What I Learned After Getting Diagnosed with ADHD at 27
The first few times I took Adderall, I cried.
Not because it made me emotional or because of some intense side effect. I cried because I had never realized how loud my brain had been — for so long.
Living With the Voice That Says
“You Should Be Doing More”
I would be on the couch, doom-scrolling, screaming inside my head to get up and just do something. The dishes are piled up. I want them done. But the idea of getting up feels impossible, painful even — like I’ve fused with the furniture. And then someone walks in and asks why I didn’t do the thing I said I would do. And shame and guilt rush in before they even finish the sentence.
“You’re so lazy.”
Looping in my head again.
This is just a glimpse of what life with undiagnosed ADHD looked like.
I Got Good Grades — But They Cost Me
I did well in school, but not without help. My cousin (who’s basically my built-in accountability partner) went to school with me from preschool through high school. She reminded me about homework, due dates, and even re-taught me things I spaced out on.
College was a rude awakening. No one was there to keep me on track. My anxiety helped me stay afloat for a while, but I was studying something I didn’t even love. I procrastinated constantly—failed neuroscience. And somehow still wrote A+ papers the night before they were due — reinforcing habits I knew were unsustainable. I finished undergrad. I finished grad school, but I was always burnt out, always ashamed, and always wondering why I couldn’t just do the thing.
When It “Wasn’t That Bad”… Until It Was
I wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until I was 27. At that point, I’d already been a practicing therapist for a few years — working with lots of kids and teens with Autism or ADHD. Their parents would describe behaviors like forgetfulness, distraction, fidgeting, emotional sensitivity… and I’d nod along thinking, yeah, kids do that. I did that. I figured if I made it to adulthood without a diagnosis, it must not have been that serious.
Spoiler: It was.
Even after I was officially evaluated and received a report that read: Diagnosis: F90.2 – ADHD, Combined Type, I still doubted it. For almost a year, even as a therapist who works with neurodivergent clients, I internalized the stigma. I told myself I didn’t really have ADHD. That maybe I was just good at faking it. That perhaps I didn’t “deserve” the help. What if I made it up? What if I just wanted an excuse to be lazy Lazy. That word has haunted me my whole life.
At 27, I finally had a diagnosis. I was prescribed Adderall. I had tried other medications — Sertraline and Wellbutrin — and they helped a little. But this was different.Suddenly, I could follow a thought from beginning to end. Conversations felt easier. Focus didn’t feel like a fight. My brain felt… clear. Human. Adderall Changed Everything.
Would You Say That to a Client?
If a client said to me, “What if I made it up? What if I’m just lazy?”. I wouldn’t waste time on the label. I’d say:
“Forget the diagnosis. Let’s look at your symptoms. Are they interfering with your life? And did the medication help them? If so, maybe that’s all the proof you need.”
I’d never call my client lazy. So why was I doing it to myself?
You Don’t Have to Struggle Quietly
I’m not writing this to promote Adderall. I’m writing this because I know how lonely it can feel to struggle silently with something you don’t fully understand — especially when you look like you’re doing okay on the outside.
This post is for the parents of neurodivergent kids. For the teens questioning their attention or motivation. For the adults, wondering if they missed something all along.
You’re not broken.
You’re not bad.
And you’re not alone.
There Are Things I Love About My ADHD, Too
Honestly? There are parts of ADHD I’ve come to appreciate:
I see solutions others miss
When I’m in a flow state, I create
I’m funny (unclear if that’s the ADHD, but I’m claiming it)
I’m an expert last-minute crammer
I care deeply, feel fully, and imagine freely
Adderall helped me function, however, the diagnosis helped me understand myself and that understanding has made all the difference.
What Do You Love About Your Diagnosis?
Say it out loud. Send a message. Tell someone. Part of dismantling stigma is giving each other permission to tell the truth. And the truth is: support is not a weakness.
It’s a gift we all deserve.
