I’m probably the most neurodivergent person you’ll meet in a space like this. Diagnosed with ADHD in elementary school, I’ve spent most of my life living inside a brain that doesn’t always cooperate.
In the past, I’ve been pretty candid about my diagnosis. I believed that honesty was the best way to avoid misunderstandings and get ahead of awkward situations. Lately though, I’ve hesitated to share. The reactions aren’t always what I hoped for. Sometimes people judge me. Worse, my allies pity me. And then there are the armchair psychiatrists who show up uninvited, insisting I must have something “more serious” than ADHD—usually based on symptoms they don’t understand or don’t expect from someone with ADHD alone.
That’s part of the problem. My symptoms tend to be more severe, and many of them go beyond the simplified ADHD “quirks” you might see on TikTok or in influencer content. There’s a survivorship bias in how we talk about neurodivergence. People with less disruptive symptoms—who can hold down a 9 to 5 or play the social media game—are more visible. Those of us who function less “smoothly” are pushed to the margins, and it creates this false perception that there’s a typical or tidy way to be neurodivergent.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m also autistic. I scored a 129 on that test above, which raises questions.
I don’t mask well—sometimes I can’t, sometimes I just won’t. I get imposter syndrome when I try. Masking feels like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not, and I worry that if people see the “real me” later, they’ll feel misled. So I usually just lay it all out up front. Better to be unapologetically real than get hit with a nasty surprise when people realize I’m not who they expected. My social anxiety plays into this too. I’ve found that being irreverent—helps me push through the awkwardness. In real life mostly, I mean. I have less social anxiety online and the irreverence is much more natural.
Another thing I think about a lot: how neurodivergent people relate to animals. Most of us have some form of sensory sensitivity. Being around a large, energetic dog can be a full-on sensory experience—like a 9 out of 10. I like dogs, but only in small doses. Cats and parrots are more my speed. I’d love to know how other neurodivergent folks navigate the intense sensory input that can come from our furry friends.
ADHD has impacted my life in deeply negative ways. I want to pursue more than just medication. The side effects can be brutal, and medication alone doesn’t feel like enough. I’m craving real, comprehensive support—psychotherapy, yes, but also every effective tip, trick, and hack professionals can throw at me.
When I say I want to be treated holistically, I don’t mean I’m looking for crystals and shit. I mean I want a trained professional to look at the full picture and go all-in—kitchen sink style. I’m game for anything that works.
If you relate to any of this, I see you. And if you don’t—maybe this helps you understand someone in your life who lives a little louder, struggles a little more, and still shows up every day trying to figure it out.
