Maybe it wasn't you.
Maybe you've spent your whole life apologizing.
Sorry,
I forgot.
Sorry I'm late.
Sorry,
I lost it again.
Sorry,
I already told you that.
Sorry for interrupting.
Sorry for being emotional.
Sorry for being.
Too much.
Maybe you've lost your keys while they were literally in your hands.
Maybe you've forgotten appointments,
Misplaced important things,
Like paying bills.
Or avoided doing laundry because you knew your clothes would either smell from staying in the washing machine or be permanently wrinkled from staying in the dryer.
Maybe you've started countless projects with incredible enthusiasm,
Bought everything you needed to make them happen,
Spent money on supplies,
Classes,
Equipment,
Subscriptions.
Or an entirely new hobby.
Only to lose interest somewhere along the way.
And then there's the money.
The things you bought and forgot about.
The subscriptions and appointments you forgot to cancel.
The late fees from the bills you simply forgot to pay.
The purchases you made impulsively because in that moment,
They felt absolutely necessary.
And afterward,
You berated yourself.
Why do I keep wasting money?
Why can't I just be responsible?
What is wrong with me?
Maybe you've looked around at all the unfinished projects,
Forgotten commitments,
Lost things,
And money you've spent and thought,
What is wrong with me?
But what if there was another explanation?
What if you weren't careless or irresponsible?
What if your brain was simply seeking novelty,
Struggling with executive function,
Or having trouble with impulse control?
And you had spent your entire life blaming your character for something that was actually connected to the way your brain worked.
Maybe you've had conversations where you knew you were talking too much,
But somehow you just couldn't make yourself stop.
And afterward,
You replayed the whole thing in your head.
Did I talk too much?
Did I annoy them?
Why did I say that?
Why can't I shut up?
And perhaps the hardest part wasn't even what happened.
It was what you said to yourself afterwards.
I'm so stupid.
I'm not going to finish that anyway.
I should be able to do this.
How do I lose every single thing?
For years,
I thought those things were evidence of who I was.
I thought they meant I was careless,
Disorganized,
Forgetful,
Too emotional,
Too impulsive.
Too much.
What I didn't know.
Was that there was another possibility.
Maybe there was nothing wrong with who I was.
Maybe there was something about the way my brain was wired that I simply didn't understand yet.
I wasn't diagnosed with ADHD as a child,
But I also wasn't the quiet little girl who slipped through the cracks.
I was active.
I talked a lot.
I got in trouble at school for talking too much,
For being impulsive,
For not always knowing when to stop.
I had plenty of energy,
Plenty of opinions,
And apparently very little ability to keep them to myself.
And yet I succeeded.
I learned how to push through.
I figured things out.
I found ways to compensate sometimes even without knowing that's what I was doing.
When something was important to me,
I could work incredibly hard and become intensely focused.
I could pull things together when I absolutely had to.
From the outside,
That can look like everything is fine.
And maybe that's part of why no one questioned ADHD.
Because I wasn't failing at life.
I was succeeding at it.
I just seemed to be doing it with a lot more effort,
Stress,
Last-minute scrambling,
Forgotten details,
And self-criticism that no one could see.
I didn't have the language for that then.
I didn't know that being able to succeed doesn't mean something isn't difficult.
I only knew that I seemed to have two versions of myself.
The one who could accomplish almost anything when she was interested,
Inspired,
Or under pressure.
And the one who could stare at something incredibly important and still somehow not be able to make herself start.
For decades,
I thought that inconsistency was a character flaw.
I didn't realize it was one of the clues.
And then at 33,
While watching an episode of Dr.
Phil.
I discovered something that changed the way I saw myself.
That adults have ADHD too.
And suddenly.
.
.
So many pieces of my life begin to make sense.
Not because ADHD explained everything.
But because for the first time,
I had a framework that allowed me to stop asking,
What is wrong with me?
And start asking,
What if there was never anything wrong with me at all?
That realization changed everything.
And that's what I want to talk to you about today.
Not just ADHD,
But what it feels like to finally understand yourself after spending decades believing you were the problem.
When my eight-year-old daughter sat at the dining room table after spending way too long trying to do her homework,
She started crying and grabbing her hair and yelling,
What is wrong with my brain?
I finally decided we needed to have her evaluated for ADHD.
We had been trying everything anyone would suggest,
But obviously none of it was helping.
As I sat there filling out what seemed like a book-length questionnaire,
I started laughing at how many of the questions I could relate to.
I remember thinking,
Man,
I would have been diagnosed with this when I was young,
But they weren't doing it back then.
My daughter was diagnosed with ADHD.
She got the help she needed,
And she did really well.
And that was that.
Or so I thought.
Not long after that,
I happened to be watching an episode of Dr.
Phil.
It started with a video of a messy house.
Laundry piled up.
Bills and mail everywhere,
And a checkbook scattered across the desk.
And then a woman began talking about how frustrated and embarrassed she was because she couldn't seem to keep up with things like she felt she should be able to.
She talked about the laundry.
The house,
Taking a shower.
Remembering to deposit checks.
Grocery shopping.
Making meals.
All these everyday things that seemed so simple for everyone else.
But felt overwhelming to her.
And as I sat there watching the screen,
Something happened.
I froze.
Because I wasn't just listening to her.
I was recognizing myself.
I remember thinking,
That is me.
Not just one thing,
All of it.
The mess,
The unfinished things,
The forgotten responsibilities,
The overwhelm,
The embarrassment,
The feeling that I should be able to manage all of this and somehow couldn't.
And then the episode explains something that I never really understood.
ADHD doesn't simply disappear when you grow up.
And girls and women had historically been overlooked because ADHD doesn't always look the way people expect it to.
Girls could be less likely to be recognized,
Especially when they were able to compensate,
Succeed,
Or simply didn't fit the stereotypical picture of what ADHD was supposed to look like.
Suddenly,
I was hearing an explanation for things I had spent years blaming myself for.
And I remember thinking,
Wait.
Could this actually be me?
At that point,
I was 33 years old.
I had already spent my entire life being me.
I had graduated high school.
I had a beautiful family.
I had figured things out.
I had pushed through.
But I had also struggled in ways I could not explain.
And now for the first time.
I had a possible explanation.
Needless to say.
I started researching.
I wanted to know where a 33-year-old woman could go to be evaluated for ADHD.
And that search eventually led to my own diagnosis.
At 33,
I finally allowed myself to believe there was a word for something I had been experiencing my entire life.
And suddenly I had a completely different lens through which to look at myself.
The excitement and relief that came with my diagnosis was empowering.
For the first time,
I had validation that there really was something different about the way my brain worked and functioned.
There were very real reasons for so many of the things I had struggled with.
It wasn't my fault.
And then came another feeling.
I started thinking about all the things I might have accomplished.
All the shame and embarrassment I might have been spared.
All the friendships I might have kept.
All the times I had been told I talked too much,
That I needed to settle down,
And that I needed to just try harder.
What if instead of making jokes about me never shutting up,
Somebody had recognized the signs?
What if somebody had helped me understand my brain?
What if somebody had helped me get diagnosed?
I couldn't go back and change any of that.
But for the first time,
I could look back at that little girl.
That teenager,
That young woman.
And instead of being embarrassed by her,
I could begin to understand her.
And maybe even forgive her.
Getting a diagnosis explained a lot,
But it didn't magically make all of those things disappear.
If anything,
It gave me a whole new list of things to look at.
Because once I understood ADHD,
I started noticing patterns in myself that I had spent years just calling me.
The interrupting,
The oversharing.
The things I say out loud that probably should have stayed in my head.
Picking at my cuticles without realizing it.
Losing things because if I can't see them,
Apparently they no longer exist.
Getting completely overwhelmed by tasks that have six steps when everyone else seems to just do the six steps.
Starting something with incredible enthusiasm,
And then wondering three weeks later why I ever thought that was a good idea.
And I started realizing that some of the things I had criticized myself for my entire life weren't necessarily character flaws.
There were clues.
And once I started recognizing the clues,
I had to learn something even more important.
I couldn't spend the rest of my life trying to force my brain to work like everyone else's.
I had to learn how to work with the brain I actually have.
Once I gave myself permission to look at it all under the umbrella of ADHD and not me.
I was able to start working with my brain.
Not try to shut it off.
This is just a glimpse at my story.
Now I've learned to embrace myself,
Accept myself,
And even enjoy some of my quirks and whimsy.
Although my interruptions and impulsive comments have caused wounds that I regret and have acknowledged.
I've taken time to learn to recognize the impulse.
So now most times I can make my mouth wait its turn instead of immediately speaking and deciding in my head that I'm rude.
I still interrupt.
I'm still working on it.
But my creative impulsive brain also makes some pretty hysterical commentary of what animals are saying whenever I see one.
My oversharing has no doubt left some people walking away with way too much information.
But it has also created some incredibly deep and transparent conversations with people who had never felt safe enough to share their own stories before.
And I've learned.
And I'm still learning.
That my enthusiasm and my openness are not automatically something I should be ashamed of.
I clearly remember around the age of 12,
I started picking my cuticles almost constantly.
To the point of making them bleed and then hiding my fingers.
I had no idea I was doing it for stimulation or regulation or simply because my hands needed something to do.
Long before fidgets became a thing.
I started carrying a little container of Silly Putty.
In my pocket,
In my purse,
Wherever I could get it.
If my hands weren't actively doing something,
I had the putty.
And there will be a whole other talk someday about how to get sleep out of almost everything.
Now,
I still struggle with the things that have more than two steps.
But I know this about myself.
So on a day when I'm really paying attention,
I'll plan a little.
I'll break things down one step at a time.
Because otherwise,
I can get frustrated.
I can feel stuck,
And then I give up.
And then that familiar little voice in my head starts asking,
What is wrong with you?
But now I can answer it.
Nothing.
I have ADHD and that's okay.
If you're listening to this,
I can almost guarantee that somewhere in your house you have enough craft supplies and tools to open a mini craft store.
As do I.
I almost always started the projects,
But I rarely finished them.
Or had the patience to master them.
I would get excited,
Jump in,
Buy all the things,
Learn everything I could.
And then I would hit a wall.
And then I was done.
With not too much to show for it.
The amount of time,
Money,
And energy I spent chasing my next true passion was extensive.
And for a very long time,
I saw that as another piece of evidence that I was a failure.
Like it was all just a huge waste.
I've had to work on reframing those attempts because maybe they weren't failures.
Maybe in those moments,
My brain needed something to focus on.
Something exciting.
Something new.
Something that gave it purpose,
Even if that purpose was fleeting.
And honestly,
I am learning to be okay with that.
Now the constant chatter,
Talking excessively,
That's still one of my biggest struggles.
And it can go hand-in-hand with interrupting and oversharing.
But over time,
I've learned that if I know my brain is going to default to talk mode,
I can give myself a little structure.
For example,
I know that if I'm going into a meeting or a social gathering,
And it's one where I really want to be mindful of how much I'm talking,
I'll set a limit for myself.
I'll literally draw three or four little boxes or lines in my notebook or put them in my phone.
And every time I share a comment,
Opinion,
Or story,
I check off one.
It sounds ridiculous,
But it works.
Because it forces me to pause and ask myself,
Is this important enough for me to check a box?
And that little pause has empowered me in a huge way.
I don't leave the room afterward replaying the entire conversation in my head,
Wondering if I talked too much,
Interrupted too much,
Or somehow took over the conversation.
And then there's out of sight,
Out of mind.
This one has made me go in circles for most of my life.
And it still does.
I know that my work area,
My dresser,
My bathroom sink,
Pretty much every surface that I use is probably going to have more things on it than many other people's.
I know that if I put something under the sink or save a document somewhere deep in a computer file,
There's a very good chance that to me,
It basically no longer exists.
Post-it notes are my friend.
I use visual reminders.
Things stay where I can see them.
I change the sounds of my alarms frequently so my brain is less likely to tune them out.
I used color paper and markers for lists.
And I change those things frequently too.
Not because I'm incapable.
But because I have stopped expecting my brain to remember something it can't currently see.
Understanding how my ADHD brain works has changed the way I approach these things.
And instead of beating myself up or degrading myself over them,
I can say,
Okay,
This is how my brain works.
What can I do to work with it?
And I think that distinction is really important.
Because diagnosis and acceptance doesn't mean I stop working on the things that cause problems for me.
It means I stop using those things as evidence against myself.
I'm not saying ADHD means I get to do whatever I want and everyone else just has to deal with it.
I'm saying I can work on myself without hating myself.
And that has been one of the biggest changes for me.
Because now at 57,
I can look back at that 33-year-old woman who finally discovered she had ADHD.
And I realized something else.
The diagnosis was an answer,
But it wasn't the end of the journey.
In many ways,
It was the beginning.
I'm still learning.
Still unlearning.
Still discovering who I am underneath all those years of self-criticism,
Shame,
Embarrassment,
And trying to be who I thought I was supposed to be.
And I've realized something about healing.
Healing isn't about going back and fixing who I was.
It's about finally understanding her.
Understanding why she did the things she did.
Understanding why some things were so much harder for her than they seem to be for everyone else.
Understanding that she wasn't deliberately being difficult.
She wasn't lazy.
She wasn't careless.
And she wasn't trying to be too much.
She was doing the best she could with a brain she didn't yet understand.
And maybe that's what I want you to take away from my story.
Not an ADHD instruction manual.
Not a list of things you need to fix.
Just this.
Maybe the things you spent years using,
It's evidence.
That there was something wrong with you.
Aren't evidence of that at all.
Maybe there is a reason.
Maybe there's a different way to understand yourself.
And if sharing what I've learned along the way can help even one person stop asking.
What's wrong with me?
And start asking.
What if there's nothing wrong with me at all?
Then maybe this journey has another purpose,
Too.
Because I wasn't broken.
I wasn't too much.
I wasn't failing at being me.
I was Jane.
All along.
