is not to argue that the medical model is without its place — it is. But the idea that people are inherently deficient does not bode well for a progressive and inclusive future.
As the activist Fimkelstein so simply put it, “Disability is the outcome of an oppressive relationship between people with impairments and the rest of society.” The social model is different in this sense, as the whole of society has a responsibility for creating systemic issues.
Considering neurodiversity and ADHD in particular, I always wonder if my disposition would be considered a disorder at all, if not for the ironic moral deficiencies within society.
If the world prioritised having positive experiences over productivity; if it cared more about people’s humanity than maximising profit; if it honoured people’s personhood more than it jumped at the opportunity to exploit vulnerabilities, I wonder if there would even be a need for the concept of neurodiversity in the first place?
I consider myself resilient and I believe that I am privileged to have acquired the tools and the perspective to manage the feelings of inadequacy that my diagnosis sometimes evokes. But still, I grapple with the question: is my ADHD actually an inherent impairment? Or does the world pathologize my behaviour and personality to legitimise its preoccupation with control and homogeneity?
If they want us to believe that the world is functioning just fine as it is, we must be convinced that people’s inability to succeed within existing structures is due to personal failings and intrinsic faults.
By perceiving differences that disrupt the order of things as disability, we can avoid exposing the limitations of our social doctrines and current systems and try and ‘fix’ everyone so they can conform. In failing that they can be ostracised, marginalised and othered.
I am aware this may sound conspiracy theory-esque to some readers, but considering a perspective that challenges the status quo is imperative if we are committed to equity and social justice for all.
Neurological diagnoses are legitimate and the medical model of disability allows us to distinguish different traits from one another, it also provides definitions for different groups of behaviours and authenticates our experiences giving us access to the support we have a right to.
I appreciate medical perspectives and I implore everyone to take advantage of the resources available to them to advocate for their needs with scientific language.
We should not be averse to labels, but rather we should always interrogate their validity to ensure that they are improving our quality of life and not obfuscating an agenda to diminish it.
Am I a proponent of the language of ‘disorder’ and ‘disability’? Not particularly. But that is my prerogative and it is subject to change with greater understanding. I’m still figuring out my diagnosis and all I encourage is for everyone to embark on their own, personal journey with confidence that they can discern what is best for them.