I got diagnosed with ADHD very recently after 32 years of living what appears to be an objectively successful life.
I excelled in school from the beginning, often receiving special reading and extracurricular assignments to remain challenged, graduating high school at the top of my class and getting into my first-choice university that I was extremely proud to know had a very low acceptance rate. I graduated within four years with a solid B+ average and soon began my full-time career, accepting a job offer that came after a paid internship I had the summer prior. I did pretty well at that job, quickly getting promoted again and again until I had my “dream job” at 26. After two years in that dream job, I left that company to start my own business - something I thought I would do for the rest of my life (spoiler alert: I didn’t). As I built that business I reveled in friends, family, and strangers congratulating me on building something from nothing. When I decided to leave my business four years after I started it, I found myself in a job that I rushed into and immediately hated, quitting after six months and moving across the company for a new opportunity. After five months in that new company, in that new state, I found myself spending literally all my time in my apartment working from home, because there was a worldwide pandemic.
It feels obtuse for me to talk about my experience during this pandemic. The fact is, I have it pretty easy as a middle-class white, able-bodied, cisgendered, childless woman. This pandemic is disproportionately impacting BIPOC when it comes to infections, job loss, pay cuts, and death. Millions of people across the country don’t have a job, let alone a steady salary, don’t have a home or don’t know how long they will be able to pay to live in that home, don’t have paid leave and have no alternative but to put themselves in danger as essential workers. Parents across the country are concerned about sending their kids to school, while simultaneously wondering how they will manage if their kids don’t go back to school.
COVID-19 has revealed fundamental flaws in the structure of this country and how we take care of our most vulnerable neighbors. There is so much that urgently needs to be addressed and changed on a large scale to ensure that this doesn’t happen again and that all individuals are cared for with dignity. But COVID-19 is also revealing things within each of us.
The first time I heard the term “shadow work” was during a video call with a friend. I was sharing some of the racing thoughts in my brain and things I was learning about myself and my mental health struggles amidst a statewide safe-at-home order (this was back in March - oh my gosh, remember MARCH?), and my friend agreed that a lot of us are doing shadow work amidst self-isolation. Shadow work is getting to know yourself, and your brain. It’s exploring those unpleasant or uncomfortable thoughts or feelings that come up with curiosity rather than judging them or sweeping them away and focusing on something positive. It’s beneficial, it’s hard, it’s emotional, it’s exciting, and it can be scary.
I started getting treatment for an anxiety disorder in early 2019, shortly after I had admitted to my business partner that I didn’t want to be a small business owner anymore, and I wanted to go back to working for a larger company and have more financial stability. My emotions were taking me by surprise, and I found myself having emotional breakdowns at least once a week, triggered by stress over money, sales, my employees, my relationships. I kept waiting for things to feel easier or at least stop feeling exponentially harder, and that wasn’t happening.
Once I began treatment for anxiety, I thought that would do the trick - I was fixed. This annoying thing that I was dealing with was under control with a new medication and I could keep living my life.
As I imagine anyone with a diagnosed mental condition knows, it is not that simple, and there isn’t “a fix”.
When ADHD was a possibility for me, at first I balked. I wasn’t a problem child, I never felt like the dumbest person in the room (if I’m being honest, I often felt like the smartest, but I like to think that I’ve matured since then), I was never hyperactive. But then I explored what it actually looks like for adults, and more specifically, adult women.
There is little known about ADHD in women, since the vast majority of studies of ADHD has been conducted on children and boys, and there are differences in how ADHD presents itself and impacts men and women.
There are three types of ADHD: inattentive (formerly diagnosed as ADD), hyperactive, and a combination of both. The diagnostic criteria for ADHD is the same for men and women, but the presentation is different. Women tend to present ADHD symptoms more subtly, internalizing their feelings and often being misdiagnosed with anxiety or depression as a result, while men tend to present ADHD symptoms externally.
When women are not diagnosed and treated for ADHD, the consequences are significant: chronic feelings of inadequacy, shame, selfishness, laziness, and a lack of self-esteem and self-compassion.
I was enjoying a virtual voice lesson - a treat that I gave myself so I could have at least one hour a week where I’m honing a skill that I’ve always had and reconnecting to something that I’ve always loved - when I was exploring whistle tones for the first time. In case you aren’t aware, whistle tones are the very, very high tones sung by the likes of Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande. It’s a pretty impressive mastery of the voice, and it takes a lot of practice. I have a lot of pride and I am very competitive, so I assumed I’d nail it on the first try (LOL), and I was visibly frustrated when the sound coming out wasn’t what I had expected. Even further, my voice teacher could tell that I was holding back.
Kindly, and with curiosity, she asked me if I was holding back, and why that might be the case. When I stopped to consider that question and explore my reasoning, I unlocked something powerful and, honestly, devastating.
I grew up singing. I have a distinct memory of my dad overhearing me singing to myself as a three-year-old and commenting to my mom that there was some vibrato in my voice. I loved performing and I loved sharing my talents with others. I sang whenever I could: at church, at school, at home. Singing was a part of my identity. I loved when adults complimented my abilities, and I felt so much pride that I had never had a lesson and was blessed with a natural ability.
I was almost 15 when the first season of American Idol premiered. At that point I was very committed to not following the masses, so when every girl in my class was watching, I refrained on principle, but the truth was, I didn’t want to watch because I knew I’d feel such jealousy for those showing off their skills and I would want to be there so badly. But deeper than that, I remember watching clips of the “bad” auditions. Not just the obvious ones, like William Hung, but the average contestants who nervously walked in, did their very best, and were torn apart by the judges with pity in their eyes, no doubt thinking, “oh, sweetie, you thought you were good at singing?”. I imagined myself in that scenario, and the notion that maybe I wasn’t as talented as I thought I was. All those people who complimented me surely didn’t have the authority to do so - what did they know about talent or music? - and if I were to ever put myself in front of real judges or gatekeepers of vocal performance, I’d learn that I’m not nearly as talented as I think I am.
So I protected myself.
I didn’t sing unless I knew that I would nail it. I didn’t risk sounding unprepared or off-pitch for fear of others finding out that I was a fraud. I convinced myself that I wasn’t actually a good singer, I was good at singing a few songs; I didn’t really have range or skill.
As I got older, that feeling grew with my continued hiding of this thing that I loved. I went from being someone known for singing to offering it up as a hidden talent at parties and work events, and even then I did so modestly because my nightmare was that someone would ask me to sing and I would disappoint them. So I didn’t share my voice unless I was positive that I was proud of its sound, and I had incredibly high standards for myself. Multiple times I would record myself, listen back, and find all the ways that someone would critique it, and then dread my performance in anticipation of the judgment I would get from the audience.
So now, even in a very safe space of a private voice lesson - a place where stumbling is necessary to learn - I was holding back because I was terrified of failing. As I shared that with my voice teacher, tears were rolling down my face. I had never considered myself to be someone who cared about the opinions of others, and here was something that was hugely important to me and brought me so much joy that, over the years, had been poisoned by stress over the fear of judgment from others.
I should probably share, too, that throughout my life exactly two people have been critical of my voice, and both those instances are burned into my brain. Even though they were very much the exception, I couldn’t stop thinking about what they said and how it made me feel every time I sang.
There’s another way to sum up those feelings I had: perfectionism and low self-esteem. Many women with ADHD are perfectionists, and many suffer from low self-esteem as a result of their ADHD. They suffer in silence, desperately wanting to appear “normal” and working tirelessly to catch up with everyone else.
A part of ADHD that I don’t think gets enough attention is the need for external motivation. Positive reinforcement is an excellent motivator for anyone, but for someone with ADHD, it’s practically a necessity. If I spend time doing something and no one offers positive reinforcement, I assume one of two things: 1) that thing was not worth doing or 2) I didn’t do that thing well enough, otherwise someone would have said something. Generally, thought number one applies primarily to chores and housework, and thought number two applies to everything else, but especially relationships and work.
If you read that and think, “that seems exhausting”, you’re correct! It is exhausting, and it leads to a constant feeling of inadequacy, because generally it isn’t common to be commended for everything you do.
I was putting the (imaginary) expectations and judgments of everyone around me - even those that I didn’t particularly like or care about - above my own. If someone gave me a deadline, I would hit it at all costs. But if I gave myself a deadline, I never minded missing it, because I was only disappointing myself, and who cares except for me?
While I was constantly putting my own actual needs below the perceived needs of everyone else, I was also convinced that I was an exceptionally lazy and selfish person because of those things that fell into thought number one. I knew that my partner wanted me to help around the house, I knew that I was capable, and I knew that I would feel good after doing it, but I could not for the life of me find the motivation to do it. So instead I felt guilt and shame and just understood that I was an inherently selfish person.
It took this pandemic tearing away all of my structure and routines for my ADHD symptoms to amplify. These things were always there, but I was successfully managing it without realizing by living a life that didn’t allow me to get bored. In elementary and junior high I was babysitting, playing sports, and taking extra classes in school. In high school I worked two jobs, had a boyfriend, and was still involved in half a dozen extracurricular activities. In college I worked three jobs with a full course load and leadership roles in theatre and music extracurriculars. After college, I maintained a busy social life and put all my energy into my job, determined to get promoted to that “dream job” that I mentioned. When I started my business, the expectations of others kept me motivated. I wasn’t struggling now because of something new. It had always been there.
Learning about ADHD since my diagnosis has been fascinating. One may wonder how much I have been able to learn in a short time, but I will remind them that those with ADHD have the ability to hyperfocus. ADHD research has been holding the majority of my attention, not unlike my interest in the movie Titanic when I was 10, or algebra in middle school, or the TV show Pretty Little Liars as an adult (I know).
Learning about ADHD since my diagnosis has also been emotional. It’s hard not to feel sad when I reflect on my life and imagine how much easier it could have been if I had known this about myself when I was a child. When I really consider, however, what might have been different, I’m not sure I like that alternate reality. If I had been diagnosed with ADHD as a child, there’s a strong possibility that I - and those around me - would have understood ADHD as a condition that needed to be corrected. I may have viewed this condition only as something holding me back, because that’s often how ADHD is discussed, especially with children.
But what if we re-framed ADHD? What if, instead of viewing it as a disorder to be corrected, we acknowledged it as a unique dimension of diversity and explored how to maximize it? I certainly wish I had known sooner to avoid the life-long feelings of inadequacy and guilt and shame, but I don’t wish I had been able to “normalize” my brain. Because of my ADHD, I am capable of turning around solid work in a very short amount of time against a deadline. Because of my ADHD, I can take big ideas and imagine new ways to work. Because of my ADHD, I started a business that, even though it wasn’t my lifelong calling, I am immensely proud of and that shifted my perception in a positive way.
P.S. It is important to note that I am not a doctor, and this is something that should be diagnosed by a doctor to be effectively treated. I don’t just mean medication, but also therapy/coaching. I’m still figuring out my medication myself, and there are plenty who swear by it and others who abstain.
Here are some awesome resources if you want to learn more about ADHD:
ADDitude Magazine: a science-based publication that is the leading resource for individuals young and old with ADHD as well as for professionals who work with them. They have a print-based magazine, digital content, and a regular webinar that is released as a podcast.
The ADHD Good Life: an intersectional understanding of ADHD, focused on having ADHD while Black. Sandra shares so much excellent content on her Instagram, Patreon, and podcast.
How to ADHD: compact, relatable content about specific aspects of ADHD for those with ADHD brains and those in relationships with ADHD brains. I shared a lot of her Youtube videos with my partner and family shortly after I was diagnosed.