ADHD and ME

Claiming to have undiagnosed ADHD in high school was always a fun little bit—a frivolous excuse for why I’d forget things, talk too much, or struggle to focus. But underneath the jokes, I genuinely felt like something was going on. Still, I managed to do well in school, so it never seemed like a problem that needed fixing. My mom, who leaned toward a more holistic approach, didn’t see a reason for testing, so I just carried on, convinced that whatever quirks or struggles I had were normal.

It wasn’t until college, particularly after a string of semesters with flatlined GPA growth, that I began to rethink everything. I couldn’t keep blaming myself for my academic struggles. It felt like I lacked the "skills to succeed," and every failed test or unfinished exam became evidence of that. Despite knowing the material, I’d bomb tests. The gap between my knowledge and my ability to express it became impossible to ignore. It was a bleak time—one that chipped away at my confidence and made me doubt my intelligence.

Finally, after four semesters of frustration, I had had enough. I pushed past my parents’ hesitation and advocated for myself. I convinced them to let me get tested for ADHD. I vividly remember walking out of that 4-hour psychoeducational test feeling defeated. If the results didn’t confirm I had ADHD, I thought, what else could possibly explain all of this? When the psychologist called me back to discuss the results, the validation I felt was immense. Not only was I diagnosed with ADHD, but every single struggle I’d had—memory recall issues, time blindness, and inconsistent performance—was suddenly explained. And it was quantifiable! It felt like someone had looked inside my brain and said, “Here’s why you’ve been feeling this way.”

One of the most fascinating revelations came from my memory recall test results. The psychologist pointed out a huge outlier: my long-term memory was exceptional—among the best she’d seen for someone my age. However, I struggled to retrieve that information when I needed it. She explained that ADHD was essentially “blocking” my recall, like a fuzzy filter between what I knew and my ability to access it. That moment clicked for me. I’d always been able to picture exactly where something was in my notes—down to the location on the page—but couldn’t remember the actual content. It wasn’t about intelligence or effort; it was about how my brain processed and retrieved information.

When I started medication, it was like someone had wiped away the fog in my mind. I could think clearly and speak more eloquently. My inner monologue no longer felt like it was two steps ahead of me, running off on tangents. I became sharper, quicker, and more in tune with myself. My memory recall, which had always been strong in random creative ways, suddenly felt like a superpower. It’s why I’ve always loved writing and storytelling. I can pull ideas and images from deep within my mind, even if it sometimes takes a detour to get there.

It's been almost a year since I received my diagnosis, and looking back, ADHD isn’t just something I have; it’s a core part of who I am. Receiving my ADHD diagnosis wasn’t just a turning point; it was a form of liberation. It freed me from years of self-doubt and gave me a language to understand how my brain works—not broken, just different. ADHD didn’t take away my creativity or intelligence; it shaped them. It made me a better storyteller, a more empathetic listener, and someone who sees the world from unexpected angles. The journey hasn’t always been easy, but it’s given me the tools to succeed on my own terms.