The ADHD UK Crisis and Disaster Capitalism: navigating guilt, insecurity, and financial struggles.

The transformation of ADHD care into a profit-driven industry resembles disaster capitalism — the term coined by Naomi Klein, describing the exploitation of crises [e.g., economic, environmental, or social] for profit, often by privatising public goods and deepening systemic inequalities.

The crisis in public healthcare in the UK — characterised by underfunding and systemic neglect — has created a vacuum that private providers seem have occupied. For individuals like myself, this means navigating a fragmented patchwork of high-cost options, where profit, sometimes feels like the central focus.

In this post, I share my embodied experience of the ADHD care market in the UK. At the time of the global and national mental health crisis, it feels that ADHD neurodevelopmental treatment into a high-stakes gamble, forcing people to continually validate their needs while shouldering financial burdens that exacerbate the very conditions they are trying to manage.

This article began as my ADHD Awareness Month rant, but, unsurprisingly, I didn’t manage to finish it by the end of October.

Now, in mid-November, I’ve come across this Sky News piece reporting that “GPs have warned they are increasingly concerned about people self-medicating their ADHD amid an ongoing global shortage of drugs used to help manage symptoms.” While I wholeheartedly agree that the ADHD crisis is a serious health emergency, I struggle with how patients are often framed — as inconvenient troublemakers placing unnecessary strain on the national healthcare system.

This narrative, coupled with the belief that “society is to blame for creating a ‘mental health crisis,’ with doctors handing out diagnoses like ‘candy’” (Stearn, 2024), risks perpetuating harmful stereotypes. It paints ADHD patients as selfish individuals indulging in luxury rather than people deserving of care and support, further marginalising those already battling systemic neglect.

Important note: my intention is not to call out a specific medical service or their pricing rules, but to frame my experience within a larger system of somewhat unregulated forms of subtle exploitation, whereby only the strongest, the fittest, and those from the most privileged backgrounds get access to treatment.

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For many people, the journey to an ADHD diagnosis is not just a matter of getting the right prescription; it’s a long and often painful road marked by systemic neglect, personal struggle, grief, and financial barriers.

It’s about proving that your symptoms are real — often to yourself and others.

It’s about having no choice but to navigate precarious conditions of inadequate care and global medication shortage.

It’s about having to re-validate your diagnosis each time you move to another country (or even a clinic) — and having to pay for it all.

It took me about 20 years of medical neglect and one serious relationship trauma to fully fall apart and as a result — receive an ADHD diagnosis at the age of 38.

Before that, for decades, I found myself trapped in the same struggles, feeling misunderstood and neglected by a healthcare system that seemed unable to see me as a whole person. Looking back, those years felt like a form of medical experimentation, a repetitive cycle of being put on medication, taken off it, and then placed back on it again.

The ADHD crisis isn’t just about me.

My story is one among thousands who have been caught in the same loop of neglect, misdiagnosis, and financial strain. The real issue lies in how ADHD treatment has been ignored and how in the light of its hypervisibility (e.g. social media) it suddenly turned into a hyper-capitalist experiment where little rules apply and where no one is to take responsibility for where things go wrong.

As an ADHD private patient, I have experienced situations where in a situation of crisis, I was directed to a bot chat; and offered a questionnaire instead of a professional check-up appointment (for which I paid for). A quick scroll through Reddit forums might give you a glimpse of how kafkaesquethe interaction with private healthcare might be.

The systemic underfunding of the NHS has created a massive gap in mental health care, and private companies have rushed in to fill it. This phenomenon is a prime example of disaster capitalism.

Exact annual revenue and profit figures for private ADHD clinics are not publicly available (or I don’t know how to find them). However, the increase in demand suggests a growing and lucrative market. The private healthcare market in the UK, including mental health services such as ADHD treatment, is a significant sector. The mental health segment, in particular, has seen growth due to increased demand for faster, specialised care, especially where NHS waiting times are lengthy. Reports indicate that the market for independent mental health services was valued at £2.3 billion in recent years, with growth driven by the need for more specialised care options that the NHS may not always provide or can’t accommodate quickly enough.

Globally, the ADHD market is expected to grow significantly over the next decade. The global ADHD therapeutics market is projected to reach over $25 billion by 2030, up from around $16 billion in 2021. When talking about the ADHD therapeutics market, we need to consider the entire system of economies popping up in the areas such as coaching, alternative therapies, and apps.

It seems that instead of investing in the NHS to improve mental health services, the current system encourages people to pay out of pocket, often spending hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds to secure a diagnosis and medication. This approach leaves behind those who can’t afford private care, effectively turning ADHD treatment into a luxury.

For me, the cost of private care has been overwhelming. Despite having a stable income, I find myself struggling to afford the medication I need to function daily. Each new prescription, each follow-up consultation, and each reassessment adds to the financial burden. It’s a situation where, instead of focusing on my health and well-being, I have to focus on how I’m going to pay for it.

A few months ago, I permanently returned to the UK after being diagnosed and treated in Poland and Germany in 2023. Despite having my ADHD treatment officially documented (and an earlier previous UK — £500), I had no choice but to pay for another assessment (£400) just to be considered to get access to my medication.

My intention was also to seek some advice regarding my anxiety, but because it falls outside of the ADHD remit, the private clinic would need to book me for another appointment to discuss this (£200).

Since I can’t afford being both ADHD and anxious, I decided to focus on my ADHD.

I needed to pay a £50 prescription fee and then £240 to get a month’s worth of my medication. In comparison, the same medication would cost me 160 Euros for 3 months’ supply in Germany (also a private prescription).

My understanding (based on some imperfect online research) is that the prices of ADHD medications obtained through private prescriptions are not regulated by the government in the UK. This means that both the cost of the medication and any associated dispensing fees can vary significantly between pharmacies. The average monthly cost is around £100, but can range from £35 to £250. The cost of a one-month supply of medication can vary depending on the form and dose recommended.

Now, that I’m back in the UK, my NHS GP will not accept me as an international ADHD patient before I get assessed, verified, and monitored by a private ADHD specialist and then handed over as part of the so-called shared care agreement. However, it’s up to the individual GP to decide if they can take you into their care (which also means access to NHS ADHD medication prices) — and, it’s not uncommon for GPs to say no.

Living with ADHD in a system that commodifies care has taught me more about survival than health.

The private ADHD care system in the UK feels like an embodiment of guilt, insecurity, and shame.

Guilt, in the way it makes us feel responsible for the high costs of our care, as though needing help is a personal failing.

Insecurity, as it forces us to constantly revalidate our needs, often to faceless systems or profit-driven algorithms rather than compassionate professionals.

And shame — shame in feeling like a burden, in having to justify our existence as people needing care, and in the financial strain that can feel like a personal failure rather than a systemic one.

The pressure to secure treatment while navigating these barriers can be overwhelming, leading to cycles of burnout that mirror the very symptoms we’re trying to manage.

It is a system where privilege dictates outcomes, and where those without resources or resilience are often left behind. The shame is not just internal; it is imposed by a structure that often prioritises profit over care, leaving patients to pick up the pieces.

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ADHD is a neurodevelopmental disorder that typically begins in childhood and often continues into adulthood. It is characterised by inattention, distractibility, and impulsivity symptoms, which can significantly impact daily functioning. These symptoms can lead to challenges in education, work, and social relationships throughout life. Although ADHD cannot be cured, various treatments can help manage core symptoms and improve quality of life. Historically, however, girls, women, and individuals from racial minorities have been underdiagnosed and overlooked, leading to disparities in access to diagnosis, treatment, and support.