My flighty ADHD is not actually a case of mind over matter
Until I couldn't.
You may recall my previous article on burnout, where I came to the realisation that I actually had nothing left in the tank to draw on.
In February this year, I was diagnosed with ADHD — sure, I'd suspected it over recent years, but I hadn't really explored things formally until, post-burnout recovery, I was still finding it hard to motivate myself to get things done.
A couple of friends of mine who are ADHD — one diagnosed recently and one since childhood — suggested I might be one of them. I think it was the 100 tabs open on my screen that gave me away to the latter, and a particularly frazzled conversation at a conference with the former.
A three-hour trip down memory lane with a psychologist — who also interviewed my family and pored over my school reports — and I was off to the psychiatrist for a script.
See, I'd always thought ADHD was just a hyperactive person bouncing off the walls. A behavioural problem that, through mind over matter, could be disciplined out.
But after a bit of research, some things sounded really familiar: focusing on many things at once, or becoming so overstimulated you can't focus on anything at all; hyperactive conversations — jumping topics within a breath and losing everyone along the way; hyperfocus when something has your attention — including wandering through your daily motions in a distracted state; intense boredom and lack of motivation for things that don't interest you — like housework.
ADHD isn't just a brain thing — it's a dopamine thing. Dopamine is the chemical that motivates us to start something and rewards us with that feel-good hit when we enjoy it.
People with ADHD have a deficit, which means we don't have enough of it to push through the boring, everyday stuff. We literally can't make ourselves do it without extraordinary willpower or clever systems.
That's why we can look hyper one moment and catatonic the next: when something is interesting, it's really interesting — the dopamine spike feels like a drug, and when it wears off, we crash.
I can wake up at 5am and spend every spare waking moment obsessed with my latest project. Right now, it's admin process automation and data visualisation.
In the last couple of months, I've built new software for our anodising system using an AI no-code platform, taught myself Python, integrated our ERP system into Microsoft Power BI and built an entire maintenance programme into Slack.
Yet I still feel lazy. Why? During hyperfocus, I'll literally have my head in the clouds and have tuned out all else. Much to the chagrin of Alex and Fin, who catch me and roll their eyes:
"Mum, Mum, Muuuuuuum.
"What are you doing on your laptop, Mum?"
"Teaching myself to code on AI."
"Good one (eye-roll). What's the time? Is dinner ready?"
It's ironic — I can manage a company and directorships (most of the time), yet I can't be organised enough to defrost stuff for dinner (or even have stuff to defrost, to be fair).
I literally folded 52 pairs of socks in the weekend and counted another 89 unmatched socks in the lost-socks bin. I constantly forget the washing, so I just buy us more socks with the groceries.
Anyway, back to the point — I've come to realise that ADHD is not a brain disorder, but a superpower. It's a different kind of brain than the mainstream.
Sometimes it's a secret weapon, other times — when I'm trying to conform to a world where I don't fit — it feels like a massive barrier.
I didn't conform at school. And hormones seem to play a huge role in aggravating ADHD. Thus the rise in teenage diagnoses — it's not just rampant hormones making young people crazy, but an until-now manageable ADHD being given steroids to run wild.
Which brings me back to the present. I'm 44 — apparently in the early stages of peri-menopause too. Makes sense really: the last time my life went off the rails and my brain fell out was puberty at 15-17. And now I'm at the other end of it, and the ADHD has gone rampant again.
I love the Māori definition of ADHD — aroreretini: "Attention goes to many things". Or the blog post I found by Associate Prof Byron Rangiwai — Flighty like the pīwakawaka — describing how the fantail's agile, unpredictable movements serve as a symbol for ADHD, highlighting adaptability, creativity, responsiveness and resilience rather than seeing it as a deficit.
I've also been listening to the podcast ADHD for Smart Arse Women — fantastic, and not just relevant to women. One early episode calls the ADHD brain an "elite hunter-gatherer brain" not suited to modern society — but with competitive advantages in hyper-vigilance, curiosity and exploratory skills. Handy for entrepreneurs, not so much for a repetitious office job.
You can tell when you meet another ADHDer — it's hectic, you'll talk non-stop, go on a rollercoaster of stories and really enjoy it. Whereas some neurotypical people find it too intense and might think you're self-centred for always bringing things back to yourself.
For an ADHDer, you're actually just trying to show you relate and empathise by drawing similarities. To others, it can look rude or self-absorbed.
It brought a whole new perspective to where conversations have gone wrong, when people seemed to be slowly. Backing. Away ...
As to where I'm at now, I've been trying medication for the last six months. It's not a forever thing and I don't take it on weekends or when I've got lots of fun work on.
But it has helped enormously with feeling calmer and more able to manage stress without overreacting or ruminating. Like managing my washing, remembering groceries, establishing a better routine at work, paying the bills and getting on top of emails.
Anyway, I hope this article has helped anyone else out there who feels a bit overwhelmed — whether it's ADHD or not, it isn't simply about mind over matter, but about understanding your own mind that matters most.
• Sarah Ramsay is chief executive of United Machinists.
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A three-hour trip down memory lane with a psychologist — who also interviewed my family and pored over my school reports — and I was off to the psychiatrist for a script. See, I'd always thought ADHD was just a hyperactive person bouncing off the walls. A behavioural problem that, through mind over matter, could be disciplined out. But after a bit of research, some things sounded really familiar: focusing on many things at once, or becoming so overstimulated you can't focus on anything at all; hyperactive conversations — jumping topics within a breath and losing everyone along the way; hyperfocus when something has your attention — including wandering through your daily motions in a distracted state; intense boredom and lack of motivation for things that don't interest you — like housework. ADHD isn't just a brain thing — it's a dopamine thing. Dopamine is the chemical that motivates us to start something and rewards us with that feel-good hit when we enjoy it. 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"What are you doing on your laptop, Mum?" "Teaching myself to code on AI." "Good one (eye-roll). What's the time? Is dinner ready?" It's ironic — I can manage a company and directorships (most of the time), yet I can't be organised enough to defrost stuff for dinner (or even have stuff to defrost, to be fair). I literally folded 52 pairs of socks in the weekend and counted another 89 unmatched socks in the lost-socks bin. I constantly forget the washing, so I just buy us more socks with the groceries. Anyway, back to the point — I've come to realise that ADHD is not a brain disorder, but a superpower. It's a different kind of brain than the mainstream. Sometimes it's a secret weapon, other times — when I'm trying to conform to a world where I don't fit — it feels like a massive barrier. I didn't conform at school. And hormones seem to play a huge role in aggravating ADHD. 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By Tim Brown of RNZ A neurodivergent adult student has abandoned his degree after being accused of cheating by the University of Canterbury. David* is an adult student with Asperger's syndrome and ADHD. His conditions meant he was allowed use a computer for spell-checking in exams, but he was accused of accessing the internet during an exam in June. It took six weeks for the university to clear him of wrong-doing and David said the process was drawn out, lacked inclusivity, and the stress it caused him affected his physical and mental health. But the University of Canterbury defended its handling of the matter, saying its standard processes were followed. 'He actually found his place' David's early years of schooling were marred by memories of shame and being treated as the "naughty boy" due to his conditions. But now in his 30s, after encouragement from his wife, he decided to become the first person in his family to go to university. The first year and a half of his study went well, reaffirming his decision to pursue a Bachelor of Arts. "It took me probably a good year to convince him to go to university and give it a go," his wife, Margaret*, told RNZ. "I went when I was in my 20s, so I'm like 'I know you, you're very intelligent, you will thrive there' and he was. His first year and a-half was great. Everybody was saying he actually found his place. "I'd spent a long time in my life working menial middle-range jobs and I thought why not give it a shot, and I've thrived up until this point. I'm sitting on a decent GPA, which is sort of unexpected," David added. However, it was not without its difficulties and his neurodiversity entitled him to use a computer for spell-checking during his exams. That was where the problem arose. While sitting a 200-level closed-book exam on June 9, an exam officer told David he had seen him access Google using the computer. David said he had no intention of going into Google and he believed it opened as a result of a hyperlink in the word processing programme he was using for spell checking. After explaining that to the officer, he assumed that was the end of it. More than two weeks later, on June 25, he received an email: "I have had a matter referred to me by the Proctors Office. The allegation against you is that you accessed the internet on two separate occasions in a closed book exam". David met the proctor the next day. "I said 'if anything's happened, it's purely by mistake. It might have accidentally opened an external tab. That wasn't my intention'," David said. "She turned round and said to me 'well, look, sometimes we make mistakes. We all make mistakes and sometimes it's easier just to own up and admit it and we can make this go through a lot smoother'." David said he reiterated his innocence and the proctor responded by telling him "well the process is going to be a long, drawn-out one then". He left the meeting feeling as if his guilt had been decided. "I said to [my wife] they're going to find me guilty anyway," he said. "We even started putting together an appeals process because that was the opinion I got when I met the proctor - they had already determined my guilt." Then came silence. David received his exam results, but his grade for the paper in question was not published. On July 8, he reached out to the proctor. "I am still investigating this case and waiting for a reply to an internal email I sent on 30 June. This process may have been delayed due to the term break and colleagues taking annual leave. I have followed up with the colleague concerned and hopefully I receive a reply soon," the proctor's response said. Margaret said the stress and anxiety it caused David was difficult to watch. "This has been really heartbreaking to see him just lose all this faith in this institution and just crumble beneath the really poor policies," she said. David said he felt awful. "Disenfranchised. Embarrassed. I try to keep my neurodiversity hidden and the fact that I opened myself up enough to tell UC, I feel like they abused my trust," he said. By July 13, his GP was so concerned he wrote a letter to the university on David's behalf. "Based on [David's] account, these allegations appear to be unfounded and the way they have been handled has had a profound impact on both his mental and physical health," the letter said. "[He] reports that he was given very limited support when informed of these accusations, and the process appears to have lacked appropriate sensitivity. He has since experienced severe psychological distress, including panic attacks, and I have noted a marked deterioration in his overall well-being." Finally, on July 24, four weeks after his meeting with the proctor, David received an email clearing him of wrongdoing. "Thank you for taking the time to meet with me on 26 June 2025. I appreciate the honest and open conversation and as discussed; I am following up formally advising you of the outcome of this referral," the letter started. "As indicated at our hui I have investigated this allegation and gathered the necessary information required to make an informed decision regarding this referral from UC Concerns. I appreciate your patience while I have done so and with the information before me, I have reached the decision that you did not breach the University Academic Misconduct Regulations." No apology There was no apology and no further explanation. "No sorry for the stress. No sorry for the accusation. Just we carried out our process and we consider it the end of the situation," David said. The University of Canterbury needed to assess whether its processes were suitable for neurodiverse students, he said. His treatment meant he no longer felt safe to pursue his studies and he would not be returning next year to complete his degree. Instead, David had used his credits to attain a certificate and diploma of arts. "It feels like they've actually stolen part of my future identity because I'm actually the first person in my family to go to university," he said. "I was hoping that some of the nieces and nephews would actually follow me in, but not after this experience." University responds The university did not directly address RNZ's questions about whether an apology was warranted. But on a statement, the University of Canterbury defended how it handled the situation. The response has been edited for length: "[David]'s case was managed in line with our normal academic misconduct process, which, by necessity, takes time to investigate thoroughly and ensure fairness. "[David] participated in a closed book exam on 9 June. For closed book exams, students are advised that they may not refer to any course materials or other resources during the exam. The two exam supervisors reported that during the exam, on two separate occasions, they observed [David] opening an internet page on the device he was using during the exam. "It is usual process for students to be invited to attend a meeting with a Proctor to discuss an allegation of academic misconduct, and they are able to bring a support person. "The UC Proctor's recollection of the meeting differs from that of [David]. The Proctor explained that this was an initial meeting to discuss the allegation and to give [David] an opportunity to respond. "At the time of the first meeting, the Proctor did not have access to [David]'s neurodiversity information, as this is securely managed through UC's Accessibility Service for formal exam and learning arrangements. [David] shared this information with the Proctor during the meeting to explain why he had special exam arrangements in place. "The academic misconduct process that was followed in [David]'s case has been reviewed by UC's Head Proctor, in response to the concerns raised by [David]. The review confirmed that UC's standard processes were followed and that [David] was given a fair opportunity to respond. "Following the completion of the investigation, the Proctor determined that academic misconduct had not occurred. "[David]'s privacy complaint has been investigated by UC's Privacy Officer, and a response has been provided to him on 4 August. The Privacy Officer determined that no privacy breach occurred." David and Margaret have also complained to the Human Rights Commission and the Ombudsman. *Not their real names
