It is that time of the year again, and I’m waking up to two things—invites to at least a dozen New Year’s Eve celebrations and a heightened sense of anxiety. The holiday cheer is contagious; big, small doesn’t matter, someone somewhere is celebrating. And no, I am not delighted about it.
I know I sound like a party pooper, but let me issue a disclaimer: I am neurodivergent with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder or ADHD, which means that I would love to be part of the celebratory cheer, but I can’t. My brain goes into an overdrive and a bout of anxiety kicks in.
Research shows that adults with ADHD are prone to heightened stress and anxiety. I have difficulty managing expectations during the holidays compared to other times of the year. It’s an ongoing loop of “ought to” and “should have” that guilt-trips you into a state of inaction. Simple gestures of saying hi or hello become surprisingly frustrating.
ADHD brains, like mine, are wired to absorb everything in their vicinity, a trait that easily leads to overstimulation. This susceptibility becomes particularly pronounced during these times—a sensory onslaught of lights, music, people and parties.
At my most hyperactive phase, I can go around talking to everyone . But when in my introverted phase, I’m strictly limited to my room and my self-soothing habits. The extremes make you feel like all of it is slightly unreal.
So the holiday cheer, infectious and ubiquitous, always seemed to elicit a sense of dread rather than delight.
Nevertheless, discussing ADHD, especially around New Year’s Eve, is crucial for two reasons: the underdiagnosis in adults, girls and women and its disruptive impact on occasions that symbolise change or deviation from routine.
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Getting a diagnosis
Acknowledging my severe ADHD, a condition that shapes how I live, think, and process information, has been a journey marked by checkboxes of impulsivity and obsession. While those around me pointed out my ADHD traits, I dismissed them as mere quirks—but it was a reluctance to accept the label.
Yet, my diagnosis in 2021 also brought the challenge of explaining to sceptics that this was not just about embracing ‘quirkiness’; it was about navigating a world while being wired differently.
The charm of relating to posts on social media or discovering favourite fictional characters with ADHD traits (go Bojack!) contrasts starkly with the less-favoured memory of my mother dismissing the diagnosis as a mere recognition of pre-existing symptoms.
Before the diagnosis, holidays meant saying yes to plans (because you don’t want to be called a bad friend, again) and then dreading the day of the event and making up a thousand excuses to not go. They ranged from ‘I have a bad stomach bug’ to my favourite ‘my mother said no’.
No one ever figured out that I am too crippled by anxiety to interact or that loud noises make me panic for no reason or that the calm of being in my own room (or familiar places) is what keeps my furiously racing emotions in check.
Much of it remains the same. Except I can’t use my mother as an excuse anymore, thanks to me staying alone in a faraway city. But unlike before, I now know my “triggers” and in an unfamiliar city, have found many who understand and empathise with no judgement.
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No more excuses
Living with ADHD feels like navigating through a winter fog—one that makes it difficult to see and hence focus. Interactions become strained, and conversations feel forced as my mind struggles to engage with the outside world.
Events like NYE feel like a crossroads—you either change for the better or you reflect and see how things have remained as it is. You’re either immensely overwhelmed and feel everything or you’re too underwhelmed to feel anything at all. Explaining this is an uphill battle.
While the holidays offer joy, love, and laughter, it blends sensory overload with social acrobatics and festive chaos, intensifying the ‘normal’ stress of living with ADHD in a neurotypical world.
However, there’s a unique beauty in the ADHD brain’s ability to wholeheartedly embrace joy as well. Surrendering to childlike glee, or singing with abandon, and being happy watching sappy rom-coms in the comfort of your room.
Navigating New Year’s Eve with ADHD involves a delicate dance of self-awareness, communication, and a willingness to embrace the festivities on one’s terms. While it brings conflicted emotions, like a friend says, the focal point is hope. The large crowd of known and unknown faces still make me feel uneasy, but this is where awareness—brought on by the TikTok trends, Instagram reels and Twitter threads—helps. I would take it over cluelessness any day.
Now, I no longer make silly excuses. I know what to say yes to, what to say no to and have come to realise honesty helps.
As the clock ticks towards the new year, there’s hope for a future where the static of ADHD becomes a softer hum, allowing for more moments of peace and connection in the midst of life’s celebratory chaos.
Views are personal.
(Edited by Theres Sudeep)