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I often share my perspective as a therapist through my blogs, but today I want to share more of my personal experience receiving an ADHD diagnosis. Settle in and let's chat, shall we?
Before I knew I had ADHD, I often thought I was just failing to manage it all.
Not in dramatic, obvious ways. I had successfully navigated college and grad school and had a career I enjoyed as a therapist. I helped people untangle their thoughts and behaviors for a living. But inside? It often felt like I was playing a role I didn’t fully understand: always one step behind, always improvising, always late and often chaotic.
I thought everyone lived with this level of chaos in their heads. I thought everyone got frustrated when they were interrupted and then struggled to get back on track. I thought everyone struggled to prioritize tasks and get the things that actually had to be finished, finished. I thought everyone often ping-ponged between emotions and felt stressed.
Turns out, no. That wasn’t “everyone.” That was ADHD.
Before I knew I had ADHD, I thought I just needed to try harder.
I blamed myself for forgetting things, not responding to texts, and would overwork to make up for all the hours I lost to distraction and burnout. I thought my chronic overwhelm was a character flaw. I felt both lazy and exhausted. Disorganized and obsessive. Too much and not enough.
Like many women, I flew under the radar growing up. I wasn’t the stereotypical “hyperactive little boy bouncing off the walls” image we were all taught. I was the “bright but scattered” kid who "talked a lot" in class and one teacher in middle school went as far as to say I had "verbal diarrhea" (honestly, words I will never fully forget). I was the “emotional” teen who struggled to regulate my big feelings and developed a restricting eating disorder to shrink them and the constant overwhelm I felt. The “anxious perfectionist” adult. None of those labels quite fit, but they were close enough that no one, including me, looked deeper.
Like most women who eventually are diagnosed with ADHD, I was first diagnosed with anxiety, and then depression when I was in a rough spot in college.
Looking back now, the signs of ADHD were written all over my life like highlighter on a textbook:
The way I needed total silence and no distractions to write even one coherent sentence and how even then, I’d end up doomscrolling or suddenly cleaning the kitchen instead.
The impulsive decisions masked as spontaneity or fun.
The mountain of half-started projects (and the shame that came with them).
The emotional intensity that seemed to catch even me off guard.
The way I never could fully rest, because my brain was always going, going, going.
I thought it was anxiety. Or burnout. Or maybe I was just really bad at being an adult. And then, I had my first daughter during the panic and everything started to close in on me. I was beyond anxious, restless, and constantly overstimulated. Everything was too much, too bright, too loud, and I was never alone.
I thought going up on my SSRI would help, and it sort of did, but not fully. Fast forward a few years and a friend pretty bluntly told me "You know you have ADHD, right?" And at first I was in denial, because I had the stereotypical image most of us do and that just didn't fit me.
Then, I read about ADHD in adult women and it felt like someone had been spying on me my whole life, describing literally my entire existence.
Admitting I had ADHD was humbling at first. I had to confront the idea that the mental health professional, one who was supposed to know things, had missed something so central about herself.
But it was also liberating.
Finally, things made sense.
I wasn’t lazy — I had executive dysfunction.
I wasn’t flaky — I had time blindness.
I wasn’t unmotivated — I was struggling with task initiation in a brain that needs dopamine to activate.
I wasn’t “too sensitive” — I had rejection sensitivity and emotional dysregulation that no one ever explained.
Learning I had ADHD was like being handed a map after years of wandering through a forest with no compass. I still had to do the work, still had to find the trails, but at least now I understood there were puzzle pieces missing earlier.
ADHD didn’t disappear the moment I got the diagnosis. (I wish.) But what changed was my relationship to myself.
I stopped asking, “What’s wrong with me?” and started asking, “What does my brain need to succeed today?”
I started using tools that worked for me, not ones meant for neurotypical brains. I gave myself permission to use visual timers, voice memos, the notes app, and throw away planners that were halfway used. I learned that “doing it differently” wasn’t a failure. It was survival.
And perhaps most importantly, I stopped apologizing for the way I exist. I stopped apologizing for being passionated and curious, creative, and often late. Having access to therapy, medication, and compassion has changed the game for me. Understanding how my hormones impact my ability to show up consistently does also. It's all a process and will be individual depending on the person, but so much of healing starts with finding understanding.
Being a therapist with ADHD is, honestly, a bit of a superpower.
I get the messiness in a way that I often can't describe. I understand what it means to intellectually know what to do and still struggle to do it. I know the guilt of missing a deadline and the anxiety of overcommitting because you don’t trust your future self to show up.
But I also know the resilience. The creativity. The fierce empathy that so many ADHDers bring to the table.
So many of my clients with ADHD say the same thing I once thought:
“I didn’t think it could be ADHD because I’ve made it this far.”
Or: “But I’m not that hyperactive.”
Or: “I just thought everyone felt like this.”
If that’s you, let me say this clearly:
It’s not just you.
You’re not broken.
You’re not failing.
And it’s not too late to understand yourself more deeply than ever before.
Before I knew I had ADHD, I thought I was doing everything wrong.
Now I know, I was doing the best I could with a brain I didn’t fully understand.
And that realization changed everything.
If you're wondering whether ADHD might be part of your story, you're not alone. Whether you're a therapist, a teacher, a student, or a parent, ADHD doesn’t care about titles. It just wants your attention. And it deserves it.
Late Diagnosis ADHD Club: Join my FREE community for women with a late diagnosis who are looking to connect with others who just get it.
Groups for ADHD: I also offer virtual 8 week groups! Get information for my next group offerings here.
Resources for ADHD: I have a library of mental health resources and a section just for ADHD and Women with a Late Diagnosis!
Are you a therapist? I offer supervision and consulting for therapists as well as The Therapist Toolbox Resource Library for other providers.
When you have ADHD, procrastination is often highly misunderstood. It’s rarely avoidance, laziness, or lack of motivation. Many people with ADHD want to start earlier, but struggle to access the mental energy needed to begin.
The issue is often task initiation, not intention. As I shared a few week’s ago in the post all about Task Initiation, ADHD brains are interest-based. Tasks that feel boring, repetitive, overwhelming, unclear, or emotionally loaded can be hard to start.
Then suddenly, when the deadline gets closer, urgency kicks in and the brain finally starts to activates. Often intensely.
There’s a very specific kind of frustration that comes with ADHD and executive dysfunction.
It’s not just about being distracted or forgetful.
It’s the experience of knowing what needs to be done…and feeling completely unable to follow through.
Not because you don’t care. Not because you’re not trying.
Just… stuck in the gap between intention and action.
From the outside, it can look like laziness, inconsistency, or a lack of discipline.
But internally? It often feels like your brain won’t cooperate with you.
One of the most common things I hear from adults with ADHD, especially women and late-diagnosed folks, isn’t about focus or productivity.
It’s this:
“I feel misunderstood all the time.”
And not in a loud, dramatic way.
In a quiet, accumulating way.
The kind that settles into your nervous system and slowly teaches you not to trust yourself or to minimize your intuition and needs.
For many people, receiving an ADHD diagnosis later in life comes with a wave of relief.
Finally, there’s an explanation. Finally, things make sense.
But relief is often only part of the story.
What doesn’t get talked about enough is the grief that follows — quiet, heavy, and sometimes unexpected. Late-diagnosis ADHD grief isn’t dramatic or indulgent. It’s a normal response to understanding your life through a new lens.
And it deserves space.
Spoon Theory is a metaphor used describe the limited energy people with chronic illness or mental health concerns often have....
Rejection sensitivity can make even small moments feel overwhelming. This post explores what it looks like, why it shows up (especially for those with ADHD), and how to work with your brain instead of against it when emotions feel like too much.
Group therapy offers more than just support—it provides connection, perspective, and community. Whether you're navigating a new diagnosis, identity shift, or season of overwhelm, this post explores how group spaces can help you feel seen, supported, and less alone.
For years, I blamed myself for being "scattered" or “bad at adulting.” I thought if I just tried harder, I’d finally get it together. But what I didn’t realize was that I was struggling with executive dysfunction—something that impacts nearly every part of life for people with ADHD. In this blog, I’m sharing my own experience with a late ADHD diagnosis and unpacking why struggles with focus, time, and task initiation aren’t signs of laziness—they’re signs you might need support.
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