Living with ADHD - The Reality Check Nobody's Writing (Part 1)

An introduction to the neurodivergent partnership series that skips the patronising advice and gets to what actually works - I will be working alongside my beautiful wife, Amanda, to help me navigate this stuff. I might even throw in some conversations with my kids too. (In true ADHD style though, it won’t be consecutive. I will throw them in over the course of the next few months!)

There's a moment every ADHD household knows well. It's Saturday morning, and I've decided today is the day to finally sort out the shed. By lunchtime, I'm five hours deep into what was supposed to be a "quick tidy," surrounded by every single item we own, having created an archaeological dig of family detritus across the entire garden. My wife Amanda surveys the scene - tools scattered, paperwork fluttering about, me hyperfocused on organising screws by size - and delivers one of her trademark observations: "ADHD might explain why you started this project, but it doesn't explain why you thought dismantling the entire shed was a reasonable first step."

And there, in one perfectly crafted sentence, Amanda captures what most ADHD relationship advice completely misses. There's a crucial difference between understanding neurodivergence and enabling poor behaviour. Most of the guidance floating around the internet seems to believe that loving someone with ADHD means becoming their unpaid personal assistant whilst tiptoeing around their executive dysfunction like it's made of glass.

This isn't another ‘10 Ways to Be Patient with Your ADHD Partner’ listicle. We've got enough of those cluttering up the wellness corners of the internet, usually written by people who've never actually lived with the beautiful chaos that is an ADHD brain. Instead, this series is about something far more useful - how to build a genuinely functional partnership when one of you processes the world differently, without losing your sanity or your sense of self in the process.

The Problem with Patronising Advice

Most ADHD relationship guidance treats neurotypical partners like martyrs-in-training. The prevailing wisdom suggests that if you just understand enough, accommodate enough, and reorganise your entire life around ADHD symptoms, everything will somehow work out. It's the relationship equivalent of participation trophies - nobody wins, but everyone's supposed to feel good about trying.

This approach fundamentally misunderstands both ADHD and healthy relationships. As relationship researcher John Gottman discovered through decades of studying couples, successful partnerships aren't built on endless accommodation but on what he calls "positive sentiment override" - the ability to maintain overall affection despite ongoing irritations. Gottman's research shows that couples who thrive aren't those who never face challenges, but those who develop robust systems for handling them.

“The point is that neuroses don’t have to ruin a marriage. If you can accommodate each other’s “crazy” side and handle it with caring, affection, and respect, your marriage can thrive.” John Gottman

Notice he doesn't say partners should accept crazy, or that one person should endlessly absorb the other's difficulties. He's talking about balance, reciprocity, and mutual respect - concepts that seem to disappear when ADHD enters the conversation. The standard advice treats ADHD as something that happens to a relationship rather than something that exists within it. It positions the neurotypical partner as the long-suffering saint who must learn to navigate their partner's quirks with endless patience. Meanwhile, the ADHD partner is cast as the loveable but chaotic force of nature who can't really be expected to change much.

This dynamic isn't just unhelpful; it's actively harmful. It removes agency from the ADHD partner whilst placing an impossible burden on their neurotypical counterpart. Real relationships require two functioning adults, not one adult and one perpetual child with a medical excuse.

Amanda's approach was characteristically direct from the start. Rather than trying to become my external brain or life manager, she made it clear that my ADHD diagnosis was my responsibility to figure out, not hers to accommodate endlessly. "Right," she said after my diagnosis, "so now you know why some things are harder for you. What are you going to do about it?"

This wasn't harsh; it was exactly what I needed. While other partners might have rushed to reorganise calendars or send reminder texts, Amanda understood instinctively that taking over my executive function would help neither of us. As she puts it, "I'm not your personal assistant, and you're not my project. We're partners, which means you need to develop strategies that work for your brain." (Or something like that - I can’t quite, remember 😉)

Amanda's Evolution and Why Her Perspective Matters

When I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 38, Amanda had to learn an entirely new language. Suddenly, behaviours that had seemed like character flaws had clinical explanations. The chronic lateness, the hyperfocus that made me disappear into projects for hours, the emotional dysregulation that turned minor criticism into perceived catastrophe - all of it made sense in a way it never had before.

But understanding ADHD and living with it are different beasts entirely. Amanda had to navigate the gap between intellectual knowledge and daily reality, between explanation and excuse, between support and enabling. She's developed insights that you won't find in any clinical literature because they come from the trenches of actually sharing a life with someone whose brain works differently.

"The hardest part," Amanda tells me, "wasn't learning about ADHD. It was learning which bits of your behaviour were actually ADHD and which bits were just you being a bit rubbish at life."

This distinction matters enormously. Executive dysfunction might explain why I struggle to remember to put my ironing away, but it doesn't explain why I might respond defensively when Amanda reminds me. Time blindness might account for chronic lateness, but it doesn't excuse failing to apologise or learn from repeated mistakes.

Amanda's perspective matters because she's had to develop practical wisdom that academic research can't provide. She's learned to distinguish between accommodation and enabling, between understanding and excusing, between supporting and managing. These aren't theoretical concepts for her - they're daily navigation tools.

Psychologist Russell Barkley, one of the leading ADHD researchers, emphasises that ADHD is primarily a disorder of executive function rather than attention. But executive function encompasses planning, organisation, emotional regulation, and impulse control - basically, many of the skills that relationships require. Amanda has had to learn how to maintain a partnership when some of these fundamental relationship tools work differently for one person.

“Rather, I believe it is a fundamental deficiency in self-regulation generally and executive functioning specifically - the ability to look toward the future and to control one’s behavior [sic] based on that foresight.” Russell Barkley

Her insights aren't just practical; they're philosophical. She's grappled with questions about personal responsibility, the nature of choice when executive function is impaired, and how to maintain authentic connection when one person's emotional regulation works differently. These are deep waters that most relationship advice never touches.

The Accountability Question

But there seems to be a place where most ADHD relationship advice goes completely off the rails. Somewhere along the way, we've decided that neurodivergence means never having to say you're sorry, or at least never having to change your behaviour. It's as if the diagnosis itself creates a protective bubble around every ADHD-related difficulty.

This is nonsense, and it's harmful nonsense at that. Amanda learned early on that there's a crucial difference between understanding why something happens and accepting that it always will happen. ADHD might explain my tendency towards rejection sensitivity, but it doesn't mean Amanda has to walk on eggshells forever to avoid triggering it. I have never been bad at apologising to be fair - I do wonder if this is a response to this rejection sensitivity. I often say sorry more than I ought to, even when it’s not my fault, just to keep (or restore) the peace. And that gets abused (but I think that’s for another post…)

The philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre argued that we are "condemned to be free" - that regardless of our circumstances, we retain the responsibility to choose our responses. This existentialist principle applies beautifully to ADHD relationships. Yes, executive dysfunction creates genuine challenges, but within those challenges, choices still exist.

Amanda puts it more bluntly: "ADHD isn't a free pass to be a knobhead."

This accountability question goes both ways. Amanda has had to learn when to push and when to accommodate, when to challenge and when to support. She's developed what I call "strategic empathy" - understanding that enables rather than excuses, that supports growth rather than stagnation.

For instance, my ADHD makes it genuinely difficult to follow through on admin tasks - returning forms, booking appointments, dealing with paperwork that sits in ever-growing piles. Amanda is learning to understand that this isn't deliberate avoidance or lack of caring. But she also knows that my response to being reminded matters enormously. Do I get defensive and blame my ADHD? Do I apologise and try to develop better systems? Do I simply expect her to keep managing these tasks forever?

The difference between explanation and excuse becomes crucial here. ADHD explains the difficulty but doesn't eliminate the responsibility to address it. Amanda is learning to respond to the effort rather than just the outcome. If I'm genuinely trying to develop better systems and occasionally failing, that's different from simply expecting her to accommodate my executive dysfunction indefinitely.

This isn't about perfection or immediate change. It's about agency, growth, and mutual respect. ADHD relationships work best when both partners understand that neurodivergence creates challenges to be navigated together, not insurmountable barriers that one person must simply endure.

What Actually Works vs What Sounds Good

The internet is awash with ADHD relationship advice that sounds wonderfully supportive but falls apart under real-world pressure. "Just be patient." "Learn their love language." "Create visual reminders." These suggestions aren't necessarily wrong, but they're incomplete and often misapplied.

Real ADHD relationships require more sophisticated strategies than colour-coded calendars and gentle reminder systems. They require what attachment theorist John Bowlby would recognise as "secure base behaviour" - the ability to provide support whilst maintaining individual autonomy.

Amanda has learned that effective support often looks nothing like traditional relationship advice suggests. Sometimes the most loving thing she can do is refuse to rescue me from the natural consequences of my choices. Sometimes support means direct confrontation rather than gentle understanding.

"I used to think being supportive meant making everything easier for you," Amanda explains. "Now I know it means helping you build better systems whilst refusing to become your life manager. I am not your mum. I only have two kids, not three."

This shift from accommodation to empowerment changes everything. Instead of Amanda managing my executive function, we've developed systems that work with my ADHD brain whilst maintaining her sanity. Instead of her becoming my external memory, we've found technology and strategies that support my natural strengths.

The psychological concept of "learned helplessness," first identified by Martin Seligman, applies here. When neurotypical partners constantly accommodate ADHD challenges without encouraging skill development, they can inadvertently reinforce helplessness rather than building competence.

Real support looks like Amanda refusing to be my sole reminder system whilst helping me discover apps and strategies that actually work for my brain. It means she won't manage my time blindness but will support experiments with different scheduling approaches. It means calling out my emotional dysregulation whilst maintaining empathy for the underlying struggle.

This isn't harsh; it's helpful. It maintains Amanda's agency whilst supporting my growth. It acknowledges ADHD as a real challenge whilst rejecting the notion that challenge equals impossibility.

The Challenges Nobody Talks About

Most ADHD relationship advice focuses on the obvious difficulties - forgotten anniversaries, chronic lateness, messy houses. These are real challenges, but they're also the easy ones to address. The deeper difficulties rarely get mentioned, perhaps because they're uncomfortable to acknowledge.

Amanda has had to grapple with feeling like she's in a relationship with someone who processes emotional information differently. Rejection sensitivity doesn't just mean I get upset easily; it means I sometimes interpret neutral comments as criticism, support as condescension, or space as abandonment. These aren't rational responses, and understanding their neurological basis doesn't automatically make them easier to live with.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm walking through a minefield," Amanda admits. "Not because you're deliberately difficult, but because your brain interprets things differently than mine does. It's exhausting trying to calibrate every interaction."

This emotional calibration challenge rarely appears in relationship guides, but it's one of the most significant aspects of ADHD partnerships. Amanda has had to learn to communicate in ways that account for my brain's tendency to catastrophise, whilst also maintaining her own authentic communication style and dealing with her own emotional challenges too. This is really important to acknowledge too - I am not married to a counsellor, ADHD expert or flawless human being (she is pretty close to be fair!). Amanda has tough days at work, experiences her own emotional rollercoasters and gets tired. We aren’t nailing this every day but we are getting better at it.

There's also the invisible labour that often falls disproportionately on neurotypical partners. Not just the practical tasks that executive dysfunction makes challenging, but the emotional labour of constantly considering how ADHD might affect any given situation. Amanda finds herself thinking through logistics, timing, and emotional impacts in ways that become second nature but also mentally exhausting. She has all the passports, boarding passes, money, itinerary, etc. when we go on holiday, despite me having to do this myself when I solo travel! 

It’s also worth noting here that the hyperfocus aspect of ADHD creates its own relationship challenges. When I'm deep in a special interest or project, I can become emotionally unavailable in ways that aren't immediately obvious. I'm physically present but mentally elsewhere, creating a peculiar form of loneliness for Amanda that's difficult to articulate or address.

These challenges aren't insurmountable, but they require acknowledgment and strategy. They're part of why generic relationship advice often fails ADHD couples - it doesn't account for the specific ways neurodivergence affects emotional connection and daily life.

Building Real Partnership

The relationships that work aren't those where ADHD disappears or becomes irrelevant. They're partnerships where both people understand the challenges and develop systems that work with neurodivergence rather than despite it. Amanda has learned that effective ADHD relationships require what I have labelled ‘strategic flexibility’ - the ability to adapt expectations and systems based on neurological realities whilst maintaining core relationship values like respect, reciprocity, and growth.

This means accepting that some traditional relationship patterns won't work whilst refusing to lower fundamental standards for partnership. Amanda won't expect me to remember key dates without support systems, but she will expect me to care enough to develop those systems. She understands that emotional regulation works differently for me, but she won't accept emotional dysregulation as an excuse for harmful behaviour.

The philosopher Emmanuel Levinas wrote about relationships as encounters with ‘radical otherness’ - the recognition that another person's experience might be fundamentally different from our own. ADHD relationships require this kind of radical acceptance whilst maintaining the mutual responsibility that healthy partnerships demand.

"I've learned that loving you doesn't mean trying to change how your brain works," Amanda says. "But it also doesn't mean accepting every behaviour that your brain produces. It's about working together to create something that works for both of us."

This collaboration requires ongoing negotiation and adjustment. What works during calm periods might not work during stressful ones. Systems that support my ADHD can't overwhelm Amanda's mental resources. Support that feels helpful to me can't feel burdensome to her. Real partnership means Amanda doesn't become my carer, and I don't become her project. We remain two adults building a life together, one of whom happens to have a brain that works differently. That difference creates challenges and opportunities that we navigate together.

What This Series Will Actually Address

This introduction sets the stage for a series that will dig deep into the practical, emotional, and philosophical aspects of ADHD relationships. We'll explore the systems that actually work, the boundaries that matter, and the growth that's possible when both partners commit to genuine partnership rather than accommodation or management.

Each piece in this series builds on Amanda's hard-won (winning?) wisdom and my own learning about living authentically with ADHD whilst maintaining a healthy relationship. We'll address the challenges that other guides skip - emotional regulation, intimacy, financial management, parenting, and the ongoing negotiation that ADHD relationships require.

You won't find patronising advice about being patient or simple lists of accommodations. Instead, you'll get honest insights about building relationships that work with neurodivergence rather than despite it. Amanda's perspective throughout will provide the practical wisdom that comes from actually living this reality rather than theorising about it.

We'll explore when ADHD explanations become excuses, how to maintain individual identity within supportive partnership, and why some traditional relationship advice not only fails but actively harms neurodivergent couples. This isn't about making ADHD disappear or pretending it doesn't create real challenges. It's about building partnerships robust enough to handle those challenges whilst supporting both people's growth and happiness.

Setting Realistic Expectations

If you're looking for quick fixes or simple solutions, this series isn't for you. ADHD relationships require ongoing attention, adjustment, and growth from both partners. They're not harder than other relationships, but they are different, and those differences matter.

Amanda's journey from confusion to competence took time. My own growth from diagnosis to functional partnership required genuine change, not just self-acceptance. Neither of us emerged from this process unchanged, and that's part of what made it work. The insights in this series come from real experience, real mistakes, and real growth. They're tested against daily life rather than clinical theory. They acknowledge the frustrations and celebrations that come with neurodivergent partnership.

Most importantly, they maintain hope whilst rejecting false optimism. ADHD relationships can absolutely thrive, but only when both partners commit to understanding, growth, and genuine partnership rather than accommodation or management.

Amanda's wisdom throughout this series will challenge assumptions, provide practical strategies, and offer the kind of honest insight that only comes from living this reality successfully. Her perspective represents thousands of small adjustments, difficult conversations, and shared discoveries that create the foundation for genuine partnership. She is the wisest person I know, hands down. And I am super grateful that she has stuck by me for over twenty years, with only two years that had a clinical explanation for my behaviour!

The goal isn't to eliminate ADHD's impact on relationships but to work with that impact intelligently and sustainably. It's about building something stronger than simple accommodation - true partnership that honours both neurodivergence and mutual respect.

Key Takeaways

1. Explanation isn't excuse - ADHD might explain the forgotten washing, but it doesn't justify listening to it beep in the machine for an hour without acting. Know the difference and so will your partner.
   
   
2. Ditch the martyrdom manual - Stop treating neurotypical partners like saints-in-training. Real relationships need two functioning adults, not one adult and one perpetual project.
   
   
3. Strategic empathy over endless accommodation - Support growth, don't enable stagnation. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is refuse to rescue someone from their choices.
   
   
4. Call out the knobhead behaviour - Neurodivergence doesn't create free passes. Challenge harmful patterns whilst understanding their origins. Amanda's rule applies to everyone.
   
   
5. Build systems, not dependencies - Create strategies that work with ADHD brains rather than trying to manage someone else's executive function forever. External brains don't make sustainable relationships.
   
   
6. Navigate the minefield mindfully - Acknowledge that emotional calibration is genuinely harder in ADHD relationships, but don't let that stop authentic communication. Walking on eggshells helps nobody.
   
   
7. Effort trumps outcomes - Focus on genuine attempts at growth rather than perfect results. Progress matters more than perfection, but both partners must be willing to try.
   
   

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