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If you would just try harder …

Many adults with ADHD grew up in a school system that misunderstood their struggles, leading to shame, masking and self-criticism. In this personal reflection, integrative counsellor and creative therapist Rich Hayden explores the lasting impact of the “just try harder” message.

(4 minute read)

In our modern society, we have the understanding that having ADHD affects attention (or lack of it!), impulsivity and hyperactivity; but this hasn’t always been in our social awareness.

If you’re over the age of 40 then you’ll probably remember neon socks and fingerless gloves, so let’s take a short trip back the 80s – my school years:

“If only Richard would try harder.”

“He’s an intelligent boy; if he just applied himself he would do so much better.”

“If he paid attention and concentrated, then he might learn something.”

“If he could just sit still and focus instead of fidgeting.”

These are all commonly repeated phrases from my old school reports; many of my clients and friends report having had similar experiences too.

This was the culture in the education system during the 1980s, 90s and even beyond. The system that missed all the obvious signs there were children with differently wired brains who required a different approach to learning. It has left behind a generation with many late-diagnosed ADHDers.

The thing is, many of us did try harder – those who didn’t rebel against the system and weren’t placed into the then-horrifically named “remedial classes” anyway.

We tried to meet the expectations that were required of us.

We tried to focus and concentrate.

We tried to achieve the grades.

We tried to make our brains pay attention to subjects we found boring.

We also beat ourselves up internally each and every time we failed.

In summary, we tried really damn hard to conform to being more neurotypical!

In other words, what we really learned was to mask more efficiently. One of the negative payoffs of this kind of masking is learning to switch off responses to things ADHDers would typically find fascinating or wonderful, like being lost in a hyperfocus thought tunnel about space and the universe during a geography lesson about capital cities!

What I find interesting about this is that, as I got older and my brain became more developed, I started to struggle with the masks and the loss of fascination in the things I desired. As a teenager it became almost impossible to concentrate on anything I wasn’t interested in. For me, at that time I began to be obsessed with music, particularly rock music.

I would hear songs in my head all the time and that was all I wanted to, or even could, concentrate on. Who the hell cares about capital cites of the world or what the formula for the area of the inside of a triangle is when you’ve got Slash’s epic lead break from “Sweet Child O’ Mine” going round on repeat? Literally note by note!

I still remember those horribly uncomfortable moments of having my hyperfocus broken and being pulled back into the reality of the classroom, only then to be scolded by the teacher for not paying attention. I remember the shame of those moments of criticism I received as a child.

I feel like that’s enough memory lane of the 80s and 90s, so back to the here and now. The all-too-real problem that this criticism of ADHD children creates is a lack of self-worth and confidence. This is often perpetuated and self-confirmed through experiences during teenage years and even into adulthood. It’s an issue I’ve seen a lot of ADHDers bring into the therapy room, whether they rebelled against the criticism as children or responded to it with masking.

The “just try harder” attitude really only ever results in a boat of criticism floating on an ocean of not being good enough that washes against islands of “I don’t know who I am and what’s wrong with me”. It also reinforces the message that many ADHDers have: that being different isn’t a good thing.

I work a lot using the concept of parts of ourselves with many of my neurodivergent clients. One part that is unsurprisingly common among ADHDers is a strong internal critic. The inward pointing finger. The voice that berates every single little mistake, failure, miss, non-achievement or wrong thing you do. The voice that says, “You’re not good enough”. The voice that says, “You should have tried harder”.

Of course, the reality is that none of these things are true. That critical voice is lying! The truth of the internal critic is that it’s just a huge distraction; it’s all hot air, smoke and mirrors. Like any other protector part, the critic is trying to keep us from feeling pain, often pain we’ve been unintentionally holding onto since childhood.

In my experience, the critic rarely works alone in these smoke-and-mirrors situations. I often see ADHDers also identify a perfectionist part who sets an unrealistic goal, a procrastinating part who wastes time and then, on the tail end, the critic who has a whale of a time berating you for the unachieved goal! This triad of parts can keep a distraction going for hours, even days in extreme situations.

The good news is that it’s possible to learn to manage yourself through this, to stop the harsh critical voice. It’s also possible to heal from the past and become more confident, self-assured and happy. It takes time and effort, but it’s all possible!

Having worked with the after effects of “just try harder” so much, I can’t help but ask myself what the outcome would be if an ADHD brain was supported to learn in its own unique way? Could it produce someone who is capable of deep, creative thinking and hyperfocusing, yet confident in their identity and secure in feeling good enough? Sounds like a person who has an awful lot to offer in my opinion!

 

Click the links if you’d like to visit Rich’s therapy website or hir directory entry on Attention Allies.

 

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Published 18 May 2025

 

All rights reserved © Copyright Rich Hayden 2025. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author of this post is strictly prohibited. Author contact via website Contact page.

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Gems coming out of your head: A twist on radical acceptance

A connection with an ADHD therapist transformed how transactional analysis-trained therapist Hayley Watkins understood neurodivergence and self-acceptance. Through therapy and a chaotic, joyful, city break, Hayley discovered the beauty in difference — and the power of celebrating it.

(4 minute read)

I had an interesting experience about a year ago.

Despite being a qualified counsellor, I like to get therapy as a client from time to time to enjoy some time to be my full self. My therapist at the time, Bridget,* was exactly what I needed. She had ADHD, and she played a big role in me learning to accept myself. At the time, I was still a bit unsure how much I accepted the possibility that I was autistic.

I think the term “self-acceptance” has an almost death-like quality to it. Acceptance is the fifth stage of the five stages of grief (Cruse, no date), so the word has a connection to death or loss, at least for me. That isn’t the spirit in which Bridget accepted herself: she did it with celebration and love – and her enthusiasm was infectious!

In fact, I should mention here that radical acceptance (Cuncic, 2024) is already a known term in the world of psychology and therapy, and that too has a certain grimness to it. That’s not what I’m going to talk about here, although I admit it’s in my nature to be upbeat.

Bridget loved the treasures that came with her ADHD. That doesn’t mean she ignored that it could be hard sometimes, and that an ADHD brain can make some things difficult that are easy for a neurotypical brain, but she loved the good parts, and she taught me to feel the same way about my neurodivergent brain.

While I score quite low for ADHD, I tend to have more ideas than I could ever make into reality, which is a characteristic of ADHD. One day, while telling Bridget about some ideas I’d had, she said she saw my ideas as “gems coming out of my head”. It was a lovely moment for her to point out that my neurodivergence gave me something to enjoy that I might have missed out on, if I’d been a “normie”.

Bridget had to retire in a hurry a few months later, but I’ll never forget the riches she saw in being neurodivergent.

Example: My city break

Months later, I arranged a city break with a friend called Jess.* Jess has an ADHD diagnosis, and it shows up in a number of ways, including a generous spray of her own gems. Jess had so many ideas for what we could do on our break that there was no way we could do all of them. She kept switching ideas for how to use the short time we had, to the point that by the time I showed up, I had no idea what we were doing any more.

I like to have a plan and know what I’m doing; it helps me feel secure. However, to stick to a plan we made ages ago would be pure drudgery for Jess. We were going to have to work around each other to get the best out of this trip.

Radical acceptance helped us both out. I accepted that I would feel untethered by the lack of a plan, and that instead, this trip would be a magical mystery tour – and it was! J’s huge cache of ideas meant we were never at a loss for what to do. Her spontaneity means that she’s great at thinking on the spot, remaking plans in double-quick time, and is one of the most resourceful human beings I’ve had the pleasure to meet. In short, she’s a great travel companion, and the best person for me to get lost in a strange city with!

It also helped that I accepted that I want structure but might not get very much of it during the trip. Mealtimes were enough structure for me, so I suggested we break for lunch after we finished enjoying the daffodils, sheer amount of space and seagulls in the park. I like the natural world, so I told Jess a little about the birds we had seen, which, as an American, she was unfamiliar with. Stopping for lunch gave us the chance to talk for an hour about sugar in the average diet in the States, inspired by one of the most chocolatey brownies either of us had ever had; she got to talk about something that mattered to her, and I learned something new about our cousins across the pond. Also, I got to sit in a corner in a wood-panelled cafe.

What was there not to like, for both of us, even if it was for different reasons?

There were a few other adjustments I needed that Jess could accommodate. She was staying longer than me, so I asked for dinner to be Thai (which I’m comfortable and familiar with, as is my autistic wont) instead of Indian (which I’m not, and isn’t), so she decided to have Indian the following night.

Jess and I are so different, and those differences could have made the visit difficult, but accepting one another and enjoying the surprises that we each present the other with made the trip a pleasure.

Note

* Not their real names.

References

Cruse. No date. Understanding the five stages of grief. Accessed 10 April 2025: www.cruse.org.uk/understanding-grief/effects-of-grief/five-stages-of-grief/

Cuncic, A. 2024. How to embrace radical acceptance. Accessed 10 April 2025: www.verywellmind.com/what-is-radical-acceptance-5120614

 

Click the links if you’d like to visit Hayley’s therapy website or her directory entry on Attention Allies.

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Published 4 May 2025

 

All rights reserved © Copyright Hayley Watkins 2025. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author of this post is strictly prohibited. Author contact via website Contact page.

Website version and image © Copyright Attention Allies 2025.