A quick personal update

I was recently diagnosed with ADHD at 38 years old.

If you know me IRL or online, it may seem like I’ve got my shit together, but I really don’t. You may even doubt I have this condition, and think I’m just making it up to get attention or have an excuse for being inconsistent around here. That’s totally fine with me.

Despite all my achievements in life, I’ve always felt different and that something was wrong with me, or that I lack something other people have. That high-functioning, high-achieving, perfectionist mask I didn’t realize I’ve been wearing my entire life is finally unraveling. And it’s ugly.

Most days I cycle through feelings of overwhelm and paralysis. My executive dysfunction is at its peak, my attention span non-existent. I tend to chase cheap dopamine all day, everyday. I struggle to get things done for myself and feel helpless most of the time.

But what dominates everything else is anger. I’m angry at myself for not being on top of things, for missing deadlines that matter to me, for starting hobbies and projects with enthusiasm only to abandon them halfway through. I’m angry at the world and the circumstances I’ve been put through — at a system that rewards a very specific type of brain function and makes the rest of us feel broken.

And then there’s shame. The shame is perhaps the hardest emotion to untangle because it’s been my constant companion for so long I barely recognized it as separate from myself. It’s the voice that says I’m lazy when I can’t start a task, that I’m careless when I make mistakes others don’t, that I’m weak when I need more support than seems reasonable. The shame tells me that everyone else figured out how to be an adult, and I’m still pretending.

My former therapist and psychiatrist refused the idea that I might have ADHD when I brought it up a few years ago. They were convinced I was just depressed and anxious because of my high-pressure job. Looking back, I can see how my symptoms were dismissed partly because I didn’t fit the hyperactive stereotype — I was the quiet kid who daydreamed, the student who could hyperfocus on interesting subjects but struggled to complete assignments.

I’ve experienced cycle after cycle of burnout throughout my career, and I don’t think I’ve ever fully recovered. Each time, I told myself I just needed to try harder, be more organized, develop better systems. What I didn’t realize was that I was fighting against my own brain’s wiring.

I’ve realized what has motivated me to appear “normal” all this time is fear. Fear of punishment for not getting good grades. Fear of being called stupid, lazy, and incompetent. Fear of being fired from my job. Fear of letting people down. Fear of not fitting in. Fear of getting found out. Fear that people will know I’m an impostor.

This fear became my engine, driving me to overcompensate in ways that were ultimately unsustainable. I worked twice as hard to produce the same results as my peers, developed elaborate systems to manage what should have been simple tasks, and became a perfectionist not out of high standards but out of terror that any mistake would reveal my fundamental inadequacy.

What pains me the most is thinking about the what-could-have-beens. If I’d been diagnosed and treated earlier in life, who would I be today? All that effort and constant struggle to overcompensate for what I was “lacking” could have been avoided. Those missed opportunities in my career and personal growth, including the mistakes I keep repeating and never learning from because I didn’t know I was being held back by this condition.

I grieve for the younger version of myself who thought she was broken, who developed coping mechanisms that were really just elaborate forms of self-punishment. I wonder about the creative projects I never started because I was afraid I wouldn’t finish them, the risks I didn’t take because I was already using all my energy just to keep up with basic expectations.

So why am I sharing this with you, my dear readers? Selfishly, it feels good to finally write about what I’ve been going through and to put it out there. There’s relief in naming what has been unnamed for so long.

I’ve also been spending a lot of time on ADHD subreddits lately, reading stories about high-achieving women who’ve been diagnosed later in life — women in high-ranking positions at Fortune 500 companies, female founders, PhD’s, etc. etc, which makes me feel a little less alone. I wanted to share my story with you in case you're going through something similar, and hope that you feel seen.

I’m still figuring out what comes next. The diagnosis is both an ending and a beginning — the end of not knowing why things felt so hard, and the start of learning new ways to work with my brain rather than against it. I’m exploring medication, therapy, and trying to rebuild my relationship with productivity and self-worth.

Most days are still overwhelming. But now when I struggle to focus or feel paralyzed by a simple task, I have context instead of just shame. I’m learning that accommodating my brain’s needs isn’t giving up or making excuses — it’s finally treating myself with the same compassion I’d offer anyone else facing a challenge.

You are my community, and for that I am grateful. Thank you for listening, for sticking around, and for creating a space where stories like this can be shared.

-Angela