14. What Its Like Living With ADHD

Here’s the second one from the beach walk!

In this episode, I share what it’s like living with ADHD—how it’s shaped my life, the challenges I’ve faced, and how I’ve learned to navigate the world in my own way.

 🎥 Full video available here: https://youtu.be/e38vHZ5ZnRQ?si=aOGcrgm_2zU-Yn8o

In this episode, we’ve enhanced the audio by removing background noise from the beach to ensure better clarity. As a result, there may be brief moments where the sound is slightly distorted or digitized, but these minor artifacts should not affect the overall message. Thanks for listening! 

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Transcript

Episode Transcript: What It’s Like Living with ADHD

[00:00:00]

Nigel McFall: This one's going to be a bit complex, so we'll see how we go. Living with ADHD.

I grew up in a state house in Redwood, Christchurch. Two parents—Mum, Dad, and six siblings. Back in the 70s and 80s, even if you worked, you could have a state house because the government wanted to reduce your costs. That was nice back then.

Growing up, I had a big heart and a bad temper. I still remember my mum wrapping her arms around me when I had fits of anger. She would say, "I don't understand, Nigel. You're such a good kid with a big heart, but where does this anger come from?" That was what she always said to me.

As a kid, I was just happy, doing crazy things. At school, I had to stay behind to get stickers for behaving. I remember in Form One, I jumped on a desk and started dancing and singing Michael Jackson’s Bad. The teacher was crying, the principal was ushering kids out—it was chaos. That’s just how I was, full-speed all the time.

[00:02:00]

They got me into rugby to wear me out. I was the smallest guy on the field, tackling the biggest guys, no fear—because my brain craved dopamine and adrenaline. Eventually, they put me down a grade because they were worried about my safety.

Looking back, there was a lot of violence in my home. At the time, it seemed like my dad was just abusive. But after my diagnosis, I realized ADHD is genetic—one or both of my parents had to have had it. Since my diagnosis, a lot of my family members have also been diagnosed, including their kids. I’m glad my diagnosis helped them, so they don’t have to go through the same struggles.

[00:04:00]

One of my clearest memories is coming back from Christmas holidays in my fourth form. I used to love drama, but suddenly, I couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t know why, but I couldn't get up on stage or talk to people. That was when anxiety kicked in. At 14, everything became worst-case scenario.

If my dog ran 20 meters down the driveway—even with a closed gate—I thought he’d never come back. Going to a party, I’d prepare for something bad to happen. My mind was always running movie-script scenarios, keeping me on high alert. I couldn’t enjoy the moment. The worst part was the internal dialogue. I started thinking I was worthless, not intelligent, couldn’t do anything right. ADHD means making a lot of mistakes, and at that time, they felt overwhelming.

[00:06:00]

I became a bully at one point—not because I wanted to, but because when kids kept at me, I’d snap. No matter how big they were, I’d try to fight them. I hated it because I knew I’d lose, but I couldn’t stop myself. At the time, I thought everyone felt that way.

Later, I would jump in and out of relationships because the dopamine hit from a new relationship helped me. But once stability set in—saving for a house, watching what we ate—it wasn’t enough for my brain. Impulse spending and sugar were my top priorities. Sometimes, I left good relationships just because I couldn’t get enough dopamine from them.

Eventually, I met my wife, Megan. We have seven kids. She’s amazing, and we’ve been together a long time. Turns out, she’s likely ADHD too, and at least six of our kids show signs. But because diagnosis is expensive and difficult, we haven’t been able to get them assessed. So, we focus on making them feel loved and supported.

[00:08:00]

I had countless jobs. It didn’t matter how much they paid—I’d leave. I’ve walked away from jobs paying crazy money. I’d come home, and my wife would ask, "How was your day?" and I’d say, "I quit." She’d panic about paying rent, and I’d just say, "I had to leave."

Without understanding why I did this, it created chaos at home. Almost every time, it was because the workplace didn’t value people. That was my breaking point.

When I worked in corrections, ADHD made me curious. I read case files, trying to understand how people ended up in prison. I wanted to solve problems, but I couldn’t process them fully. Despite that, I was the fastest-promoted Corrections Officer to Senior Corrections Officer at the time.

[00:10:00]

I was respected—especially by inmates. They knew I cared. I had a talent for walking into a yard and spotting who wasn’t okay. I’d talk to them, figure out what was wrong, and try to help. Being incarcerated doesn’t mean you should walk that journey alone.

But corrections disillusioned me. There’s no real rehabilitation. Locking angry people up with other angry people doesn’t create change. It’s something we need to rethink.

[00:12:00]

I worked other jobs—bailiff, fisheries observer, army. My brain loved the adrenaline, but I was constantly frustrated by workplace structures. I was always the why guy—why are we doing things this way? Why not improve? Employers didn’t like that. "Stick to your pay grade" was the answer every time.

Later in life, untreated ADHD made everything harder. Imagine ADHD as bricks stacking in your brain. Every sound, touch, and thought is a brick. For neurotypical people, those bricks filter out. For me, they just built up. By the end of the day, my brain was full, and I’d explode.

[00:16:00]

Sleep was my only relief. As a kid, I loved staying up late—it was quiet, no expectations, I could be creative. Now, all my kids are the same way. At 3 AM, they’re laughing and making things. It’s cool, and I wish I’d had that freedom growing up.

When I finally got diagnosed and medicated, it was life-changing. Those bricks started filtering out. Suddenly, I could think. I could process.

[00:18:00]

Before that, I was in poverty. Couldn’t hold down a job. People in poverty are often told, "Just try harder." But mental health struggles make that impossible. The reality is, people like me are more likely to end up in poverty because we can’t function the way society expects.

I hit rock bottom. We were about to be evicted. My wife was crying, asking, "What are we going to do?" I said, "I’m starting a security business." That same day, I went out and made it happen.

[00:20:00]

Everyone said it was impossible. Competing with big security firms with no money? No chance. But ten years later, we’re successful. We pushed the big companies out of North Canterbury and proved them wrong.

Over the last three years, medication changed everything. Before, I kept up by working ten times harder than anyone else. Now, I don’t have to fix mistakes because I don’t make them.

[00:22:00]

That’s why Unity exists. This isn’t a single-issue party. It’s about people. Traditional politics forces people into systems. But people are the system. If we invest in people, we’ll see real change.

[00:28:00]

So, in 2025, you’ll have two choices. Stick with what we have—or choose Unity. I know we can rebuild New Zealand’s social fabric. I know we can do it.

Until next time, take care.