Do you have a history of shoplifting?
Do you start things without reading the directions first?
Do you finish other people’s sentences?
These are the kinds of questions the psychiatrist who diagnosed my attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder — whose initials I thought I’d get tattooed on my arm because I love him so much — I was asked from a computer screen three years ago, a week into the pandemic lockdown.
That meeting was full of surprises, not only because at almost 40, I felt quite sure that I knew everything about myself, but also because I is usually the one asking people these questions.
As an educational psychologist, I’ve taught people with ADHD, researched them, led workshops about how their brains work, and diagnosed dozens of them. I sat in an office across from dozens of parents and children, detailing the strengths and challenges that come with ADHD. Over the years and years, nsometimes I wondered if my own rapid thinking and speech, my tendency to swing between overly ambitious plans or no plans at all, and my history of saying the wrong thing have any connection to ADHD, the very thing I announced in clients as my top area of expertise.
Why? Not because I’m an idiot (although I sometimes leave my keys in the fridge), but because everything I’ve learned about ADHD is wrong.
In the countless hours I’ve spent studying ADHD, dense theoretical books about ADHD, and practical books full of suggestions to help people with ADHD, I rarely find myself which is reflected. I saw pictures of boys jumping out of their seats and struggling to make friends, ADHD as a chaos, something that debilitates people unless they have access to a steady supply of Ritalin. I didn’t see myself.
Then one day, a friend, fellow mother and one of the smartest people I know, told me that she had received an ADHD diagnosis and that it had changed her life. He straight up said he thought I had ADHD too and forced me to get an evaluation. I agreed, but never thought for a moment that a professional would diagnose me. I know the assessments, I know the standard and I know myself, right?
Upon receiving my diagnosis, I learned two critical things about ADHD that greatly influenced my understanding of myself and the people I worked with. The first is that ADHD exists in girls and women, but it presents differently. For example, the “H” in ADHD, which stands for “hyperactivity,” classically conjures up the image of a child bouncing off walls.
Although I have trouble sitting still, my hyperactivity often manifests in the form of rapid thinking and talkativeness. If I have an idea, my mind runs through a thousand related ones. When people talk, I often end their sentences or cut them off, not because I don’t care, but because it seems like ages since I thought about what they were going to say. I’m a monologue. cut me off I explain things, to my husband’s dismay, in different ways before I feel I’ve made my point. There are positives to all of this, of course — incredible productivity at times, effective brainstorming, lively conversations.
Another example of how ADHD can manifest is impulsivity, which doesn’t make it into the moniker but is in many ways the hallmark of ADHD. In some of the ADHD-diagnosed children I’ve worked with, this takes the form of doing things without thinking, as well as grabbing or hitting. To young people and adults, this sometimes looks like extreme risk-taking — experimenting with too many drugs or driving too fast.
But for girls and women, who are more likely to internalize things compared to boys and men, this impulsive behavior can get internalized. Girls with ADHD are more likely to have anxiety or self-esteem issues, to self-harm or attempt suicide, and to binge eat.
The second thing I learned is that girls and women are more likely to compensate for their ADHD-related challenges and appear to be functioning better than they really are. I realized that I had made incredible efforts over the years to keep myself afloat. Because I was socialized, more than my male family members, to please and be liked, to be helpful and social, I continued. But all that masking took its toll. Becoming a mother only widened the gap between what was expected of me and what my brain was actually capable of, until swimming across it became unbearable.
One of the other reasons I believe my diagnosis took so long, even for someone who has seen countless therapists and psychiatrists, is that I am not alone in my misconceptions about in ADHD. Many ADHD questionnaires, which are sometimes the only piece of evidence a professional uses to give or withhold a diagnosis, don’t really cover the ADHD manifestations that girls like me show. Many are denied diagnoses for this reason, or on the grounds that they are “too successful” to actually have what is widely considered a disorder. It does not consider the ways in which women are taught to compensate and cover up such behaviors. Rates of adult ADHD are increasing, and this increase is likely due in part to women learning more about what ADHD can look like for them.
In classic ADHD fashion, and because I continue to write and teach about ADHD in various settings, I couldn’t keep quiet about my diagnosis. I tell my story as a call for humility among professionals ― that we still have so much to learn about conditions like ADHD. Things I don’t think twice about, like how I don’t stay in one place while leading a three-hour seminar, or how I drag my feet on one assignment but finish another like a fire under me, now it’s moments that are easy to take back. with my colleagues and my family, with my children and I talk openly about the wonderful and confusing side of my “ADHD brain.”
And of course, as I share my story, other women tell me theirs. The tribe is deep and growing, and includes many wise women who have given me windows into my own experience — like the writer Joan Wildercartoonist Dani Donovancoach and podcast host Katy Weber, and therapists KC Davis.
Everyone tells me that my daughter, who will be 5 next month, is my double. He is brave, sharp and social. He knew all the lyrics to an entire Carly Rae Jepsen album, and when we put it on, his whole body lit up. Like me, he can turn a mundane task like putting on his shoes and socks into a journey of epic proportions. There’s always a question to ask, an idea to entertain, a hummingbird outside the window to acknowledge. I don’t know if he has ADHD too, but unlike a few years ago, it’s not something I fear.
Slowly, women are changing the narrative by seeking out knowledgeable professionals and good reviews, embracing partners and support groups, humor and empowerment, and, through it all, finding relief.
Sarah Wheeler is a writer, educational psychologist and consultant based in Oakland, California. He publishes the online newsletter Momspreading.
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