Addiction, acceptance and the newly uncovered power of choice
Before my diagnosis I thought I was weak. I believed the habits I carried were addictions or flaws, and I hid them out of shame. What I've come to learn is that they were coping strategies, keeping me afloat in a world that I didn't quite fit into. Diagnosis helped me see them differently. They were never proof of weakness. They were how I survived.
For years I ran on four coffees and four Diet Cokes a day. All my fluids came from caffeine or alcohol. I smoked because it let me escape from conversations, gave me a few minutes of calm, and helped me feel less restless. I drank wine at night to numb my brain enough to fall asleep. I chased emergencies at work to fuel my dopamine system, throwing myself into crises that were not even mine to solve. Once I spent an entire weekend just before Christmas without sleep, from Friday night until Monday morning, fixing an issue for a colleague who was already on holiday. From the outside, I looked like a committed problem solver. On the inside, I was still chasing the dopamine but already running on empty, and desperate for relief.
At the time I thought this was just the way I was. I told myself I needed to work harder, and this is how I was able to push on. Work until you drop with caffeine and sugar to keep going, drink till you sleep, repeat forever. Secretly I told myself that it was addiction and weakness. Understanding these things as coping strategies was the first step in being able to break their spell.
Alcohol was the one I feared most. I grew up watching my dad struggle with alcohol misuse. He went teetotal in his sixties, but I knew the hold it had on him. I expected quitting to be the hardest part for me too. It turned out to be the easiest. Once medication quieted the voices in my head, I no longer needed alcohol to sedate myself each night. I made a deal with myself: no drinking on “school nights.” Fridays and Saturdays only. That made it less all-or-nothing. I did not have to think of it as “my last ever drink.” I just had to get through the week without one.
At the same time, I booked my first private health assessment. I had avoided them for years because I was scared of what they might tell me, and it was too overwhelming to pick up the phone and book them anyway. When I finally went, the news was good. I was in better health than I expected. That gave me hope that it was not too late to change. I decided to be honest about how much I was drinking (probably for the first time ever). Putting it down on the form, and discussing it with the doctor gave me a boost. I set a target of staying under the recommended 14 units of alcohol a week. For about a year that looked like one margarita and a bottle of red wine over the weekend. I looked forward to that Friday margarita every week. It became a routine that marked the end of the work week.
The surprise was that after a year of clear-headed weekdays I began to notice what a hangover really felt like. I realised I had probably been living with a permanent fog for years, mistaking it for tiredness or poor sleep. The contrast was shocking. Once I knew what clarity felt like, the grogginess of Saturday and Sunday mornings became intolerable. That was the turning point. I stopped drinking on weekends too. Not with pressure or rules, just with the simple realisation that I preferred feeling well. These days I still go out with friends or work colleagues, but more often than not I drive, order a non-alcoholic beer, and enjoy the evening without the hangover. Research shows that up to 43% of ADHD'ers develop an Alcohol Use Disorder (Luderer et al., 2021). Thats a lot.
Alcohol gave way to sugar. I eat more Reeses Peanut Butter Cups than I should, but it feels like a healthier vice than wine. There is no perfect diet, only healthier choices. I have also found rooibos tea. No caffeine, no milk, and crucially, I like it cold, which works perfectly, since I forget about every cup I make, for at least an hour after making it. I finally found a drink that works with my ADHD.
Nicotine was different. It was the hardest, because it had been with me the longest. I started smoking at 14 or 15 when I had my own money and wanted to fit in. It stayed with me for more than 30 years. I felt constant shame about it. I switched from cigarettes to vapes a decade ago, but I could never let go completely. What gave me the strength was momentum. Once I had quit alcohol successfully, I realised I could do things I had never managed before. I began to believe change was possible.
I moved from vapes to nicotine inhalers, then from inhalers to patches. I reduced the strength slowly over the recommended time until there was nothing left. For the first time in three decades I was free. Unlike alcohol, I will never go back to nicotine. I know how addictive it is. But even if I did, I know now that I could quit again. It has been a couple of years since my last vape and I feel confident and safe. I was not alone in this. Research has consistently shown that people with ADHD are far more likely to take up smoking and struggle to quit, and stimulant treatment itself has been studied for its relationship to cigarette use (Schoenfelder, Faraone, & Kollins, 2014).
Work was the last coping strategy to fall. After my most recent burnout, eight months of 120-hour weeks, I knew I had to protect my health. I've worked for the same company for 24 years and most of that time I gave my evenings willingly. Regular late meetings with US colleagues filled my calendar. Most nights I worked until 10 or 11pm. When burnout knocked me out for weeks, I finally asked all the organisers if we could move the meetings to UK working hours, or if I could send a delegate instead.
To my surprise, everyone was reasonable. Almost overnight all my evening meetings disappeared. I felt lost at first. I carried guilt that I was letting people down. I did not know what to do with free evenings. But slowly I began to rest. I began to relax. I spent time with my family, took care of myself, and discovered I was more present and more productive during the day. I still do late meetings, but not every night, and not as a regular extension to my days. I didn't know that workaholism and ADHD were linked until I started researching coping strategies whilst writing this article (Andreassen et al., 2016)
These were the times when I learned these habits were not addiction or weakness. I was doing the best I could with what I had and what I knew at the time, and that was ok. What changed was realising I had the power to choose different coping strategies. Better ones. Ones that worked with my neurodivergent brain rather than against it.
Coping kept me alive, but it also kept me in stasis. I lived in a survival fog. Performing, but always at a higher cost. Focused during work, wiped out at all other times.
Letting go of those coping strategies has not been about perfection. It has been about giving myself space to move from survival into something gentler. For the first time in my life I feel calm, and collected. And for the first time, I am beginning to learn what it means to be on my own side. It all began with knowledge and self-compassion.
If you knew your habits were coping strategies and not weaknesses, what new choices would you give yourself permission to make?
Adamou, M., Arif, M., Asherson, P., Aw, T. C., Bolea, B., Coghill, D., … Young, S. (2013). Occupational issues of adults with ADHD. BMC Psychiatry, 13, 59. https://doi.org/10.1186/1471-244X-13-59
Andreassen, C. S., Griffiths, M. D., Sinha, R., Hetland, J., & Pallesen, S. (2016). The relationships between workaholism and symptoms of psychiatric disorders: A large-scale cross-sectional study. PLOS ONE, 11(5), e0152978. https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0152978
Schoenfelder, E. N., Faraone, S. V., & Kollins, S. H. (2014). Stimulant treatment of ADHD and cigarette smoking: A meta-analysis. Pediatrics, 133(6), 1070–1080. https://doi.org/10.1542/peds.2014-0179
Luderer, M., Ramos-Quiroga, J. A., Faraone, S. V., Zhang-James, Y., & Reif, A. (2021). Alcohol use disorders and ADHD. Neuroscience & Biobehavioral Reviews, 128, 648–660. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.neubiorev.2021.07.010
