Maskell’s words has been edited and condensed for clarity.

I was diagnosed with ADHD age 25 after almost taking my own life. Until then, doctors had told me I was fine because I had a law degree. I presented the psychiatrist with a full list of the conditions I was sure I had (ADHD and autism weren’t on there!), so I burst out laughing when he said I had ADHD. Back then, I admit I thought it was a made up condition for little boys misbehaving in class.

It took me another full year to accept what I had been told and return for a diagnosis. Several years later, I understood that I was also autistic, after coaching so many AuDHD-ers whose experiences mirrored mine. Like many people receiving support for ADHD, I understood that what was driving the impulsivity was autism, and stopping doing things like binge drinking alcohol to survive social situations revealed the intense pain I had been masking. Overall, it took me 2 years of rumination to decide to finally seek an assessment, after struggling significantly with my symptoms to the point of becoming suicidal when my routine changed significantly.

Even though I was fortunate to find a neuro-affirmative assessor with expertise in women’s experiences of ADHD and autism, the assessment process was still very challenging, as it required going over my entire life through a new lens.

My experience has made me all too aware that medical diagnoses aren’t a public sport — as such, it worries me to see the trend of public celebrity diagnosis.

Of course, on one hand, I do see why it is happening. After all, healthcare systems have and continue to fail neurodivergent people globally, so getting a real diagnosis can be challenging. The outdated diagnostic criteria is still based on young boys and there are typically decades-long waiting lists for assessment, along with medication shortages. People are desperate for support — and many may be tempted to self-diagnose, or, once they receive a diagnosis of their own, to diagnose others.

As formal medical information is outdated, social media and the sharing of lived experiences within a global community is growing exponentially. While this can be great in terms of raising awareness, it’s important to remember that behind the screens, everyone is a human being — we don’t see the full picture. And pinning a diagnosis on someone else can actually do more harm than good.

In fact, the impact of “diagnosing” autism, ADHD, or both in other people, when we aren’t medical professionals carrying out formal assessments, can have a significant impact on the neurodivergent community. For one thing, unprofessional diagnoses can lead to harmful misinformation. When we “diagnose” others based on snippets of what we’re presented with, we risk strengthening the common headlines seen about how neurodivergence isn’t “real” — that it is merely a “trend.”

When we set the example of taking serious, comprehensive medical assessments into our own hands, we also risk undermining the extreme struggles that the majority of neurodivergent have in accessing a medical diagnosis.

Courtesy of Leanne Maskell