It was only last year, in my (very) late thirties, that the idea I might have ADHD first crept onto my radar. Surprising, perhaps, for someone trained at the doctoral level in the diagnosis of mental disorders. It wasn’t that I readily saw myself in the neatly listed symptoms found in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. Rather, I started to see myself in the experiences shared by other women who’d received an ADHD diagnosis in adulthood.
The Symptoms
Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) is a neurodevelopmental condition that affects how the brain regulates attention, emotions, and impulses. In the brain, ADHD is linked to differences in the structure and functioning of areas involved in executive functioning. This is the part of the brain that helps us plan and prioritize, as well as regulate our emotions. It also helps us take charge of where we focus our attention and whether we give in to impulses.
When most people think of ADHD, they picture an energetic young boy bouncing off the walls; but in fact, ADHD often looks very different—especially in adults.
In fact, the symptoms outlined in the diagnostic manual I mentioned above weren’t initially designed with adult presentations in mind, even though ADHD is now recognized as a lifespan condition (you don’t grow out of it). Indeed, the original diagnostic criteria were (and to some degree still are) based on research involving white school-aged boys, particularly in the United States. The focus on readily visible behaviours like fidgeting, blurting out, and being unable to stay seated has contributed to a stereotype of ADHD as mostly a problem of hyperactive boys—when in fact it can also present as daydreaming, disorganization, chronic overwhelm, emotional reactivity, difficulty starting tasks, or feeling mentally scattered; symptoms that tend to be more common in girls or adults.
There’s no blood test or brain scan to confirm ADHD, and there’s no single gene associated with it. Diagnosis is based on behaviour patterns, which means many people get missed or misdiagnosed; especially if their doctor is looking for signs based only on classic diagnostic criteria. Many women and gender-diverse individuals don’t fit the traditional mould and may not recognize themselves in the criteria until much later in life; often after burnout, anxiety, or depression prompts an assessment.
“It’s Just Procrastination…”
And that’s exactly how it unfolded for me. My suspicions of ADHD continued to intensify as I noticed my distraction levels going off the charts. I’d be trying to write my dissertation—admittedly not the most scintillating task—and my mind would wander again and again. And again. And again…. This got me curious, so I started tracking every distracting thought I had and was shocked by how quickly my notepad filled up: checking the status of an upcoming delivery, ordering more coffee pucks, looking up when my library books were due, researching whether edible glitter is truly edible, wondering if hypoallergenic dogs actually exist, checking the status of an upcoming delivery (again)….
I was initially certain this was just a classic case of procrastination. But I’d also spent far too much time standing in front of the open fridge, trying to remember why I was even there (honestly, I still feel like opening the fridge triggers temporary amnesia). And then there were the nights I couldn’t sleep, kept awake by a relentless carousel of thoughts, ranging from random musings to horrifying flashbacks of weeks-old conversations with people I worried I had unwittingly, deeply offended. None of these phenomena were particularly unusual to me, but the intensity of them was new. Still, I blamed it on poor sleep, the mental rigours of parenthood, and completing a PhD.
Hitting Close To Home
But then came the Instagram videos of adults with ADHD sharing how they’re always late (or jumping through mental hoops to make sure they’re never late). How they explode internally with fiery rage over trivial annoyances, like a webpage spontaneously reloading when they’ve already started filling out a form. How they throw themselves excitedly into projects that will invariably be unfinished. How they couldn’t answer a simple question without going on a conversational side-quest involving alpacas and their fifth-grade gym teacher. Or how they attempted to clean the kitchen but ended up alphabetizing the spice rack and deep-diving into the history of coriander.
Women in particular talked about people-pleasing burnout, finding themselves saying yes to everything then crashing because they’re running on fumes and a single pretzel. They’d talk about responsibility overwhelm, where they may go to unload the laundry while the pasta cooks, but then notice that the floors need vacuuming, then find a toy on the floor that needs to go back upstairs, then hear the kids yelling for them from downstairs, and then are helpfully informed by their partner that the pasta’s boiled over and the kids are eating Cheesestrings for dinner. As I watched these accounts, I increasingly thought, “Holy crap, that’s me. That’s always been me.” And when I found myself saying it one too many times, I finally decided to get formally assessed.
The Assessment
As part of the assessment, I was asked to provide report cards from my school years. This can be pretty important and helpful for a diagnosis, as some symptoms of ADHD need to have been present since childhood, and of course the impact of inattention and/or hyperactivity can reasonably be expected to turn up in one’s school life. Since I’d overall done well in school, I didn’t think my report cards would turn much up. However, as I read through the handwritten notes of my former teachers for the first time in over two decades, memories of my time at school started to reemerge, clouding my rose-tinted glasses like unwelcome steam from a sip of hot tea. I did great in subjects I loved, preferred chatting semi-covertly with friends in subjects that I didn’t, and was often reminded to proofread, concentrate more, and do better with completing work outside of class. Like so many girls who are smart, do as they’re told, and are wary of disappointing others, my ADHD remained in the shadows—its inauspicious presence concealed for the time being.
Spoiler alert for the official assessment: I received an ADHD diagnosis. Along with report cards, struggles in my adult life corroborated the conclusion. Turns out, I was able to generally manage my symptoms well enough to keep me functioning. ADHD severity is on a continuum and mine is on the milder end. However, my symptoms became exacerbated after becoming a parent, and then intensified further after having my second kiddo. (Turns out the unrelenting demands of parenthood aren’t some magical balm for ADHD.)
Parenting with ADHD (aka “Hard Mode”)
It’s interesting to look back on the narrative that I’d developed about myself as a parent prior to my diagnosis. In my lowest moments, I saw myself as a weak or unnatural mother because I’d found parenthood so overwhelming (it’s why we waited seven years to have our second).
I jealously admired the strong, resilient women who had multiple children close together and could somehow still handle life. While others would effortlessly take their three kids to soccer practice, gymnastics, and baby yoga—all in a single day!—I was congratulating myself for embarking on a 30-minute outing with my daughter to the grocery store after a 4-day mental build-up.
As others regaled me of their weekly date nights with their partners, while their kids happily slept at home under the watch of a babysitter, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent time alone with my husband. I co-slept with my daughter practically from birth because she’d never sleep alone for more than a 20-minute stretch. And I knew the stress of even the gentlest form of sleep training would topple me emotionally. When the baby’s bedtime is your bedtime, it doesn’t leave many options for date nights.
Then there was the overstimulation: the constant noise, requests, interruptions, spills, questions (so many questions), all while I was already struggling to stay focused on the unrelenting tasks of daily life and somehow still remain the gentle but confident leader all the latest parenting wisdom was telling me I must be. With my attention pulled in more directions than should be legal, my brain felt like it literally short-circuited. I couldn’t understand how other people were doing this with two, three, or more kids; let alone doing it solo!
Feeling Different
Outside of parenthood, like many people with ADHD, I was excellent at some things and pretty darn terrible at other, mostly simple, things. I could support a good friend through some of the hardest times they’d ever experienced, but if they needed my help setting up for a party or coordinating a meal—I was completely useless.
I would essentially freeze up, my brain succumbing to a mental bottle-neck as too many thoughts fought for the same mental real estate: should I use the big salad bowl, how much garlic is too much, candles might be nice, shouldn’t the drinks be refrigerated, where did I put the tongs, this countertop could do with a wipe, why did I just open the fridge? It was no doubt frustrating for my friends and family members, who were able to execute tasks like these without a second thought. Meanwhile there I was in the exact same situation with about 4,000 thoughts coming all at once, and my brain unable to prioritize! Not exactly conducive to efficient decision making.
Back when weekends were still mine to plan (read: before kids), my husband and I would come up with ideas for what to do, but somehow time would just dissolve around me. I’d blink and realize I hadn’t eaten lunch or washed my hair, and meanwhile, my husband was still outside waiting, after gently checking in every 15 minutes for the past two hours to see if I was ready.
My closest friends quickly came to recognize my challenges, and I truly lucked out with their support. Some years ago when I was moving home, knowing that I would likely not successfully unpack my belongings for a good 2–3 months, two of my dearest friends helped me move with a rented truck, sent me off to get pizza once we’d unloaded everything at my new place, and had me return to an apartment that was almost completely set up with the essential furniture and actually looking downright cozy. I cried happy tears over their generosity and motivation to help me suck at life a little less.
“Sucking at Life”
And that is in fact how I—only half-jokingly—described myself: as sucking at life. I’d hoard tens of thousands of unread emails, fail to respond to people’s texts for weeks at a time, forget any special occasion that wasn’t in my calendar, routinely lose important paperwork because I could never stick to a single method for organizing things, buy multiples of the same item because the original was lost in the house somewhere, and enter a sweaty panic every time I had to be somewhere on time. Life just felt hard in so many seemingly trivial areas, and I’d resigned myself to simply not being good at it.
Re-Evaluating My Identity
Looking back, it’s sad that I’d seen myself as somewhat of a failure, even if I glossed over it with a casual chuckle. This isn’t uncommon for folks with ADHD. A lifetime of receiving negative feedback about ADHD-related traits and behaviours doesn’t exactly do wonders for self-esteem, especially if they’re attributed to your core identity, rather than how your brain happens to work. Many ADHD traits get mistaken for “flaky,” “spacey,” or “lazy,” especially in folks who’ve been trying to mask or compensate for years. But in reality, they’re often working way harder than people realize just to keep up.
Once I received my diagnosis, my perspective of my life suddenly got pulled apart. It’s like I was handed glasses, and suddenly I could see the fine details of the world around me, only discovering in that moment that I even had vision problems! It was so many emotions, all at once: surreal, relieving, sad, validating, and scary; to see my past and who I was as a person through such a different lens. I realized I wasn’t weak or “sucked at life;” my brain just worked differently.
Like many other women with ADHD, overwhelm in particular had become a core experience for me, especially as I juggled multiple roles, masked my symptoms, and tried to meet neurotypical expectations with a neurodivergent brain. These realizations helped me gradually transform my shame into self-compassion, which eventually also paved a path toward gratitude and, dare I say, even pride. For every bit of “ADHD tax” that I’d paid over the years, I’d also benefited from buckets of creativity, curiosity, and imagination as a result of my divergent thinking, which led me to all sorts of fulfilling passions and interests. My ability to hyperfocus got me through grad school, helped me master (mostly random) things I had no business mastering, and allowed me to pay true, undivided attention to my clients in therapy sessions and to my kids in moments of play.
An Ongoing Process
Managing my ADHD-related challenges remains a work-in-progress, and I imagine that will always be the case to some extent—and that’s okay. But it’s been an empowering experience to understand why I am the way I am and how I can actually work with the brain that I have, rather than the brain that society expects me to have. But that understanding didn’t just change how I saw me: it helped me recontextualize many aspects of my life, from parenting, learning, working—and even my marriage.
In my next article, I’ll be exploring what ADHD has looked like in my own relationship and why identifying it (and actually working with it!) can be a game changer for couples.
Living with ADHD—diagnosed or suspected—can feel overwhelming, but you don’t have to navigate it alone. If you’re ready to better understand your brain and reshape your own story, our team at Transforming Emotions is here to support you. Reach out today for a free consultation and take the first step towards a more empowered, compassionate relationship with yourself and your wonderful brain.
