In this guest blog post for Specialisterne, Brian McGovern gives a personal account of his experience living with undiagnosed ADHD while building a career and the important role that family, friends and colleagues have played along the way.

From a young age, I wanted to follow my brother into accounting. He looked after me, used to give me money for lunch and was always there to guide me and teach me about his world. He was what I defined as success. Yet, even though I wanted to be successful too, I could be inconsistent academically and was not the best social mixer. I could be focused and bright in some areas, while in others I appeared uninterested and distant.

At 15, my accounting teacher took an interest in me. He could clearly see that I had drifted and needed one-to-one attention. His support gave me the tools and pathway I needed. I decided that I loved numbers and could not get enough of ruling out pages and keeping everything in order.

I began my career with a training contract at one of the world’s largest accounting firms. They would pay for me to qualify as an accountant while providing valuable early work experience. But this was during the 2008 financial crisis. People around me were losing jobs, pay was being cut and there was enormous pressure to prove yourself. I recall being told, ‘If you fail your accounting exams, we will fire you.’ There was no way I could lose my job, I thought to myself. I was determined to succeed, and that sense of needing to prove myself did not disappear when the worst of the crisis passed.

In those early days, I remember people saying, ‘Brian, you aren’t taking this seriously, are you?’ or ‘Brian really wears his heart on his sleeve.’ I learned quickly that being dreamy or angry was not socially acceptable. I was also a hard worker, creative and a real talker, and my bosses appreciated how personable I was.

Something shifted for me physically during those years. I stopped sleeping well and eventually struggled to sleep most nights. Some nights, I would get only one or two hours of sleep, often between 4 and 5 a.m. I was desperate to keep going. The immediate crisis may have eased, but I continued to approach work as though my security depended on proving myself every day. I learned to adapt as much as I could. Mental health was rarely discussed then, and when I once hinted to a boss that I was struggling, the conversation moved on. I took that as a signal to keep going and find my own way through.

This pattern continued for the next 15 years. From the outside, things were going well. I married my wife, Charlene, in 2017, and we have two beautiful daughters. I worked in three world-class companies and eventually became a partner in Ireland’s largest accounting firm. I was capable, ambitious and delivering professionally. ‘Brian isn’t taking this seriously’ became ‘Brian is so calm.’ I had learned to mask what was going on and received enough support here and there to keep going.

But the survival mindset remained. I still could not sleep well, and I still did not understand why.

Somewhere along the way, my professional success had become too central to how I understood myself. I had not built the balanced life I wanted, and I was deeply disorganised outside work. Then, one day, I remember thinking: ‘I am living someone else’s life.’ That realisation was a turning point. I could no longer rely on resilience and professional momentum alone; I needed to take responsibility for understanding what was happening and for building a different foundation.

I still did not know where to turn or have the language to describe what was happening. I had to take time off work, and because it was sudden and visible, I felt hugely ashamed. Yet stepping back also made it impossible to continue pretending that determination alone would solve everything.

Change began when I found support through my GP and a local psychologist, who helped me pick things apart and rebuild using tools that were completely new to me. This helped me return to work. I also made the difficult decision to pull back in my career, giving myself the time and space to learn, take responsibility for my wellbeing and develop more sustainable ways of working and living.

Other people noticed different pieces of what I was experiencing. A physiotherapist observed that I had lost muscle and opened a conversation about my sleep. A personal trainer helped me see that sleep was foundational to making progress, while close friends listened with understanding as I began to speak more openly about the challenges I was facing.

Working with my psychologist helped me begin to understand and accept some of the challenges in my life, while also recognising that I could actively work on myself and develop my own identity. I began building a stronger, more rounded sense of who I was, one that was less dependent on my career.

Looking back, I understand why work had become so central to my identity. I began my career when keeping a job felt like survival, and that mindset continued long after the immediate crisis. Difficulties at work felt enormous because so much of my identity and self-worth depended on succeeding there.

As I changed that relationship, something surprising happened: work felt easier. I realised that I could remain ambitious and committed without treating every challenge as a threat or allowing work to become the be-all and end-all of my life.

I also learned that not every thought in my head was necessarily true. My mind was often trying to protect me by anticipating problems, but those thoughts were not always necessary or helpful. I did not always need to believe them or act on them.

This was real progress. I was developing interests and relationships outside work and building a life that felt more like my own. But one significant challenge remained: despite everything I had learned, I still could not sleep properly. Without addressing something so foundational, further progress remained difficult.

Throughout all of this, my wife was patient and kind. She put up with a lot, frankly. She helped me stay on the path of improving myself and had the patience and thoughtfulness to suggest a name for what the issue might be.

In April 2026, I received a diagnosis of inattentive ADHD. Suddenly, many experiences that had once seemed disconnected began to make more sense. Inattentive ADHD can look like forgetfulness, distraction, not taking things seriously or failing to live up to your potential. At school and later at work, I sometimes struggled to stay on task, particularly when the work did not hold my attention. Emotional regulation could be difficult too. I also came to understand that difficulties with sleep can accompany ADHD.

More than 15 years had passed between the beginning of my significant difficulties and receiving a diagnosis and adequate support. Long-term insomnia was one of the hardest parts. It had not simply disappeared and required specific professional support of its own. I often wonder how things might have been easier if I, and those around me, had understood neurodivergence better. Earlier recognition, clearer language, practical tools and appropriate workplace support could have helped me contribute more sustainably and made the journey better for both me and the organisations I worked with.

My experience has taught me that achievement and difficulty can exist side by side. A person can be capable, ambitious and committed while still benefiting from understanding, support or accommodations. Recognising that reality doesn’t mean lowering our ambitions. It means understanding how people can succeed while navigating their challenges.

That is why the work of Specialisterne Ireland resonates with me. Greater awareness of neurodivergence, especially among students and people starting their careers, can give individuals and employers a shared language for constructive conversations about what helps people do their best work.

If there is one thing I hope people take from my story, it is this: none of us succeeds entirely alone.

My story is hardly unique. I could have written it about any number of challenges that people navigate throughout their lives. What makes the difference in these stories is often the people who get us.

Who got you? Who understood you well enough to see beyond your challenges and recognise how to bring out the best in you?

For leaders, curiosity and understanding can help capable people find the language and support they need to thrive, not in the absence of their challenges, but alongside them.

After all, no person is an island.