Think You Might Have ADHD? The Honest UK Adult Guide

I get messages about this more than anything else: "I think I might have ADHD — what do I actually do?"

I went through this myself after forty, and I wish someone had given me the plain-English version instead of leaving me to piece it together. So here it is — the honest guide, from someone who's been through the machine. One important note before we start: I'm a bloke with a blog, not a doctor. This is a map, not medical advice.

Step one: get honest with yourself first

Before any waiting list, spend an evening with a proper screening questionnaire — the ASRS (Adult ADHD Self-Report Scale) is the standard one and it's free online. Answer as the real you, not the you on your best day.

Two tips from experience. Think back to childhood, because ADHD doesn't start at 35 — assessors will want evidence it's been lifelong. And ask someone who knew you young, if you can. Other people often remember the chaos we've normalised.

A screening test isn't a diagnosis. But it tells you whether this road is worth walking, and it gives you something concrete to bring to the GP.

Step two: the GP conversation

Your GP is the gateway, and the appointment is short — so go in prepared. What worked for me and many others:

Bring the completed screening score. Say the specific sentence: "I'd like to be referred for an adult ADHD assessment." Not "I've been feeling scattered" — name the thing you're asking for.

Then give three concrete examples of how it affects your life now — work, money, relationships — and one or two from childhood. Written down, on paper, in your hand. (If you've read my dyslexia posts you know I'd never trust my word recall in a ten-minute appointment.)

If your GP is dismissive — and I'm sorry to say some still are — you're allowed to ask for a different GP. Persistence is unfair to need, but it works.

Step three: know your route (England and Wales are different)

This is the bit almost nobody explains, and it matters — especially to my fellow Welsh readers.

In England, you have a legal option called Right to Choose. If NHS waits in your area are long (and in many areas they're measured in years), you can ask your GP to refer you instead to an NHS-commissioned provider with a much shorter list — often months rather than years. It's still free, still NHS. The charity ADHD UK keeps an up-to-date guide and provider list on adhduk.co.uk — start there, because provider waits and rules genuinely change year to year, and some areas have been tightening referrals lately.

In Wales, Right to Choose doesn't apply — it's an England-only mechanism. Here it's your GP referring into your local health board's pathway, and waits vary a lot by board (I'll be straight with you: they can be very long). It's still worth getting on the list — the list only moves if you're on it. Ask your GP exactly what the current local route is and what you can access while you wait.

Going private is the third route anywhere in the UK — typically several hundred to over a thousand pounds, with appointments in weeks. One crucial warning if you're considering it: ask your GP surgery about "shared care" before you pay. That's the arrangement where the NHS takes over ongoing prescriptions after a private diagnosis — and not every surgery agrees to it. Finding that out after you've paid is a horrible surprise that I've watched happen to people.

What the assessment is actually like

Demystifying this, because the unknown puts people off for years: it's a long structured conversation, usually a couple of hours, sometimes over video. They ask about your childhood, your daily life, your struggles and your workarounds. Questionnaires beforehand, sometimes one for a family member too.

There's no trick to it and no way to fail it. The only job is honesty — including the embarrassing stuff, especially the embarrassing stuff. The workarounds you're ashamed of are exactly the evidence they need.

After the answer — either answer

If it's yes: expect relief and grief tangled together (I've written a whole post about that). You'll talk through options — medication for some, coaching, adjustments at work, or just the enormous power of finally knowing your wiring. Medication has its own follow-up process and, fair warning, sometimes its own wait.

If it's no: that's information too, not a dismissal. Something made life hard enough to send you looking — keep looking, with professionals, until it has a name.

Either way: you're still you. The assessment doesn't change your brain. It changes how much sense your life makes to you — and after forty years without that, I can tell you it's worth the paperwork.

Get on the list. Future you is already grateful. Diolch, and good luck.