Let me get this out of the way: I am embarrassed to have ADHD. It is not a superpower, it is not an interesting personality quirk, it does not make me different, or special, or some kind of artistic genius who thinks outside the box. It is an albatross, which is obstructive in almost all areas of my life – professional, educational, personal – holds me back from accomplishing what I want to, demands a lot of patience from others, and its accordant frustrations have at various points in my life, especially before I got a diagnosis, made me miserable.
I don’t like mentioning it at work – except, ironically, when I am writing about it – because I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses or want exceptions, even though it is patently obvious that it affects me there.
Outside of work I simply don’t want to be associated with the mounting stigma attached to it, nor to have to engage in boring discussion with people who dismiss it because “everyone wants a diagnosis for everything these days” or, possibly worse, people who tell me “I’ve definitely got it” because they’ve seen a TikTok and also suffer from symptoms like being addicted to their phones, not sitting still, and not enjoying doing things they don’t want to do.
ADHD has gone from a condition to a phenomenon and has been hijacked: by polemicists, by opportunistic private clinics charging high fees for diagnoses and, yes, perhaps too, by a minority of shirkers who want to claim it as a disability that gets them out of finding a job or queueing at Alton Towers. It is tedious, and I along with most people who sincerely have it would just like to manage it – for me, that’s with a pill on weekdays – and crack on.
Unfortunately, Channel 4 has broadcast a documentary which I believe will make all these problems worse. The Great ADHD Myth? has psychiatrist and journalist Max Pemberton investigating whether ADHD is a social, behavioural construct or whether it is a legitimate neurological condition.
He does this by speaking to a number of medical professionals who deny its existence; by observing one mother who takes her child off his medication and removes screens and junk food for six weeks to see whether his focus is affected; by seeking and obtaining a private diagnosis himself, and by subsequently testing medication for one day.
The film’s alarming conclusions are that we are diagnosing “kids for being kids”, that a generation of children are being drugged into submission, and that our education system needs to change to accommodate these children “with more arts and sports” rather than medication. Overall, the takeaway is that ADHD is a load of nonsense, a dangerous label for children to be saddled with, and one seized upon by adults who simply struggle with the demands of the modern world (never mind that the demands of the modern world can make it more obvious that there is a problem).
If you are already fatigued by the saturation of ADHD, especially in the media, and believe it is a load of rubbish, this is going to be satisfying confirmation. That is precisely why it is so irresponsible. This one-sided film scrimps on counter-views, does not speak to anyone whose life has been improved by treatment, uses limited and inconclusive case studies to try to prove its agenda, and demonises medication that – as I have discovered – can be life-changing.
It is so committed to presenting ADHD as some sort of sociological pandemic caused by a chaotic world that it neglects the overwhelming evidence that people with the condition do indeed have different brain structures and chemistry to neurotypical people; that ADHD symptoms are more far-ranging and complex than the “naughty schoolboy” stereotypes mentioned here; and that undiagnosed ADHD can derail a person’s life if they are not fortunate enough to benefit from the support and structure to compensate for it. Twenty-five to 30 per cent of prisoners are believed to have ADHD. Only two to five per cent of the general population are believed to have it.
We really ought to be past this. It’s dated, loaded, and the perspective is confused. It is unclear whether the concern is the harm of labels, the cost of medicating children, or how ill-equipped we are to cope with the stresses of life, and so Pemberton’s line of inquiry feels random. He uses his morning on powerful stimulants used to treat ADHD as proof that they do not benefit productivity but turn you into a zombie (and by extension, if they do this to him, what on Earth are they doing to our kids?).
He does not sufficiently point out that this medication takes time to adjust to (I gave up at the beginning, finding the effects too strange, before committing again about six months later) nor that nobody will see its benefits unless they are sitting down to execute a number of tasks without overwhelm or excessive distraction.
He pops down to the shops and seems to expect some transformation, and is shocked to find himself feeling out of sorts. He’s a psychiatrist – shouldn’t he know it takes time to settle, and that this kind of drug is a tool to aid productivity when applied to clear tasks, not a magic wand that makes you a superhero in ordinary life?
Also avoided, in the film’s quest to paint ADHD medication as the pharmaceutical industry’s tool of mass sedation, is the fact that most of these drugs have a short half-life: it wears off at the end of the day. I take it on weekdays, when I need to get things done. It doesn’t make me a different person; it just makes me more alert and less overwhelmed. By about 9pm it’s worn off. No weekends, no holidays, no days I’m planning to drink. I don’t think it’s affected my personality – I’m just better equipped to get on with things than I used to be.
If my child had ADHD would I put them on it? I’d try to avoid it, because who wants to medicate any child? If it worked, and allowed them to achieve potential they otherwise couldn’t, then it could be a godsend, but I’d try very hard to provide the structure and consistency that would mean that treatment wasn’t necessary for as long as possible. But I’m middle-class. I have resources, support and privilege that mean I am more able to. It is exactly why my own ADHD didn’t become a problem until I was older and why its consequences for me were never likely to be catastrophic.
Which leads me to one of Pemberton’s most damaging oversights. He does not engage with how gravely ADHD can affect someone’s life and prospects, nor with how social class, families and schooling can play into its outcomes. He uses his own career as a doctor, journalist and author of several books as evidence that the diagnosis he is given – and thus that of many others – is false.
The fact is, some people are just more high-functioning than others, and even more importantly: they have the opportunity to be. Whether Pemberton has it or not, holding up his own success as some kind of example minimises the experiences of the vast majority of people with ADHD, many of whom are more productive, stable, and happy if they are lucky enough to receive adequate treatment. Worse, it dismisses those who didn’t have the stability to prosper, who got into trouble, and who never reached their potential.
Believe me, I am as exhausted by the conversations around ADHD as anyone else. There are far more pressing scientific and medical issues that ought to demand this much attention. But it feels like this film only seeks to spark more debate. Presenting ADHD as a “myth?” confirms that its objective is to enrage, not enlighten. In lieu of balanced testimony or the full picture of the condition in question, it has at least succeeded on that.
‘The Great ADHD Myth?’ is on Channel 4 tonight at 8pm