Sometimes, an ADHD diagnosis can bring more confusion than clarity. As a parent, you may think, “Should I share the diagnosis with other adults in the family and in my child’s life? How do I know who to trust?”
You may fear possible judgments and others’ assumptions about your child or yourself. You may feel anxious, ashamed, or uncertain of who to tell or where to go for support. You may wonder if sharing the ADHD diagnosis will make your child feel badly about themselves. Or maybe it’s the opposite — you wonder if choosing to keep quiet will make your child feel like something is wrong with them.
ADHD Diagnosis: Secrecy vs. Privacy
Let’s start untangling this web of uncertainty by differentiating secrecy and privacy.
Secrecy is an intentional act of restraining or hiding information, typically because it is believed that the information is problematic and will have negative consequences out in the open. Secrecy is associated with shame. While privacy is also intentional, it is associated with empowerment, not shame. Privacy is a choice and a right. It connotes respect in that it allows one to know themselves, to have information about who they are, and then to decide with whom to share that information. For this reason, you want to disclose and discuss ADHD within the framework of your child and family’s right to privacy, while rejecting the idea of secrecy or shame.
You should never keep your child’s ADHD from them. How you discuss the condition with your child will depend on their age, comprehension skills, and other factors, but the point is to speak openly about their unique brain and why they have certain challenges.
It gets trickier when deciding who to tell outside of immediate family and whether you or your child gets to make that decision. If your child is too young to consent to their diagnosis being shared, my suggestion is to think about two of Rumi’s three gates of speech before you speak: Is it necessary? Is it kind?
Would sharing the diagnosis and explaining your child’s behaviors or needs help the person better understand your child?
Would sharing the diagnosis help others be more successful in their interactions or relationship with your child?
Would sharing the diagnosis open possibilities for more support without harming your relationship with your child now or in the future?
If it is necessary to share this information, how can you convey your child’s struggles with kindness and respect? Can you include your child or teen in any way in this communication?
Prior to sharing your child’s diagnosis with someone, consider the person’s character and previous behaviors. Have you witnessed them be judgmental toward others? Do they appear to use shame as a tool or a weapon? Do they gossip frequently? Do they show an unwillingness to learn or revise their thinking in light of new information? If it’s yes to all, move on; you won’t find support and acceptance from them.
If you decide to share your child’s diagnosis, you should still respect your child’s privacy by directly asking the individual for discretion. Share whether you have received consent from your child or if this disclosure is your own decision. Engage in private, respectful conversation in appropriate places, not at the bus stop and other public places. Speak about ADHD in a neurodiversity-affirming manner.
Online support groups can be great places to find community, acceptance, and like-minded people. Be cautious about sharing your child’s diagnosis or struggles in ways that can make them easily identified.
As your child grows older, ask them to consider the same questions and points above to help them decide who to talk to about their ADHD. Of course, if your child decides that they do not want you to share their diagnosis with someone, you must also respect your child’s right to privacy, even if you disagree with their reasoning.
Explaining ADHD to Others: Next Steps
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As a psychotherapist, an ADHD coach, and someone who lives with ADHD, I understand fully how the shame, stress, and anxiety of our symptoms and challenges – from procrastination and forgetfulness to time blindness and impulsivity – cause many of us to develop defense mechanisms. We seek to protect ourselves, especially when ADHD causes us to be consistently inconsistent and disappoint the people in our lives, by developing coping strategies that sometimes cause us more harm than good.
The following four defense mechanisms commonly develop among individuals with ADHD:
Blaming
Blaming as a defense mechanism looks like making others responsible for the occurrence of an ADHD symptom and its consequences, as seen in the following examples:
Your child forgets that an assignment is due. The due date was posted and announced, yet they blame the teacher for not being clear enough about the deadline.
You arrive late to an event. You didn’t give yourself enough time to get there, yet you blame traffic or the slow driver in front of you for showing up late.
You forget to pay a bill. You blame your partner for mixing the bill with other papers, even though it was in your court to set a reminder for yourself to pay the bill – and put it on autopay.
Defensiveness
Responding in angry, confrontational ways that deflect from the issue rather than address it marks this defense mechanism. The following are examples of defensiveness:
Your teen arrived late to school and missed their first period class. You try to talk to them about it, but your child tells you to mind your own business or lashes out. Tensions rise.
Your partner mentions that you still haven’t cleaned out the garage like you said you would do for months now. You quickly get angry and deflect. “Well, you haven’t cleaned out your closet in a long time either,” you say. A fight breaks out, and everyone feels miserable.
Minimizing occurs when you respond to complaints or disapproval about your ADHD symptoms by minimizing their effects on yourself or others. For example, you meet a friend half an hour later than you both planned. You notice that your friend is visibly upset, but you downplay your lateness, telling your friend “it’s no big deal.” Your friend gets even more upset, frustrated that you don’t seem to care about them or understand the effect of your actions.
Dishonesty
Not being truthful is a defense mechanism that causes lots of distress for families who are terrified about what it means about their child or partner’s character. But lying or stretching the truth, like other defense mechanisms, often come up in an effort to avoid shame and conflict. It’s also a method to save energy and avoid fatigue. (Living in a neurotypical world, after all, is exhausting.)
How to Break ADHD Defense Mechanisms
Let go of defense mechanisms by humbly owning up to ADHD symptoms as they arise.
Know your strengths and areas of need. When do these defense mechanisms come up the most? What actions, no matter how small, can you take to manage the problem area?
Apologize if you upset someone. As painful as it may feel to own up to an ADHD symptom, an apology shows others that you’re aware of how your actions – even if unintended – affected them. Be genuine in your apology. Say, “I’m sorry I made you wait. I should have gotten in the shower an hour earlier. I will work on that. I will text you ahead of time and let you know if I’m running late.”
Seek to improve, not to perfect. If paying bills on time has always been a tough problem area, then a good goal would be to reduce how many bills are paid late in the next month. Aiming for improvement, not perfection, will take the pressure off and allow you to make more strides.
Perfection doesn’t exist. ADHD symptoms and traits do not make you a bad person. Be kind to yourself and remember that there are many fabulous parts to you. Embrace your gifts and humbly acknowledge the frustrating parts and commit to working on them.
If you are the parent of a child or teen with ADHD, help them adopt the above strategies and heed these tips for parents, families, and partners:
Take an empathetic lens. ADHD is a neurological condition that makes it hard to live up to the expectations of a neurotypical world. It’s why shame and defense mechanisms develop so quickly. Treatments and supports like medication, therapy, and coaching can help your child or spouse better manage symptoms and day-to-day challenges.
Create an accepting environment where it’s safe to talk about ADHD and defense mechanisms. This encourages honesty and problem solving.
Remain calm when bringing up an issue. Do not explode in anger or insult. If your partner left out a piece of wood with rusty nails near your dog’s walking area (as my ADHD husband once did), say, “I noticed you left out a piece of wood with sharp nails outside. That was upsetting and dangerous because it could hurt the dog. Please be more mindful of where you place items.”
Be curious when symptoms go unmanaged. Together, think about how they can be better managed in the future. Look for improvement rather than expecting the issue to never happen again. Your child, for example, may still have moments where they conceal the truth to avoid punishment as a result of an unmanaged ADHD symptom. Your job is to create an environment where you won’t get upset if your child isn’t telling the truth, and work with them to manage the ADHD symptom in question.
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In 2020, my son was born prematurely, weighing a tiny 600 grams, or a little over a pound. He was what they call a micropreemie. I had never seen a premature baby before, but there he was, so tiny he fit in the palm of my hand. Upon his birth, I was suddenly flung into the world of neonatal intensive care.
The trauma of an early birth is incredibly extreme. It’s being thrust onto a high-speed, rickety roller coaster with dangerous ups and downs. My baby was tiny, but he was breathing. Around a sharp turn we went as we were immediately separated after birth. The intensity of the separation was so great, it could have shattered me into a million pieces right there. He was perfectly proportioned – up, up, up – but he needed life support – down, down, down. He was a fighter, but we’d plummet as he’d battle infections. He needed so many blood transfusions. He had a good heart, but some other organs were underdeveloped. His lungs constantly collapsed. There were times when we almost derailed completely, like when he’d turned blue in my hands. Like all the times when his heart almost stopped.
The chaos during his time in the NICU never ceased. But each and every day, I was able to be there for my tiny human because I concentrated so intently on him, a phenomenon that has a name, I learned much later on – hyperfocus – and is part of ADHD.
My Son’s Survival: The Object of My Hyperfocus
So intense was my concentration that I was able to retain a barrage of new medical information, administer medicines and feeds, pump milk, sing to him, read to him, advocate for him, and fight for him even when the prognosis looked dire. One of the doctors in the NICU even asked me if I was in the medical field, too. No, I just know how to concentrate when needed and learn everything possible about a situation. My son’s survival became the object of my hyper focus. There was nothing that could derail me.
Even when he was finally discharged after a long four-month hospital stay, with prongs and adhesives on his little face, I still hyperfocused through this new winding valley. After all, there were many medications to prepare and administer, oxygen concentrators and portable tanks to adapt to, and endless invasive and painful appointments and surgeries. Through it all, I researched every aspect of his diagnoses and care, how to help him heal, and how to prepare him for what was to come.
I was in a daze when I disembarked from the rickety roller coaster of the NICU. Absorbed by my son’s health and all things relating to prematurity, I had tuned out the world around me, even myself.
Used to communicating with nurses, doctors, and others in the NICU, I had to re-learn how to communicate with others who were outside of this world. I learned the hard way (as is my tendency) that not everyone wants to hear about our journey not because they’re disinterested, but because talking about trauma makes others acutely uncomfortable. Hyper focusing on the particulars of my son’s health, it seemed, almost detached me from the pain of this harrowing experience.
The aftermath of months of hyper focus was a rubble of burnout, depression, confusion, unhealthy coping mechanisms, and loss of self-worth. My introduction to motherhood had been as a bystander. I was a nurse and an advocate for my son, but I still had to learn how to be his mother, which brought me so much guilt. I was drowning.
I drew upon all the strategies I could muster from years of therapy. I reached out to others, I asked for help, for company — even just a cup of coffee. Some told me that I was “too much” while others didn’t seem to take me seriously because I seemed fine enough.
If I didn’t do something, I knew I’d be at the bottom of the ocean quickly.
So, once again, I grabbed on to my hyperfocus wire. I researched and researched all things medical trauma and traumatic birth, and I came out on the other end with diagnoses of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), postpartum depression (PPD) and ADHD.
I found a community group that sent volunteers around a few times a week to just sit with me, have a cuppa, and hold the baby while I took a shower. Such simple things gave me the space to breathe and finally steady my feet enough to get the help I needed.
Hyperfocus Saved Me – and My Child
When I’ve hyperfocused previously – before I knew it had a name – it was often a draining experience that, like other aspects of my neurodivergent brain, was hard for me to understand and embrace.
But after my diagnoses, I have a greater understanding of how my brain works, and more grace for myself and what I’ve journeyed through. The ability to hyperfocus, as I now know, can be an incredible strength. I’m thankful that my resilient neurodivergent brain forged a pathway through trauma and saved me and my little human.
Birth Trauma and ADHD: Next Steps
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Before I was diagnosed with ADHD at age 33, my body felt like a mystery, an experience I assume is nearly universal for women with a late diagnosis. Yes, there was forgetfulness, distractibility, “careless” errors, internal restlessness, and emotional dysregulation. Yes, there were incredibly painful menstrual cycles with mood changes so drastic they should have their own amusement park rides named after them. But there were also migraine headaches so severe that they’d often lead me to hide in the bathroom and vomit while working a retail job at age 20.
Despite the unbearable pain and nausea associated with migraines, I attended regular work and school hours. With then-undiagnosed ADHD, untreated migraines, severe mood swings, and an unpredictable body, I completed all of my responsibilities with a smile on my face, masking the feeling of being a walking zombie. Experiencing – or rather, trying to act like I wasn’t experiencing any of it – was likely a big reason why I was diagnosed with depression before I was diagnosed with ADHD.
All Roads Lead Back to Estrogen
After my ADHD diagnosis, I poured myself into research, as I quickly learned I would need to educate myself about ADHD’s unique presentation in women. One finding that struck me was just how much hormonal fluctuations influence ADHD symptoms in women, which complicates an already-complicated picture. The villain causing all of my challenges, it seemed, was low estrogen levels.
It turns out that there’s a strong relationship between estrogen and dopamine, which is one of the main neurotransmitters involved in ADHD. Low estrogen levels mean low dopamine levels. The inverse is true. When we consider that there are predictable drops in estrogen throughout the female lifespan, like right before getting a period or during perimenopause, to name a few, it means there’s a predictable worsening of ADHD symptoms, too. Low estrogen levels seem to hit us hard, which may be why premenstrual mood disorder (PMDD), a severe form of premenstrual syndrome (PMS), disproportionately affects women with ADHD.1
But that’s not all. Low estrogen levels are also known to trigger migraines.2 Could this connection explain why migraines, which are more prevalent in women, co-occur with ADHD about 35% of the time?3 As I tried to put the pieces together, I felt like a detective uncovering the mystery of my life. I finally understood why I felt so out of my body and mind in the midst of a migraine attack. I understood why, on migraine days with yet undiagnosed ADHD, it felt like there was an ineffective replacement version of me steering the ship, and the vessel that was me was constantly on the verge of collapse.
Silent Conditions
As I tried to learn more about the migraines-ADHD connection in women, I learned that, as with ADHD, research on migraines and the scientific attention given to migraines are biased with respect to gender. In Migraine: Inside a World of Invisible Pain(#CommissionsEarned), Maria Konnikova writes that, despite the disease’s prevalence, migraines receive little to no attention in medical schools. Further, Konnikova explains that Sigmund Freud can be thanked for the gender divide in migraine diagnosis. If women are suffering, it must be, quite literally, an unobservable, unexplainable phenomenon in their heads. Like ADHD, migraines are a silent and overlooked condition in women. As with my own ADHD diagnosis journey, I suffered from migraine headaches for years before going to a neurologist to finally get them treated.
In her 1968 essay “In Bed,” Joan Didion writes that the public often views migraines as “imaginary.” I argue that ADHD is often viewed similarly in women. And why wouldn’t this be the case? As long as we mask our pain and our symptoms — a habit I’m still unlearning — ADHD in women will continue to be difficult to detect. As long as the medical community dismisses the relationship between hormonal fluctuations and ADHD, women will go misdiagnosed and improperly treated.
Here’s the truth: Women with ADHD, like women with migraines and other conditions heavily tied to hormonal and dopamine imbalances, are boiling pots with ill-fitting lids that we and the people around us use to avoid being misperceived as untamed shrews. And I’d venture to guess you’re just as tired of acting as I am. Regardless of the condition, we deserve to have all of our symptoms taken seriously.
ADHD in Women: Next Steps
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How often do you show up late to the events and responsibilities of your life? Forty percent of the time? Half? If you can’t say 100% of the time, then I win. I am the Queen of Lateness.
Or I was.
I used to be late for practically everything. And take it from the Queen: Being late stinks. It’s a self-sabotaging act that gave me decades of anguish, hurt, and frustration. I knew the heartache of lateness like I knew the jewels on my crown. I’d have given anything not to wear that crown, to be a commoner who — gasp — gets to appointments a few minutes early.
Following is the story of how I changed my lifelong habit of lateness practically overnight. No, this is not a clickbait story. It’s the sharing of fundamental tools that us late and time-blind folk don’t realize are out there. It’s my “eureka” story.
Step One: Time Yourself
My lateness was “cured” in 2007 at the start of the recession. My job as a tech recruiter was on shaky ground, so I pivoted and started a cleaning and residential organizing company. My sweet cousin recommended my services to her friends, who hired me. With my company and reputation now connected to my friend and family circle, I had to avoid failure at all costs. Lateness threatened it all, which meant I had to find a solution.
How was the Queen of Lateness supposed to undo a lifelong habit? I started with the only thing I could think of — measuring time itself. Rather than assume how long it took me to do something, I actually tracked myself. If you’ve never done this, I can tell you the results will shock you. It shocked me to learn that grabbing coffee, putting on my jacket, walking to the car, setting up my GPS, and backing out of my driveway took 10 minutes, not zero minutes, which is the time I always allotted.
This is what got me to realize why time was such a mystery to me and other folks with ADHD. Though the clock is always ticking, we don’t often account for the little, almost automatic tasks — picking out an outfit, looking over notes before a meeting, making a quick lunch – that undoubtedly use up time. Ten minutes to get out of the house may sound like small peanuts, but when you add up all the other unaccounted-for tasks through your day, that time significantly adds up.
Time yourself and you’ll see that it takes longer than “half an hour” to go from waking up to getting out the door. Google Maps can give you a good estimate of how long it takes to get from Point A to Point B, but it can’t tell you how long it takes to park, pay the meter, walk to your destination, and get inside the building. Trust me on that one.
Step Two: Accept the Numbers
This discovery, which had been hiding in plain sight all this time, shattered my world of lateness and gave me the key to a world where punctuality was possible.
But there was one last door to unlock before I truly internalized punctuality. Though I now had proof of how long tasks really took, it somehow wasn’t enough to change my ways. I had to become willing to drop my prior assumptions and adjust to reality. I had to accept that most things will take longer than I think (or hope). I had to go from an expert bargainer with time to one who submits to it.
At first, I protested when my time estimations, freshly calibrated, told me it would take two hours to do something I assumed I could do in one hour. But that skepticism was replaced with joy when I did what time told me to – and I was early. I became the newly crowned Queen of Punctuality. Guess what this did for my reputation and my serenity? Guess what it did for my self-concept?
I’d love for you to see what this new life feels like. When you do, you will bow to me and thank me until the end of time, which is further away than you might think.
Be on Time: Next Steps
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Most neurotypical people don’t fully understand or recognize ADHD struggles — and why would they? It’s hard for people with ADHD to describe their experiences because they are so complex and all-encompassing. There’s also a false familiarity (“Everyone’s a bit ADHD!”), so neurotypical people often assume that they know what we’re describing when they have only a vague or watered-down idea.
The truth is that ADHD is genuinely debilitating at times. For example, I’ve spent all day writing this, but it was originally meant to be a 10-minute edit.
There are days when I struggle with ADHD impulsivity in ways that seemingly mess up my life, even when I’m being careful and working on managing my impulses. I take responsibility for my actions, but I’ve also beaten myself up for years over past mistakes. These blips and slips do not represent who I am, my skills, or my true character.
Neurotypical people tend to notice our mistakes first and, to a lesser degree, our ‘surprising’ success stories. What they don’t see are the mistakes and blips we stop ourselves from making. Most of our personal progress in managing our ADHD symptoms is invisible to others, but that doesn’t mean we should ignore or discount it. Even small steps in the right direction deserve recognition.
For example, I have a habit of saying things that come out the wrong way when I’m nervous. I’ll see the other person’s eyebrow go up, assume the worst, panic, and try to dig my way out. This has — and never will — work, especially at work.
To solve this, I stop, close my eyes, open them again, make eye contact, and say, “Sorry, that came out wrong, and now I feel a bit silly.” Then I smile, which is a positive cue, and ask a related question to regain the flow of the conversation.
Most people would shrug off this interaction, but when it happens, I know I’ve made progress. I try, in those moments, to recognize that I’m spending time and effort addressing ADHD traits that matter.
Impulsive mistakes don’t define me; neither do first impressions and strangers’ opinions. Over time, I’ve learned to recognize and understand the difference between a royal screw-up that will have a long-term effect on my life and things that are just normal human errors or behaviors that temporarily irked someone.
Think about your past dramas. Do you still talk to the people whose opinions kept you up at night for months? Do you even remember what you actually said? Was it really that important to you or to them?
Chances are that awkward, little mortifying moment was the funniest part of the person’s otherwise boring day. It probably made you quite endearing to them, but you’re assuming the worst because a lifetime of criticism has exacerbated your RSD and accentuated your sensitivity.
Instead, I’d encourage you to embrace and try to enjoy your silly ADHD moments for what they are. You are not the first person to giggle at a funeral or accidentally interrupt an exciting conversation because you want in. Being a bit embarrassed is quite cute, and it’s okay to be nervous and feel silly. Everyone does it, and everyone puts ‘their foot in their mouth.’ If anything, you’ve probably replaced all the stress and tension in the atmosphere, and with some humanity and joy, and that is an invisible victory unto itself.
Embracing ADHD Impulsivity: Next Steps
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We’ve all seen it. The student who inadvertently cuts off their friend mid-sentence because they have something they really, really want to say. The student who is excited and enthusiastic about today’s lesson and can’t help but blurt out responses.
With patience and a few tried-and-true strategies, you can help your student harness their enthusiasm and energy in the classroom while minimizing blurting. Use these ideas to spark your next brilliant behavior plan or classroom-management strategy.
1. Try planned ignoring. During a classroom activity, acknowledge students who raise their hands and wait to be called on. (Be sure to repeat this expectation prior to and during the lesson.) When a student who was previously blurting is now raising their hand, call on that student right away, and praise their enthusiastic efforts to contribute while following classroom expectations.
2. Three nods and a deep breath. For students who struggle with waiting their turn to contribute to a conversation (especially when it’s an exciting one that relates to their interests), encourage them to work and refine their patience muscles with a quick exercise: When the urge to blurt comes up before a friend has finished their statement, slowly and slightly nod three times and then take a deep breath before jumping in. Even if the student does end up blurting, it’s the practice of mindfully waiting that counts. This exercise also teaches students to be active listeners.
3. Use self-monitoring tools. Sometimes, students are unaware that they are blurting and how often they engage in the behavior. Self-monitoring tools can raise their awareness (without causing shame) and help control its frequency. My favorite way to use self-monitoring in the classroom is for both student and teacher to track the student’s blurt count for a lesson/period and compare results.
If the blurt tally is the same, then the student gets to pick from the big prize box for recognizing the number of times they blurted. (If the tally is off, you should reward the student anyway for making progress, perhaps by allowing them to pick a smaller prize.)
Over time, once the student’s baseline number of blurts is established, you can set clear goals around limiting those interruptions. If five is the average for a lesson, then aim for the student to blurt no more than three times a lesson. Praise and reward the student, perhaps with additional time for recess for the whole class.
4. Do an environmental check. Thinking critically about the environment in which our students learn is essential to maximize their learning and make sure everyone is on the same page with respect to the classroom rules.
Review classroom expectations frequently with your students. Make sure that the rules are clear and easy to understand, and write them on the board or keep them on a poster hanging up for all to see. Ensure that students understand when it is okay to talk softly to friends in their desk pod and when it’s time to be absolutely quiet, like during tests.
Consider seating. Put a student who blurts near your desk or away from other students who also blurt. Consider creating a designated space in your classroom that students can go to if they need to self-regulate to control blurting and other impulsive behaviors.
Don’t overlook the importance of a clutter-free space. Where is my notebook? Pencil? Last week’s homework assignment? A cleaner environment can reduce these questions, which may come out as blurting. During transition times, have your students take a few minutes to do individualized environmental check to keep organized.
Check noise levels. Soft music may calm some students, which helps with impulsivity, while others need absolute silence to avoid being “activated.” Think of what works for your students and consider using noise cancelling headphones for students who need quiet.
How to Stop Blurting: Next Steps
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When I was born in 1933, neurodivergence (along with jet aircraft, the atom bomb, and plastic bags) had yet to be. If a child’s behavior did not comply with the norms of the time, as was the case for me, it resulted in punishment, not psychoanalysis. And so I grew up thinking I was naughty, talkative, lazy, untidy, and slow. I prayed to God every night to make me “good.”
A year ago, when I was 89, my psychiatrist said to me after an evaluation, “You are definitely ADHD.” In true neurodivergent style, I blurted out, “At last — I know I’m dotty.”
I sought an evaluation after I learned, years prior, that ADHD could be inherited. My son had been sent to the school psychiatrist at the age of 7 and diagnosed as hyperactive (the term ADHD did not yet exist). Now my granddaughter has been diagnosed at the same age. Could they have inherited the condition from me? Neither my husband nor my granddaughter’s mother were anything other than neurotypical. Could I be the ADHD source?
I thought of my own parents. Mama – stable, competent, organized; always reliable and down-to-earth. Papa – creative; always trying something new. I remember him continually cracking his knuckles as he sat reading. I was his mental counterpart. Mama was sometimes embarrassed by our antics.
The more I read about ADHD, the more certain I became of my own neurodivergence.
In the year since my diagnosis, I have been mentally reliving my life, identifying all the events that pointed to neurodivergence; and I found many. Fortunately, I was interested in most of my school subjects, and passed college matriculation exams with flying colors.
I tolerated arithmetic (although I made basic errors through lack of concentration) and found geometry interesting, but never understood the meaning of algebra. None was more astonished than my math teacher when I passed it. I cherish one report card, on which she wrote, “Anne’s brain has gone to seed.”
Looking back at my employment record, I can now understand why there were some jobs that I enjoyed and excelled at, and some that bored me witless and resulted in real problems. Anything that presented challenge, variety, and interaction with other people was my forte. I was in my element as a police officer, and was sorry to leave when circumstances took me to another country. I finally found my calling in the fields of personnel and training. I looked forward to Mondays, and worked long hours, achieving five promotions in 20 years.
It was only boring, repetitive work that caused problems. I have worked at various times as a telephonist, a copy typist, and a cashier, and I can relate several unhappy episodes in my life to the lack of mental stimulation in these jobs.
My interests and hobbies have been varied, with many that I have dived into enthusiastically, but eventually dropped. These include sports (I played squash and softball, and managed my son’s little league baseball team), performance (singing, speaking, and amateur acting), sailing, pottery, driving a classic car, and embroidery.
Fourteen years ago, I was widowed. For the first time in my life I was responsible to nobody and responsible for nobody. I thought of the things I like doing, and the ways I wanted to spend the rest of my life. I would continue to be involved in the community affairs of my retirement village and pursue what were now longstanding interests in travel, photography, wildlife, wine, music, and, most of all, writing.
I have had a lifetime’s love of language – words are my favorite toys – and have dabbled in writing the occasional short story, and even one or two verses. Writing not only provides a creative outlet for my lively imagination, but it has the advantage of being an activity I could pursue as my mobility inevitably decreases.
This Is ADHD – at 90
The diagnosis and a growing knowledge about ADHD have changed my life. I no longer feel as though I’m acting a part, nor do I still need to mask my real self. It is easier than it was – though not always possible – to curb my actions. I still blurt out inappropriate comments, but I can now recognize them for what they are and apologize where it is called for.
At 90, I am now physically slow and creaky, but mentally alert. I live on my own and still drive my car. My messy house worries no one, though I manage to keep the living room relatively tidy for visitors. I embrace my neurodivergence, happy with who I am. I revel in my vivid imagination and use it to fuel my creative writing. I play the music I enjoy, singing along with it, although my voice may be cracked. I can no longer dance to the music, but I can sway to its rhythm. Now, if I forget something, or I’m late for an appointment, or I make too many typos, I can always apologize and blame my lapses on old age if I choose.
I have discovered the key to living happily with ADHD, and that is self-knowledge coupled with acceptance. That is why, after my ADHD evaluation, I walked out with a happy smile, and rejected the psychiatrist’s offer of medication. No, not for me. I’m ready to enjoy being who I am.
ADHD Later in Life: Next Steps
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What if dancing, coloring, and painting could be part of the parenting toolkit you use to regulate your child’s big, intense emotions?
For children with ADHD who have challenges with emotional dysregulation – everything from meltdowns to overwhelming feelings – creative expression can serve as an effective outlet for powerful emotions. Through creative expression, children with ADHD can tap into stress relief and mindfulness while building on their interests and talents. Creativity can also be a neurodivergent-affirming way of facilitating healthy expression for children with verbal communication challenges.
Along with other tools to help your child manage emotional dysregulation – like medication, counseling, occupational therapy, and coping skills – try the following creative activities that bring calm.
Make sculptures using clay, Play-Doh, textured slime, and/or craft materials. Tactile activities like these are great for children who seek deep pressure input to the hands and upper body.
Make simple puppets, like sock puppets or ice-pop-stick puppets, and recreate a favorite story.
Color or draw mandalas, an activity that can improve focus and attention in children with ADHD.1 Coloring and freehand drawing are also fantastic activities for practicing fine motor skills.
Make a mixed-media mood board with scrap paper, markers, crayons, pictures, stickers, and other art supplies.
Older children and adolescents can use their phone or tablet’s built-in apps to make movies and sharpen photography skills, among other creative projects. There are plenty of free creative apps, like Canva or Shuffles, for creating fun digital collages.
Emotional Regulation Through Creative Expression: More Tips for Parents and Caregivers
As you explore the right creative outlet(s) for your child, consider their sensory needs and sensitivities along with their current emotional state. You may want to hold off on certain activities that can aggravate your child (like dancing to loud music) if they’re in a dysregulated state.
Support your child’s creative expression with intentional feedback that focuses on their efforts and encourages intrinsic motivation. Instead of saying, “Your drawing is so good,” say, “You spent so much time on this project; I can tell you put lots of intention into it.”
As you help your child develop emotional regulation skills, keep these words in mind from Alysson Goodwin, Ph.D., MBA, OTR/L, an occupational therapist, advocate, and educator: “Dysregulation is simply a resource mismatch. Support for children with ADHD is helping them to develop better ways to communicate what they are feeling in their bodies and with their emotions in an objective, open, and nonjudgmental way.”
Creative Expression for Emotional Regulation: Next Steps
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I apprehensively open my prescription bottle and peer in. I pour its contents into my hand, double and triple checking my count of its contents. Dread washes over me; it’s time to get a medication refill.
The ADHD medication shortage that started in late 2022 – and still with no end in sight – has deeply and profoundly worn me down. I am exhausted. I am frustrated. I struggle immensely due to the extra time and effort I now have to invest to get the medication I need to function. Even though millions of us are affected by this shortage, I’ve felt isolated and hopelessly alone in navigating this overwhelming system that has failed us.
An Executive Function Gauntlet: The Outrageous Absurdity of Refills
I take both a long-acting and short-acting version of my ADHD medication, and have been doing so for a decade. Prior to the shortage, the process I followed to obtain medication was imperfect, but more doable than our current nightmare. I had grown accustomed to the task of getting a new prescription for each of my medications to bring to my pharmacy every month. I knew when I had to make an appointment with my doctor to request the prescriptions, and I diligently showed up to my pharmacy within the three-day refill window, as allowed by law, and was ready to wait the usual 45 minutes for both of my medications to be filled.
With the ongoing medication shortage, I only have about 10 blissful days a month where I’m not dealing with some aspect of refilling my medications. Now it’s not only a question of being within my three-day refill window but also relying on my medication to be in stock.
At every turn, obtaining the medication I need requires executive functioning – the very area that is impaired in ADHD, and for which medication, along with employing strategies and learning skills, improves. My prescriptions have gone from being filled on the same day to being filled on different days and then weeks apart. This means shifting things around to make room for more trips to the pharmacy, more phone calls to disgruntled staff, more things to complicate my day-to-day life, all while undermedicated. (As it turns out, living with impaired executive functioning sure takes a lot of executive functioning.)
More than once, I’ve been scolded by pharmacy staff for making the mistake of calling to request my prescription release one day too early. (As many ADHDers know, staying on top of dates is no easy task.) I was acridly reminded that this is a scheduled drug and that my refill is not due yet. Each time it’s happened, I say, “My apologies, thank you for your help,” silently chastising myself for messing up the dates, loathing that I have to start this process all again the next day.
I also started rationing my medication, skipping doses on weekends to make sure I could at least have medication to do my job. After a few months of this, my frustration gave way to panic when my pharmacy said it had no idea when the next shipment would arrive.
I once contacted 15 different pharmacies over three days, trying to find a location that not only had medication in stock, but that would be willing to take my prescription. Pharmacy after pharmacy told me that their location was no longer accepting new ADHD patients. One pharmacy even had the audacity to laugh at my provider when they tried to call my prescription in. This system, designed to prevent drug abuse, was now forcing me into the role of a literal drug seeker despite being on my exact same dosages for ten years – the irony of which was not lost on me.
One pharmacy was willing to take my prescriptions, but getting there and back would easily take me an hour, and they could only put me on the wait list. Another pharmacy was closer, and while they didn’t have my exact dosage in stock, they told me that they’d be able to fill my prescription if my doctor split my dose between two lower-dose pills. I hesitated, anxious to make the request because my doctor had already submitted and cancelled two sets of my prescriptions that month. I worried that the back-and-forth would flag me as a troublesome patient. Thankfully my doctor was willing to accommodate. Still, I thought to myself that this cannot be the price we pay to function.
Then there’s the work of verbally calling to release my prescriptions, which can take anywhere from three minutes to a very literal two hours on hold, only to be hung up on. I can’t just leave a voicemail to release my prescription – there is no way to confirm they received it without calling in again.
At my doctor’s appointments, on the phone with the pharmacy, and at the pick-up window, I started venting my frustrations in the form of humor. I joked that this system is an executive function gauntlet for people with ADHD – it certainly wasn’t designed with us in mind! Yet these jokes only got an occasional weary smile. Meanwhile, I simmered, knowing this “joke” was my real life.
Trapped in a Solitary, Multi-Year Riptide
I have educated myself on the shortage, reading endless articles about it. I have observed how the different agencies, producers, and regulators involved shift the blame. Yes, it is a complex system, but that does not diminish any one participant’s part in making it better or making it worse. I have written to Congress. I have listened to countless stories of the strife everyday folk endure to get their prescriptions.
Every story I hear makes me feel like each individual with ADHD is on their own little island. We’re able to send along messages in a bottle, but we’re unable to collectively make those in power recognize our stories and our pain. I am sick of feeling trapped in this riptide all by myself, subject to forces that I cannot control, powerless to take care of my own physical and mental health. I am saddened that there doesn’t seem to be a way for the 8.7 million of us with adult ADHD (and parents of children with ADHD) to collectively advocate or have a say in this process. We deserve a seat at the table.
A Seat at the Table: How We Can Make Our Voices Heard
The ADHD medication shortage cannot go on. It has caused far too much damage and pain for those of us who simply want to live and work and achieve what we are capable of by limiting the burden of this neurodevelopmental disorder.
I have done all that I can on my part – following all of the expert advice during this shortage – to independently manage my health. I am working toward medical school, and I have thought long and hard about what I’d do if I could magically fix this system. Perhaps new monthly prescriptions should only be required in the first year that a newly diagnosed patient is trying different ADHD medications and dosages. From there, documentation attesting to ADHD and the continued need for medication can be submitted to the DEA, insurance companies, and any relevant regulatory board in order for a patient to be granted the privilege to have their medication treated like any other normal, regularly prescribed medication.
Pharmacies would be able to better predict their orders of stimulant medication instead of having to turn people away with valid prescriptions because they’re already overwhelmed with managing this shortage. I do not deny that stimulant medication has potential for abuse, and a regulatory system is appropriate for this class of medications. But the bottom line is this: There must be a way for diagnosed ADHD patients who have a history of established care to be able to reliably obtain their medications.
But work must be done on all fronts. Individually, we are isolated. Yet we have power in our multitudes and in our stories. It’s time to start to #ADDUsUp. We can all be #ADHDvocatesForChange.
Share your stories of and frustrations with navigating the ongoing shortage, plus ideas for how to make the world better for neurodivergent individuals on social media using the above hashtags.
As you share your story, tag celebrities with ADHD and ADHD organizations/platforms and demand that they unabashedly call out the shortages and seek not just answers, but change.
Write to your U.S. representatives, the DEA, and the FDA, who must understand the real-life consequences of drug shortages and current policies for the millions of us who live with ADHD. Untreated or poorly treated ADHD wrecks lives, and medication is an important tool upon which we rely for our health and wellbeing. Highlight how policy at the governmental, regulatory, and healthcare system-level (including procedures at insurance companies and manufacturers/distributors of medications) directly impacts the care and wellbeing of ADHD patients.
Together we can elevate our voices, share our experiences, and demand more of our institutions and those in power. If we, a bunch of executive functioning-challenged ADHDers can get organized and start a movement, then those with power have no excuse for ignoring breaks in this system. It’s time for them to do their part, too.
ADHD Medication Shortage: Next Steps
Elizabeth (Elle) Sharrard is an aspiring medical student and a proud #ADHDvocate who hopes to empower people to use their voices to improve the world for all. Elle’s blog post inspired the creation of ADDitude’s call-to-action scripts for contacting representatives about the ongoing ADHD drug shortage.
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Twelve years ago, I embarked on a transformative psychedelics journey that opened my eyes to my true self. I did not know then that this trip into my subconscious would completely change my perception of the world, make my then-undiagnosed ADHD more manageable, and lead me to help others experience similar life-changing revelations.
On that fateful day, my psychedelic guide gave me magic mushrooms and said, “Look at the forest one last time; you will never see it the same way again.”
To say he was right would be an understatement.
I arrived with a simple intention: to get to know myself better. What emerged were aspects of myself that I never knew existed. The psychedelic experience revealed the roots of my depression and provided insight about how to regulate my emotions — a godsend for me as I struggled with intense mood swings and disorders. Whereas therapy had failed, this journey transformed me entirely.
To be clear, it was not a magical solution that solved all my problems overnight. But my psychedelic journey gave me a vision of the destination to drive toward. It filled me with an intrinsic motivation to change the patterns that were keeping me stuck.
Fast-forward 12 years, following numerous psychedelic experiences combined with therapy: I have achieved a state of emotional stability. Severe mood swings and depression are a distant memory.
I was diagnosed with ADHD last year, and I consider this revelation the last missing piece of my puzzle. Today, I find it easy to love myself for who I am. I have developed new ways to live and embrace my ADHD brain without using medication.
Helping Others Follow the White Rabbit
In 2016, I decided that I wanted to help others by becoming a psychedelic-assisted therapy facilitator. At the time, psychedelic facilitator training programs didn’t exist, so I pursued extensive training in various modalities. I trained in inner child work and trauma integration therapy. I attended workshops and seminars conducted by experts in the field of psychedelic-assisted therapy.
Since then, I have co-founded a psychedelic-assisted therapy company and guided hundreds of people through psilocybin journeys in the Netherlands, where this work is legal. The changes I have witnessed in people, especially those with ADHD and neurodiversity, have been nothing short of astounding.
Most of the people undergoing this form of therapy experience significant changes in their lives, overcome addictions and depression, transform their self-doubt, and reduce their rejection sensitivity.
It is important to say that this therapy is not for everyone, nor is it a one-size-fits-all solution. Individuals who are prone to psychosis, diagnosed with schizophrenia or bipolar disorder, or who have a family history of these conditions should abstain from this therapy.
That said, it helped me to redefine my life, and I hope it can benefit others like me.
Psychedelic Assisted Therapy: Next Steps
Alice Smeets is a neurodivergent psilocybin-assisted therapy facilitator and co-founder of A Whole New High, which offers guided, private psilocybin therapy sessions and group retreats in the Netherlands.
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White rice, white bread, ground beef, chicken fingers, French fries, and pepperoni pizza — for most of my life — and with very few exceptions — these were the only foods I ate.
From a young age, trying any food outside of this short list was a struggle like no other. I’d chew the food and try to pass it, but my throat would close, and I would gag and choke. No matter how hard I tried to swallow, I just couldn’t.
Of course, everyone thought that I was simply a picky eater. My mom learned early on that there was nothing she could do to get me to eat different foods. Unlike other parents with picky eaters, she couldn’t bribe me, give me trouble, or make me sit there until I was done with my plate. None of it worked on me, so she eventually came to terms with my limited diet, where most of the foods I ate were of the same flavor and color.
Over time, a few other foods did make it into my diet, so long as those foods were of the right brand and prepared a certain way. Fruits and vegetables definitely did not make the cut. And another thing: If foods on my plate touched, I considered my meal ruined.
If I did muster the courage to try a new food and manage to swallow it, I usually ended up getting sick. Eventually, trying new foods was no longer an option.
I struggled with my health growing up, whether it was stomach problems or a cold that would stick around for months and require trips to the emergency room. But my doctor’s visits often ended with me being told that I was a “medical mystery” because all my numbers, even my weight, were good. Though I ate few foods, the fact that my diet comprised mostly calorie-dense carbs meant that I never had any difficulties with putting on weight. If anything, I was always on the heavier side. No one could figure out what was wrong with me, and never did we think that my eating had caused all of these issues. The doctor never asked, and we never brought it up.
It wasn’t until I started Googling “how to fix my picky eating” that I learned about avoidant restrictive food intake disorder (ARFID). The more I learned, the more my eating habits and entire life made sense.
Finally! I knew this went beyond picky eating. Now all I needed to do now was learn how to manage it, right? Or so I thought. Knowing a reason, unfortunately, didn’t make it any more possible for me to try foods.
ARFID in Adults: Diagnosis and Recovery
Years after I learned about ARFID, and now in my late 20s, I checked myself into an eating disorder clinic, where I finally received a professional diagnosis. For the first time, a doctor fully examined me and determined that I’ve been severely malnourished my entire life, no matter what “the numbers” might have said. It made complete sense. I mean, I went over 25 years without consuming a vegetable.
Thus began my ARFID recovery, a journey that gave me the opportunity to travel to England to receive treatment and, later, film a documentary to create awareness around this poorly understood eating disorder, especially in adults.
In my ongoing recovery and research, I learned about a therapist who specializes in ARFID. Given his phenomenal success rate with his clients, I figured that if anyone could help me, it would be him.
Before my session, I went to the grocery store to look at a handful of foods I’d never even think of trying. It was hard, and it was scary. I had a panic attack after picking up a kiwi because the thought of consuming it was so unsettling.
A few short hours later, it was time to head to the clinic.
After I settled into a big, comfy chair and wrapped myself up in a blanket, the therapist and I started talking. To this day, I can’t fully explain or understand what he did. It felt like he spoke to my inner child who had been grasping onto a massive ball of anxiety all this time. He somehow convinced that part of me to let go.
After our talk, I walked over to a table full of foods that I’ve never tried before, or that I had eliminated from my diet, knowing that the next step was to try them. It was different this time. The table full of unknown foods no longer filled me with anxiety. In the next 24 hours, I tried more food than I had in the preceding 28 years.
One Bite at a Time
It’s been nearly four years since I’ve been in active ARFID recovery, an experience that has been harder than I imagined. By now, I expected to be eating plates full of colorful foods and enjoying a wider variety of foods, but I’m not.
It’s hard to think about where I thought I would be by now and realize that I am not even close. But when I feel discouraged, I think back to where I started. My foods can touch, I’ve added multiple foods to my diet, and I am able to swallow when trying something new. As long as I keep trying new foods, I’m better — and moving forward.
ARFID in Adults: Next Steps
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For a good chunk of my life, I suffered greatly in the friendship department. The feeling of being hopelessly abnormal started in elementary school, where, as a child with ADHD, I struggled to sit still like the other kids, feared getting called on by my teachers, nervously solved math problems on the board while everyone watched and teased, and stumbled through sports whose rules I could never quite grasp. I truly felt like I was beyond the reaches of friendship. At an early age, I was intimately familiar with intense loneliness.
I found comfort in my cherished books. If I had no one to play with, I could always lock myself away with a good book and hyperfocus on a different life through its pages. But stories, though wonderful, are no substitute for friendship.
As a parent, I struggled to fit in with other mothers. I joined local mom groups, but quickly left once I realized that I was a different kind of person than the rest. Given all of my experiences, I had no difficulty discerning by then that we wouldn’t be friends.
What Makes a Good Friend? A Dash of Neurodivergence
Lest you pity me too much, I haven’t been devoid of friendships completely. I’ve been lucky enough to make friends whom I love deeply, and who love me. Most of these friends happen to have neurodivergent traits. Some have received a diagnosis, some have not. Either way, the way we think, converse, and go about life is the same.
At this point in my life, I can often tell right away if a person is neurodivergent, and most of the time these are the people with whom I have an instant connection. Their friendship is a joyous relief. I am free to stop masking, let my guard down, and be myself. I can be as weird as I want, and they are weird right back, and we celebrate our mutual weirdness. It is wonderful.
We have great, intense conversations about our latest hyperfixations and discoveries – my favorite type of conversations. I love sharing my new knowledge and interests with my friends just as much as the next person with ADHD.
These are friends who understand my oft-messy house, forgetfulness, or sudden need to bail when I am overstimulated and need to decompress. When I’ve missed an important appointment or misplaced my child’s birthday gift, it is so comforting to vent to people who have been there, and who understand. They tell me that it is not my fault, and that I am not the only one struggling with these things.
How do I describe the pure bliss of finally meeting people who will sing along to the song playing in the grocery store, make up funny lyrics for it, and dance in the checkout line because it’s the only way to pass the time? It’s like finally being able to say, “Yes, I’m different – and that’s okay!”
I am approaching my 40s, and I’m not sure I have a single friend who is neurotypical. It’s not an intentional omission. It just so happens that most of the people I click with are neurodivergent. How lucky for me.
True Friendship: Next Steps
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I’ve never been one to shy away from the spotlight. As a child, I was known to “sermonize” from the pulpit in church, and I’d always volunteer to read out loud in class. I relished every opportunity to say something funny or personally meaningful in front of a crowd. In high school, my outgoing nature, ease in front of large crowds, and quick thinking under pressure helped me become captain of my school’s debate team. I even got to present arguments to my state’s school board.
Once I left my tiny hometown and moved to the city, I found myself gravitating toward comedy clubs. I very quickly began performing, oftentimes impromptu style, and, less than a year later, I was signed on to a local, all-female comedy show.
I’ve never considered my ADHD brain to be a hindrance in the comedy world. If anything, it’s more like a secret weapon that gives me the upper hand on stage, that magical place where bouncing, bubbling, free-thinking maniacs like us take charge and absolutely shine.
How to Do Stand-Up Comedy with ADHD: Quick Thinking to the Test
The pressure of performing to hundreds of scrutinizing ears under bright lights is not for the faint of heart. Anything can happen. Yes, anything, like forgetting your own jokes, scrambling up lines, dealing with hecklers, doing some crowd work, and stumbling onto topics that weren’t part of the set at all, which often happens for me.
While a large part of stand-up comedy is rehearsing – practicing a set over and over until you’re well-versed enough to deliver your lines, completely memorized (but not showing it) and at just the right timing – rolling with the punches is where your mastery in this craft comes through. Because, as a performer, there are no second chances; you must always be ready to roll with the punches of a one-time-take during a live set.
Somehow, every time I’m on stage, I manage to fool the audience into thinking that I have my crap together. (Joke’s on them!) How do I do it? With the help of a bulleted list that I keep on stage and occasionally glance at while performing. If I’ve forgotten a joke or scrambled up my lines, potentially disrupting the flow and organization of my set, I look at the next bullet point and find a way, on the spot, to connect the random topic I’ve stumbled upon to the next joke. The list also helps me smoothly skip to the next bit in my set if a joke doesn’t seem to land with the crowd.
It’s in these moments that my ADHD brain actually works best. When I allow myself to shift around freely and think quickly on my feet, my sets tend to feel more authentic, lucid, fluid, and complete.
It’s a big reason I enjoy crowd work. There’s a new crowd to weave through every time, meaning endless possibilities for teasing. Shall I focus on the size of an audience member’s shoes? On the choice of words they used to answer my question? On their unfortunate choice to wear a scarf during the summer or shorts during the winter? Or should I jump through all these choices?
And how about those hecklers? I try my hardest not to “punch-down” as a comedian, but, hey, no one’s perfect! The best thing to do in this scenario is to keep the show light and quickly find a distraction that will satiate the heckler until security can escort them out. No problem for me!
Perhaps another reason I gravitate toward a live audience is because performing offers the opportunity to express who I really am and to be truly seen. Sometimes I even feel more like myself when I am presenting or performing on the stage. Because it’s where my brain, funny enough, is free to behave in a way that isn’t always appreciated away from the spotlight.
Stand-Up Comedy and ADHD: Next Steps
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As a chatty kid, I saw myself (I’m embarrassed to say) in Donkey, the talkative motor-mouth and sometimes annoying character from Shrek who could not and would not shut up. I suppose the rest of my family and friends, to my chagrin, also saw the uncanny similarities between myself and that hyperactive little sidekick.
“Donkey, You Have the Right to Remain Silent. What You Lack Is the Capacity.”
Though I excelled in classes that relied heavily on participation and creative thinking, my enthusiasm – in the form of constant hand-raising and oversharing – wasn’t always appreciated. I still remember being absolutely mortified when a teacher I loved politely shushed me in front of the class and said, “Alright, too many side comments.”
Some of my classmates thought I talked and talked for attention. What they didn’t understand was that my oversharing and chattiness – symptoms of an overactive ADHD brain – felt compulsive more than anything. How else was I to release the overwhelming tsunami of thoughts that flooded my mind? I was brimming with ideas, stories, rants, and opinions about everything.
I did have one fan, my mom, who listened patiently and enthusiastically to whatever came out of my mouth. Or at least she tried to listen to it all. (At some point, she did need a bit of me-time.) She had the brilliant idea of buying me a tape recorder into which I could pour my stories, rants, and thoughts. Before I knew it, I had completely filled six tapes with audio. It was a gift that changed the course of my life.
An Outlet for Never-Ending Thoughts
Talking into a recorder absolutely served as a healthy outlet for my active mind, as my mom intended, but it became much more than that for me. It led to my next creative avenue: writing.
Recording my thoughts helped me organize, remember, and build upon them enough to put them down on paper. Those thoughts racing through my head became first place prizes in school writing competitions and, today, an average of 300 pages a year of journaling (no kidding!), published short stories, poems, articles, and even skits and scripts for stand-up comedy.
Turns out that there was nothing wrong with having a wild sea of thoughts raging inside of me. I wasn’t doomed to be annoying or overbearing, as I had feared. Through the right lens and care, I could make like an alchemist and turn each drop of the raging ocean into gold.
When my boyfriend recently asked me, “Where do you get all your ideas? Aren’t you worried that you’re going to run out?” I shrugged. “No, actually, I’m not worried about running out of thoughts,” I said, borrowing a line from Shrek. “It’s getting ‘em to shut up that’s the trick!”
Excessive Talking in Children with ADHD: Next Steps
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Death is terrifying, in part, because it’s impossible to imagine ‘nothing.’ Instinctually, our brains and bodies actively reject the unknown. I suspect this is why so many cultures and religions have formed beliefs and stories about the afterlife — to give death some boundaries, some purpose, and some meaning. Still, death is arguably the only thing in life you can’t reject, escape, or deny. You can only try and avoid it for now.
Still, I ride a motorbike every day, knowing that the only laws that I cannot defy are physics and fate. One mistake and I’m injured — or worse. It may be a dark and uneasy truth, but it’s also quite liberating.
So why is a machine that I know may maim or kill me one day such a vital part of my life?
I think it has something to do with my ADHD. Riding gives me pure peace of mind, total focus, and a rush of adrenaline. There’s a single task and purpose: To get from Point A to Point B alive. It’s urgent for the sake of everything and nothing, making every journey and movement matter with an energy that defies fatigue. There simply is no room for error and no safety net beyond my reactions and skills as a rider.
I can feel the danger in the air pushing back on me as I choose to accelerate, a quiet demonstration of the immense power beyond my daring. Nothing else matters. No distractions, just me, a little music in my ears, and the ribbon of asphalt and the obstacles on it before me as I grip an explosive rocket nestled snugly against me. It puts me right there, right on the edge of oblivion. Every. Single. Time. (It makes grocery shopping rather dramatic, too.)
Something about me changed after I got on my first bike at age 14. I truly loved that feeling, the rollercoaster with no end. I needed it. I obsessed about bikes for seven years until I finally persuaded my parents to let me get one. They were beautiful and dangerous, like diving eagles. I’ve since ridden bikes through tropical storms and down hellish, tattered roads — never once wishing I’d bought a car.
When my last bike was stolen and destroyed, my heart shattered. I mourned her like a lost love. I felt naked somehow like the thieves had taken more than just a vehicle, but a part of me — a part that gives me license to feel really and truly free.
Risky Behaviors Help ADHD Brains Thrive
We live in a sensible society that can feel very restrictive for people with ADHD. Our society relies on rules and a degree of moderation to function. Everything is controlled, predictable, economically prosperous, safe, and in good order. I don’t have a big problem with rules; most make a lot of sense. However, this isn’t how our ADHD brains thrive. Rules discourage the risky behaviors that are like catnip for our dopamine-starved brains.
Every Sunday, I teach one-on-one swim lessons for children with autism and ADHD. In the two years I’ve been doing it, I’ve noticed that most of my neurodivergent students quickly outstrip their neurotypical peers once they’re allowed to skip ahead and face deep water directly. I’ve been tutoring a five-year-old girl with autism who now swims 25-meter lengths. She thrives because nothing I was trained to do in standard lessons worked, so I jumped in the water with her to keep her safe. With her mother’s consent, we bypassed the centre’s depth limit (The pool manager names his headaches after me!), and I gave her tasks to do while I followed her around the deep end. She instinctively adapts to mitigate the danger. She’s perfectly capable and happy, but if I teach her at the shallow end, it’s a completely different experience, and she won’t engage.
Another time, I needed to teach a student with ADHD how to tread water to ensure he could survive out of his depth. After a few lessons together, I jumped into the deep end of the pool with a float and told him to fetch the rubber duck beside me. At first, he was a bit freaked out over the depth. Then he looked into the deep and said, “Give me a minute. I’ve not got Lord Duckington yet!” He got the duck, and he trod water for a full minute. Challenging him like that forced him to innovate, which he did successfully. He’s only eight years old, but what a man.
When the only real restrictions are the irrefutable, unforgiving, and yet totally fair and logical laws of nature, it puts everything else into perspective. The laws of nature are a beautiful thing for neurotypical minds. It’s literally sink or swim. Death, or the threat thereof, provides the ultimate boundary. In doing so, it simplifies things, making the often confusing (and sometimes trivial) reality of our broad social and economic structures so much easier to rationalize and understand.
Learn to ride a motorbike or swim (safely, with witnesses, please!) a little out of your depth (safely, or at least with witnesses, please!), and you’ll see what I mean.
Risky Behaviors and ADHD: Next Steps
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At the dawn of each new year, we set ambitious goals, buoyed by the feeling we can tackle anything — and now is the time to do it. Then the daily grind sets in, our initial enthusiasm wanes, and the novelty of new goals fades. Or we miss a goal, or a plan goes sideways, and we want to throw it out the window, along with any progress made.
This isn’t because of a lack of commitment or desire but a difference in how our brains work. Setting goals that work for ADHD brains requires understanding, self-acceptance, and reasonable expectations. Here are a few tips on extending that New Year momentum.
How to Set Goals and Achieve Them with ADHD
1. Set Goals Aligned with Your Values
Before diving head-first into goal setting, consider what’s important to you. By starting with what truly matters, you’ll select more meaningful goals, increasing the likelihood of following through with them even when your momentum wanes. Reflect on your values through journaling or explore lists of common ones, like Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead List of Values.
2. Reflect on Feelings or Themes You Want to Experience
Instead of focusing on specific tangible goals, determine the desired emotions or themes you want to feel, such as ‘rested,’ ‘inspired, ‘creative,’ or ‘balanced.’
3. Swap Outcome-Oriented Goals for Process-Oriented Goals
We can feel frustrated and discouraged when we set — but don’t achieve — goals (even if it is due to factors out of our control). For example, if you set a goal to lose 20 pounds and only lose 10 pounds, yet you show up to the gym consistently and eat healthy, you still end up ‘failing.’ Instead, set goals around improving a skill or engaging in an activity regularly rather than a specific outcome.
Year-long goals can quickly sputter and stall for adults with ADHD who crave immediate rewards. Setting seasonal or quarterly goals keeps the end in sight, allowing you the flexibility to change your goals as priorities shift throughout the year. It also forces you to reflect on your progress more frequently.
5. Visualize and Keep Goals Visible
If you’re anything like me, you forget your goals pretty quickly. Creating a visual or auditory reminder can be a powerful motivator to keep goals fresh in your mind. I like to make a digital vision board with images, quotes, and items representing my values and goals for the year. Place these visuals around your room, in your wallet, or as your phone’s background. Here are some of my favorite vision board templates from Canva.
6. Create a Resiliency Plan
Take some time to jot down ideas on potential obstacles that may pop up and strategies for getting back on track. Coming up with a plan when you’re calm and in a good headspace is far easier than when chaos or stress ensues.
7. Include the ‘Baby Steps’
Nobody runs without learning to walk, and nobody walks without crawling first. For each goal you set, write down an alternative ‘baby step.’ For example, if your goal is 30 minutes on the treadmill daily, the ‘baby step’ could be putting on your workout clothes each day or going to the gym. This approach ensures you keep moving forward, even in small ways.
Incorporate accountability into your goal-setting plan from the start. Find a check-in buddy or a partner for activities like going to the gym and regularly get in touch with them.
9. Challenge Your ADHD Brain
We know that ADHD brains get bored quickly. Set mini-goals or try new activities to keep your interest piqued and cater to your need for novelty. For example, learn to do a handstand, hike every two-mile path in your city, or teach yourself how to Samba.
10. Stay Flexible and Kind
Above all, remember that the goal is to live your best life, not to achieve maximum productivity. Be gentle with yourself and allow for flexibility in your plans.
Understanding and working with our unique brains is key to maintaining the New Year momentum. We can make consistent progress toward our goals by focusing on our values, embracing flexibility, and celebrating small victories. Remember, it’s not about perfection; it’s about progress, self-acceptance, and finding joy in the journey. Here’s to a year of growth, self-discovery, and sustained motivation!
How to Set Goals: Next Steps
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We all have bad days. Sometimes our day starts on a sour note when we wake up late and have to rush to school or work. From there, daily obligations only seem to push the day tumbling downhill. Mix in stress with ADHD emotional dysregulation, and you have irritability and grumpiness that seem impossible to shake. A bad mood, especially if prolonged, can lead to regretful choices that perpetuate problems and sustain a bad mood.
Some parts of your day are simply out of your control. What is in your control is easing yourself out of a bad mood to make your day go better. Use my “SMILE” method to decrease stress and help you move into a calmer state.
Sincere gratitude. Remind yourself of the positive in your life. Think of a person, place, thing, or experience that you truly appreciate. Remember what really matters to you. Consider making visual cues (photos, videos, drawings) to remind you of the things for which you are grateful. When you think of the good that surrounds you (and even get a “smile” out of it), you’ll see that your bad mood is not a constant.
Mindfulness. Give yourself a mental break from a bad mood by practicing mindfulness. Focus on your breathing; notice how the air fills your lungs and how it feels to fully exhale. Notice what your senses are detecting in the moment and name what you hear, see, smell, taste, and touch. Visualize a calm and safe place where you feel happy and content. Taking a minute to slow down and be present can help interrupt negative thought cycles.
Investigate your thoughts. Explore what is really going on that is contributing to your bad mood. What happened? How are you framing the situation? Are your thoughts actually helping or making you feel worse? What could be a more useful approach right now? What do you really need (not want) to help you right now? Answering these questions can help you redirect your thoughts to more effectively work through the bad mood.
Listen to your favorite music. Cue up the songs that lighten your mood. Hum the melody, sing along, and tap your foot to the music. Focus your attention on the rhythm and lyrics that make you feel good. What does the song remind you of? What are positive times that you associate with the music? Let the sounds surround you and lift your spirits.
Exercise. Release some of that bad mood through movement. Get the blood flowing with stretches or calisthenics. Take a walk or go for a jog outside to get fresh air. Try dancing or skipping to lighten your mood in a playful way. Do a laborious chore that requires lots of movement. Exercise can help both your mind and your body get to a better place.
Get Out of a Bad Mood: Next Steps
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Every day, I find myself staring at a giant mountain of things I need to do. Oddly, only some of what’s on the so-called mountain is real, important, and valuable. Most of it is a lot of airy nothing, the result of funky thinking on my part.
Before I start my climb up the mountain, I stand at the base and squint up to the tippy top. If I can just make it up there by the end of the day, I’ll win. I say this every day, but I’ve almost never gotten to the top of that mountain. I’ve rarely won.
Why? Is it because I’m an amateur mountain climber? Are we talking El Capitan here? What’s the deal?
The deal is that my to-do lists — whether for today, this year, or my life — don’t always reflect what I can do or what I want to do. I would need five of me to clear off my typical daily to-do list. My to-do list for life reads more like what five different versions of me want for my life, not just the single living, breathing me.
Why My To-Do Lists Go Awry
Sometimes, I lack clarity on what I truly need or want to do — the world, after all, is a big mountain of endless options. Other times, I’m cognitively inflexible and can’t switch gears when life asks me to, so I miss out on the optimal trail. I’m left with a lengthier trek and a bigger mountain. Still other times it’s perfectionism that comes through, enabling my mountain to grow. Finally, my old friend Time Blindness comes for a visit (actually, she lives with me permanently, because that’s ADHD) and suddenly my current task stretches like the Appalachian Mountain range.
Just kidding. It’s cold on my mountain, and lonely, especially when the trek involves fretting, scrambling, forgetting, rushing, and rarely arriving at satisfaction.
How to Shrink To-Do Mountains
So, what are my options? Am I destined to be stuck climbing interminable mountains forever?
I am not. I have the option to be a curator of my time, effort, and intentions.
Trust me, I get you. But I’ve found that noticing what’s going on in me in the moment is the first step to whittling down my mountain to the approachable, achievable, well-suited hill that makes my life happier and calmer.
Each day, when I wake up to face what appears to be Mt. Behemoth, I kick it with my toe to see if it’s real. I ask myself, “Steph, how much of what you insist you need to do today genuinely needs to be done?”
This is when the mountain raises a suspicious eyebrow because it knows that this question could lead to its shrinking. It’s a big clue that I’m at the juncture of owning my decisions or giving that power away. We each hold our position, but only one of us can be in charge. Who will it be? Me, or this mountain of tasks, goals, and dreams that nobody, even in an alternate universe, could ever accomplish in a reasonable amount of time?
“Since I’m writing a story with a happy ending here, it’s going to be me. But, full disclosure, the mountain sometimes gets the best of me. However, I’ve gotten so much better over time at calling the shots.”
The first trick is to say, “This thing doesn’t need to get done today.” The second trick is to believe this deep to your core. When you reach advanced-level mountain shrinking, you’ll learn that some tasks can simply be chucked off the mountain.
This is because there are channels of prioritization. One channel is for things that need to get done — the when, where, and how. The other channel is for things that need to get punted from our self-expectation mountain. When these channels become murky, climbing our mountain is no walk in the park.
But what is a lovely walk in the park? It’s the serenity that comes when I narrow down my daily priorities to a list that my earlier self would have laughed at. “Are you kidding? That’s a tiny list!” she’d have said. Old me would have fretted through her day and sulked at only being able to cross off, say, three things. Present me, though, feels empowered for crossing off the same number of items.
What I’ve noticed about adjusting to tinier, more doable plans is that as I accomplish what I set out to do and rack up the wins, I’ve grown a palpable confidence that says, “You can realize your dreams.” It’s hill-sized goals that lead us to mountains of accomplishment and happiness.
To-Do Lists Overwhelm: Next Steps
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I recall attending a school 504 meeting, as a single parent of a child with inattentive ADHD, where a panel of teachers, counselors, and administrators all sat across from me. I had a sinking sense that I was being judged for my child’s behavior and struggles. I felt like I was on trial. At the same time, I felt the pressure of how important the meeting was for gathering information on my child’s progress and advocating for beneficial changes to their education.
It turns out I was not alone. As a mental health educator and psychoeducator today, I often hear from parents and caregivers about the distress they feel ahead of meeting with their child’s educational support team.
School meetings are critical because they allow us as parents to to gather needed information and promote beneficial changes to our child’s education. Yet, we can feel powerless at times. We may also vicariously experience the trauma and shame associated with disability during these meetings.
So, how can we best support ourselves during an IEP/504 meeting (or any advocacy meeting) so we can fully support our kids? Here are some tips I’ve gathered from families, professionals, and my own parenting experiences over the years:
1. You don’t have to do it alone. IEP and 504 meetings can feel even more daunting if you feel isolated. Remember that you can bring a trusted family member or healthcare advocate with you. Beyond being a calming presence, a relative or trusted friend can help by making sure that you express your key points, stay on track, and ask pointed questions. Your support person can also help you debrief after the meeting.
2. Write out your questions and concerns ahead of time. Whether you use a phone, laptop, notepad, or an old-school clipboard, jot down any questions that come to mind well before your meeting. Chances are that you have many concerns. Writing down your thoughts will help you to keep organized and to fit your important concerns into the limited time allotted. Also, take notes during the meeting if you want to remember details and worry that you won’t!
3. Go ahead and ask your questions. Just like you might have heard from your favorite teacher growing up: No question is a stupid question. Ask questions, seek clarification, and gather information without worrying about feeling self-conscious. It’s your right as a parent.
4. Remember that everyone on the IEP team is trying their best. Most educational professionals are spread thin, overworked, underpaid, and burnt out. Keeping this in mind should help you to communicate with kindness and compassion. If you’re concerned about nervousness giving your speech an unintended edge or otherwise hindering effective communication, try roleplaying with a supportive friend who will give you honest feedback.
5. Commit to following up. You can request a review of your child’s plan at any time. Make sure you collect the contact info of all those in attendance at the meeting so that you can reach out if a new issue arises. Don’t be afraid to express that the plan isn’t working and needs revamping if need be.
6. Remember, Rome wasn’t built in a day. Be a fierce advocate for your child, but also keep in mind that educational advocacy is a process that takes trial, error, and refinement over time.
Parenting a child with an atypical neurotype isn’t always easy. Advocacy isn’t, either. The silver lining? We grow through meeting challenges. We become stronger and develop more confidence as we become used to the role of advocate. In fighting for your child’s needs, you may find a voice you didn’t know you had.
IEP Meeting Anxiety: Next Steps
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