I was diagnosed with ADHD at 38, 15 years into my career at the Bar. While others have described adult diagnosis as a creeping suspicion, mine was more like being suddenly drenched in cold water.

My instructing solicitor had obtained a psychiatric report for a client of mine who had ADHD. The plan was to rely on it to ask the court for certain adjustments to be made for her during a five-day trial. The psychiatrist himself had come highly recommended from colleagues – but the report was useless.

It set out how my client would struggle to concentrate on certain things, but find it impossible to stop focusing on other things, and may become irritable if interrupted when doing so. It said that she might find it nearly impossible not to interrupt during court proceedings; that she would struggle when giving evidence because she can find it hard to stay on topic when talking. That she was likely to have difficulty with court deadlines. That she took criticism extremely personally, and might become defensive or combative during cross-examination. That she had an incredibly strong sense of justice, and so might find any deviation from what she considered to be a just outcome extremely upsetting. That she might struggle to be on time for court. That she would fidget often. That at the end of a day in court she was likely to be disproportionately exhausted.

I rang my solicitor. ‘We need a new psych report.’

She was surprised. ‘Why? I thought this one was good?’

‘It’s terrible! These are just normal things that everyone goes through – you just have to find ways of dealing with them. No judge is going to make special allowances for her on the basis of this.’

There was a long pause.

‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ my solicitor said, gently, ‘but they’re not just normal things that everyone goes through. Are they things that you go through?’

A formal assessment a few weeks later (the NHS waiting list in my area was four years long, so I paid £600 to be seen privately) confirmed the diagnosis. During my evaluation, the consultant psychiatrist appeared to chuckle to himself at one point. At the end, I asked him about it.

The question had been whether I often forget important things. I had told him with great pride about my handbag, and my court bag, and detailed their numerous and varied contents which meant that I carried with me to court everything I could possibly need for any eventuality. Tights laddered? I’ve got a spare pair. Pen stopped working? There are eight more in here to choose from. Button come off your jacket? Here’s a sewing kit. The consultant remarked that people with ADHD often gave one of two answers to that particular question: ‘Yes, I forget things all the time and it’s a real problem’; or, ‘No! For you see, I have a system.’

At first, I felt relief: my whole life I had suspected, sincerely and with some shame, that I was lazy and stupid. While to outsiders I appeared to have a thriving practice at a highly regarded chambers, in reality I was just one missed deadline, one forgotten email away from it all crumbling down. I had spoken to more than one counsellor over the years about my so-called ‘need to self-sabotage’, which I was unable to get to the bottom of. I felt like I really wanted to do well. I could not fathom why I was able to work for 24 hours straight on some cases, and unable to focus on others until my instruction was hanging by a thread (and sometimes even not then). The diagnosis made it all make sense. I have a disability.

In other ways, the diagnosis made me unutterably sad. It was difficult not to look back on my life and wonder what I might have been able to achieve if I’d been diagnosed earlier. Part of me wanted to contact all those who had been witness to my previous screw-ups, waving my diagnosis like an alibi: ‘Look! There’s an explanation! It wasn’t my fault!’ – but that would not solve things. While I am close with the solicitor who first nudged me towards diagnosis, she is the only client of mine who I have told. The reasons for this will be obvious to others at the Bar: it is a competitive arena, and much as we like to think we live in a world that is understanding of disabilities, I’d be a fool to let myself believe that clients are lining up to instruct a disorganised barrister who struggles with deadlines and misses emails.

I’ve told my clerks, who have been supportive. Sadly, chambers doesn’t seem to have specific protocols or procedures in place for neurodivergent barristers, and because I’ve only recently been diagnosed, I don’t yet have the experience to know what measures might make a difference. My fees clerk has been wonderful, arranging sessions to walk me through bills until I’m on top of them. When I told her I was embarrassed that she had to do this with me, she shrugged and said ‘it’s a reasonable adjustment’ – and in that moment I felt a little of the shame lift. One of my clerks put me in touch with another barrister with ADHD, who gave me what I recall as being very helpful advice – but I wrote it down in a notebook that I now can’t find. A classic and bitter irony of ADHD.

In some ways, the Bar is a good fit for me. New cases and the flexibility of combined practice areas mean I haven’t given in to the impulse to suddenly change career, which is common in those with ADHD. My dopamine deficiency means I’m great under pressure; and a lifetime of light-speed thinking means I am very good on my feet. But written work does take me longer, so almost all my bills get knocked back or knocked down. I can’t explain to my solicitors, or the costs judge, or the LAA, that that advice really did take me 11 hours 46 minutes (I timed it), because I have ADHD. So I take the hit, every time. And the stress of the compensating measures I take to mask my ADHD adds up. The extra load I carry is not limited to the physical weight of my over-stuffed handbag.

The data show that neurodiversity is severely underdiagnosed, particularly in women. Since finding out more about it, I’ve often noticed traits of it in others at work. I wonder whether they have been diagnosed and, like me, choose to keep it to themselves – or whether, like the me of years gone by, they feel a sense that there is some unspecified and shameful thing wrong with them. It is partly for that reason that I’m writing this: to encourage others to find out more, and seek a diagnosis. While we don’t yet live in a world where neurodiversity is unremarkable and accommodated, I hope we can at least stop beating ourselves up in the interim. For me, at least, it has been far better to know. 

Neurodiversity Celebration Week 2025 runs from Monday 17 March to Sunday 23 March.

 

A Conversation about Neurodiversity and the Bar Wednesday 19 March 2025 | 6:00pm-8:00pm

Join Neurodiversity in Law this Neurodiversity Celebration Week to discuss life at the Bar with a neurodiversity. This event will be held in-person at Lincoln’s Inn and streamed live online. The event is free and open to members of all four Inns. The panel will discuss court work, paperwork, diary management and marketing for neurodiverse members of the Bar and those supporting them. The event will include solution focused responses to offer practical advice for those seeking support and include views and experiences from various levels of seniority at the Bar. Find out more here.

neurodiversikey is on a mission to change the way the justice system sees neurodivergence, and to empower neurodivergent people. Find out more here.