AuDHD – An AuDHD HT explains what teachers need to know

by Adam Dean

Head of school of Chatten Free School

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I’d like to give you an insight into what it was like being an undiagnosed AuDHD teenager attending school in the 1990s.

This isn’t about eliciting sympathy; it’s about a misunderstood kid shouting up through the decades, telling his story in the hope things get better for the neurodiverse young people of today.

I’m Adam – headteacher of an incredible SEND school in Essex called Chatten Free School. In 2025, I received a diagnosis of AuDHD (autism and ADHD), which was a big moment.

Around one in seven people in the UK are currently diagnosed with some form of neurodiversity, which some have suggested amounts to an overdiagnosis, but they’re wrong.

We’ve gotten better at recognising and diagnosing, that’s all – and as you’ll see, that’s something to celebrate.

A life shifted

When the doctor confirmed that I had AuDHD, nothing changed. I was still me. At the same time, however, I experienced a sudden implosion of 40 years of existence, unravelling and tumbling.

I was still me, but my life had shifted, prompting me to view my own past through a new paradigm. It now seemed that I’d muddled my way through the absurdly complex social world of schooling with a different roadmap to everyone else, and sometimes without any map at all.

That said, I’d been very lucky. I had parents who loved me, and made wonderful friends who accepted me for who I was.

I’d latterly married an incredible wife who really ‘gets’ me, and worked alongside colleagues who supported me.

One teacher during my own time at school may have suspected something. I remember returning to school following a sick day, and being pulled aside by a friend.

The teacher had told my class that “Adam has a mental chip.” Before that, I’d suspected nothing. I carried those words with me throughout my adult life, translating them in my head to, “Adam’s broken.”

School is a social minefield. When someone shows up who doesn’t know the rules, kids can be cruel. I’d tried to hide my lack of social understanding behind masks with varying levels of success (and sometimes, abject failure).

I attempted to copy my TV heroes – Superman, Del Boy, Ace Ventura. You can imagine how that went. Later, I would mimic the behaviour of the popular kids, which seemed to work for a time.

I made friends – yay! – but on reflection, this proved to be something of a double-edged sword. The teachers henceforth decided that I was ‘naughty’, and that the kids I was trying to copy were secretly mocking me.

Class clown

My knowledge of romance was limited to my parents, Disney and Notting Hill – all lovely, but not exactly the most helpful approach when you’re 13 because, like or not, relationships are a big part of being a teenager.

I remember once writing a poem for one of the popular girls, declaring my love in quite robust terms. I’ll never forget the jeering songs that resulted from this, which on one occasion saw a whole school bus singing along, led by my best friend at the time.

I don’t judge the people involved any more – they were trying to navigate the system themselves, just as I was.

But nobody, not even a teacher, ever sat me down and explained why what I was doing might be perceived as strange.

As far as I’m aware, no one addressed it with my peers, either. Later on, I learned that acting a certain way would get me attention and laughs, though I struggled to distinguish being ‘laughed at’ and ‘laughed with’.

I thus became the class clown and, I’m sure, a nightmare for certain teachers. I can clearly see now how my clowning was motivated by confusion, but nobody understood that back then.

Alien hieroglyphs

I can’t express how difficult social interactions were as a person with AuDHD. Imagine being given the most important test you’ll ever do, one that will affect your whole life – except you’re sitting it constantly, for 12 straight years, and all the characters on your test paper have been switched to alien hieroglyphs, with nobody else seeming to notice, or care.

I tried alternatives, hiding in concealed spaces around the school with books or a Sony Walkman at break times, but others would find me.

I struggled to focus in lessons where the topic, or teaching didn’t engage me, irritating teachers with constant distractions.

Conversely, if a lesson interested me I’d become hyper-focused; constantly asking questions to the point of nearly bouncing off the walls.

With hindsight, it’s clear that it was my ADHD enabling that hyper-focus at certain times and completely preventing me from focusing at others. If I’d only known then what I know now…

Back on track

Now, at the age of 40, I’m aware that I continue to struggle with my AuDHD. I keep discreet fidget toys to hand to help keep me on task, and am fortunate enough to be surrounded by some very kind colleagues and an understanding wife who notice when I lose the thread and will gently nudge me back on track.

The saddest thing about all this is that I’d long assumed there was something wrong with me; that the confusion and inability to focus I’d experienced had always been my fault.

These feelings had given way to some 20 years of anxiety, binge drinking, confusion and general clowning, driven by confusion over what the ‘basic expectations’ people had of me actually were.

That ‘mental chip’ comment stayed with me for a long time.

So, what can be done? As noted above, one in seven people in the UK is neurodiverse – that’s four in a typical class of 30.

Some will have received a diagnosis of AuDHD or something else, many won’t. Some will have experienced comorbid mental health challenges. Others may have become expert maskers, so consistently quiet and well-behaved you could easily forget they’re even there, but still struggling inside nonetheless.

Adam Dean is head of school of Chatten Free School.