By Isobel Lepist

I did not know I was Autistic and ADHD until the age of 53.
That diagnosis was nothing short of cataclysmic, rocking the very foundations of my identity.
Despite the shock and bereavement for what could have been if I’d only known sooner, there was also a profound sense of enlightenment, forgiveness, and hope. I want to share my story with my younger self and with the Autistic and ADHD girls and women reading this.

My education and personal development were in no way linear. They did not conform to the expected track and I was inherently anxious about this for years. I was often told (and internalised the message) that I would not amount to anything.

Yet, I was an anomaly. At seven, I could draw exceptionally well, pick up languages and alphabets easily, read Tolstoy, and write compelling stories. Simultaneously, I couldn’t spell, often wrote backwards, struggled to follow instructions and found anything to do with numbers completely baffling. The pace of school felt interminably slow, so I invented detailed stories in my head to keep myself out of mischief.

My struggles led to me being labelled ‘thick’ and relegated to the bottom maths set in high school. We’re talking about the 1980s here. I excelled in everything else, except for fitting in and taking direction. The numbers issue was persistent. I couldn’t tell the time properly until I was 14. A fellow pupil finally explained the 24-hour clock. Numbers round a circle was just nonsense to me.

I gained a university degree (BA Photography) before I finally passed GCSE Maths, at the
age of thirty.

Because of the educational benchmarks, this ‘late developer’ label, though accurate, felt cruel and sent me very incorrect messages about my self-worth. It led to a form of passive resistance. The things I thought were pointless and stupid’ (which were many, in my opinion), I simply opted out of, often without anyone noticing. I did the work at home, in my own safe environment.

I am not suggesting this ‘opting out’ is the way forward. What I am conveying is that there is a way forward to attainment and accomplishment. That path will, however, be different to the majority of your peers. There are alternatives to fill the gaps and make the squiggly line of progression go in the direction you want it to.

The irony of my journey is striking. My last corporate role was setting up People Data Analytics, which required analysis, focus, attention to detail, and plenty of maths. These were the very skills I supposedly lacked in earlier life. And those stories I used to invent in my head? I still create them while I am supposed to be doing other things. Last year, I finally finished one, turning it into a novel and self-publishing it.

I made the very best of employment until it ended last July. Now, I have set up my own company as an ADHD coach. Something I once thought, as a person living with ADHD would be impossible and unwise. I thought I needed structure, parameters, a mission, and predictability. But what I really needed was all of these things and autonomy.

I realised I was describing how self-employment could, and would, pan out for me. Using my creativity, wild imagination, empathy, hyper-achieving drive, problem-solving, and analytical thinking – my combined ADHD and Autistic strengths – I’ve done it.

Not everyone takes the same route to their destination. Sometimes, the worthwhile diversions and adventures along the way are necessary. It’s not the wrong route, it’s just a different one.

For further information about Isobel and her work, please visit www.AtTheMillpond.co.uk

Bio

Isobel Lepist, a neuro-inclusion consultant, ADHD coach (www.AtTheMillpond.co.uk) and advocate for neurodiverse people. She was diagnosed with ADHD and Autism just before her 53rd birthday, after decades of high achievement, masking and struggling to understand why life often felt overwhelming.  Isobel built an extraordinary career in the global Energy sector, leading international teams across Angola, The Hague, and beyond, and earning awards for innovation and excellence, all while raising a family. Outwardly successful, she spent years masking her neurodivergence, striving to “fit in”, and wondering why social expectations didn’t come naturally.