This is written anonymously, as I am aware that there are a lot of strong feelings about the subject area referred to in this piece.
Over the past few years, I’ve noticed an increase in the prevalence of people who label themselves with psychiatric disorders, with the trend highlighted by the influx of “disorder” reels on TikTok and Instagram that are often created by younger people. This about turn from embracing psychiatric labels, such as “Borderline Personality Disorder” (BPD) and “Bipolar disorder”, contrasts with the movement away from psychiatric labelling by many survivors of the psychiatric system and survivor organisations in multiple different countries across the world.
Interestingly, a large number of people, (often women) who previously had been anti-labelling – especially when it came to the stigma-laden label of “BPD” – are now identifying as “autistic”. This massive shift to a “less troublesome” label has been seen as a win by many, but it leads me to feel uneasy with how this relates to me and how it has also played out and continues to grow in other areas. We are seeing parents labelling their very young children based on TikTok videos, giving them lifelong diagnoses that can shape how they are treated in the wider world. And it also seems that young people and adults are grasping to get diagnoses that seek to give them reasons for what are often the very normal and understandable struggles we have as humans trying to survive in a very complex and fast paced world.
More recently, a large proportion of my friends, family and colleagues have started to self-diagnose or have sought to be officially diagnosed as having “ADHD” or “autism”. In addition to this, I find it very frustrating when many of them have suggested that I may “be on the spectrum” and should get myself diagnosed…
Why is this such an issue for me? I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, rape and domestic violence. I have been labelled since childhood as having “anxiety”, of being “socially awkward” – and then later given the aforementioned label of “BPD” and saddled with the curse of having a “disordered personality”. I have fought hard to have my distress and ways of coping seen as an understandable reaction to the trauma I have experienced, and not to have my behaviour viewed through the lens of a label.
When I was younger, I received Dialectical Behaviour Therapy and, through this, was told that I was born more “emotionally sensitive” than other people. Along with growing up in what they called an “invalidating environment”, they said that these two factors had led to me becoming increasingly emotionally dysregulated. To me, this felt like I was being told that some of the blame lay in me, that my own biological makeup meant that I was unable to cope with the abuse I had suffered, and that I was just “too sensitive”. This viewpoint also played into the feeling that my trauma was not ‘bad enough’ and that other people would have just coped with it. It has taken me many years to accept that the trauma I went through was more than enough to explain the ways I responded to my own distress. I was then able to find a level of self-compassion and acceptance that validated what I had been through, and to place the blame where it belongs, with the perpetrator.
So, when people suggest I have “autism” or “ADHD”, it brings up the same feeling as being told that I was born more sensitive – and for me, invalidates the trauma and abuse I’ve been through; I don’t know if that will make sense to you, but I find it as invalidating as the “BPD” diagnosis itself.
I know some people will find it helpful to have a diagnosis of “autism” or “ADHD”, but for many survivors of abuse or other survivors of the psychiatric system who have been given stigmatising label after stigmatising label, this is just another suffocating diagnosis that hides, invalidates, and diminishes the impact of the experiences we have been through and the ways we have found to cope.
Like many others, I’m just a person who sometimes struggles with life and with other people. I have days when I find being around others and socialising overwhelming, when I just want to have some time alone. Or there are times when I find the way other people are communicating with me confusing, and we’re just not connecting for potentially one of many reasons. I, for one, don’t want any more labels, and I definitely don’t need any more labels. For me, another diagnosis does not represent choice or empowerment; another diagnosis strips away the control and strength I have created in my own life. I worry that young people won’t have this opportunity to discover their own power if they are not given the option to understand themselves away from labels and diagnostic systems of understanding that seem to be at the heart of our new culture, and this saddens me greatly.
Perhaps if you’re thinking of suggesting to someone that they might be “autistic”/ have “ADHD” or “be on the spectrum”, then please think of me and be aware that not everyone will welcome a new label, as well-meaning as it might be intended. It is ok to want to embrace the depth of your experiences and individuality without reducing them to a medicalised diagnosis, to be able to enjoy our sameness and difference without boxing ourselves in. So no more labels for me please, I don’t need them and maybe you don’t either.
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Mad in the UK hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
This is a lovely piece and speaks to my own unease at peoples’ rush to tell others they are ADHD or Autistic, with very little meaningful information about that person’s history or experiences.
It’s a tricky balance these days as so many people want simple answers to highly complex and dynamic questions; I wonder if by supplying this simplistic answer, I’m doing a disservice in the long run for the short-term benefit of the person walking away thinking they have an answer (most are angrier if you don’t give them something), it’s hard to stand up in front of a wave, with angry clients and a system, with colleagues and clients that are increasingly returning to the promoting diagnostic labels. Especially when your livelihood is connected to it all – assessor, mental health professional, researcher, accessing benefits or additional support at work/school.
I often wonder if more people think the same way but don’t express this out of fear or a need to conform to the current narrative around neurodiversity. The story is to get a diagnosis, and that a diagnosis is always a good thing, but in adults, what and who is this really for, other than generating money for assessors and people who offer ‘specialist’ services? Particularly if the person in question has lived a reasonable life and is coping about as well as can be expected with life’s challenges. I can say from personal experience having this type of diagnosis has served no purpose at all and, actually, over time, has left me feeling pretty rubbish and more disconnected from myself and other people. Leaving the diagnosis behind was like a weight lifted. And yes, it was something I sought out at the time.
Hear, hear!
You wrote: “To me, this felt like I was being told that some of the blame lay in me, that my own biological makeup meant that I was unable to cope with the abuse I had suffered and that I was just “too sensitive”.
This is so true. Many people have the desire to blame survivors’ responses to trauma on their “sensitivity”. I almost did it to myself and would have done it if not for a dear friend who rose on her hinds and made me swear I won’t think of myself this way. “Don’t say so! Don’t even think it! This is an excuse used by unfeeling adults not to feel their own hurt!”
I’ll never forget her words.
So thank you for writing it.