How Did No One Realize I Had ADHD?

Seriously, how did we not figure this out earlier?

I was never very good at math. My C-average and remedial math classes weren’t a result of a fundamental inability to understand numbers. No, the solution to that problem was simple: I found math boring. Instead of listening to a lecture or doing my homework, I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. At no point in my K-12 experience did anyone call me out for it. How could they? I looked like I was doing the work.

Because I wasn’t a bother (and a girl, if we’re being real about it), everyone seemed to decide that it was okay that I was bad at math. Wasn’t I excelling everywhere else? Wasn’t I crushing my AP classes? Didn’t I have extracurriculars? What did it matter if a girl was bad at math? Her husband would be in charge of the finances anyway. If Bailey was bad at math, it was because she was genetically designed to be bad at math.

In hindsight, they were kind of right. My brain is wired differently.

I wouldn’t figure that out until I was almost 30.

Many of you, gentle listeners, have a story like this. You were so obviously in need of some type of support, but because your symptoms didn’t manifest a certain way, you were overlooked and had to figure out how to soldier on and wonder why life seemed so much easier for everyone else.

One might point the finger at the parents for the oversight. To be fair, even if my mother did think something was wrong with me, we wouldn’t have been able to afford to get me tested, medications, or extra school support. As with many Southerners from blue-collar families, we just get on with it. Besides, I was a good kid (thanks to a…colorful upbringing that my therapist calls “C-PTSD”) who read a lot. How was my mom to know that disassociation was a symptom of ADHD?

A big part of why I think I got through college pretty much unscathed, I think, is because of my routine. Every day had a similar flow with its own individual task, and each week had its own structure. I always knew where I had to be and when I had to be there. The only time I failed to thrive was during the summer breaks. My mom called them my “summer blues.” For some reason, I would be despondent for the first two weeks. I read a lot again; sometimes, I cried for reasons that felt outside my control. Eventually, as my days regained their “feel,” my mood stabilized.

When I went to my first master’s program, I flourished. Somehow, the full school load, writing, job, and volunteer work (all totaling 60-70 hours of work but definitely not paying for it) was a breeze. As long as my brain was stimulated, I was golden.

After graduation and moving to Boston to start a new life, I had a solid schedule, new friends, and a new city to discover. Everything was going great until the pandemic hit, locked me and my housemates up, and changed the world. All of my routines? Gonzo, baby.

And boy, did it fuck me up. It fucked a lot of us up. There were days when I would zone out at my desk for hours.

I’m not sure when the videos started to find their way to me or how I watched them, but suddenly, I was seeing other women talk about ADHD and how it presents differently for them than in men.

• You’re prone to making errors because of inattention.

• You have trouble staying focused and on-task.

• You often seem like you’re not paying attention when others talk (you “zone out” or have what’s known as a “thousand-yard stare”).

• You can start projects easily but have trouble following through and completing them.

• You have difficulty organizing and setting priorities (especially with projects or tasks that involve multiple steps).

• You dislike or avoid boring or tedious tasks, such as busy work, chores, or paperwork.

• You’re prone to losing, misplacing, or forgetting things.

• You’re easily distracted by what’s happening around you or by your own thoughts.

• You’re forgetful or absentminded in your daily routine and may forget appointments, to pay your bills, etc.

I remember thinking about my ability to organize, my follow through, and my routine. I was really good at those things, so maybe I was lazy, and the pandemic showed me the truth. So, as I had been taught, I soldiered on and found ways to cope. For instance, I started putting on my shoes when I “went” to work because it made focusing easier. Not sure what that’s about (heavy use of the sarcastic tone there).

I also started journaling—after all, we were living through unprecedented times—and keeping track of my mood. Meanwhile, I kept struggling with my daily life, kept learning about ADHD through articles and videos, and kept feeling like nothing was ever going to change.

At some point—and I wish I could tell you exactly when, but time blindness is real, and the lockdown years feel like one endless yesterday—I turned to my partner and said, “I think I have ADHD. I want to talk to a doctor about meds.”

Of course, getting in to see a PCP for referral in the 2022 era was still difficult, but I was steady. I waited and collected my documentation because I was well aware of the bias doctors have against women. I wasn’t going to get shooed out of an office and told to do yoga. It took six months to see a psychiatrist, only 30 minutes for him to tell me I was depressed and put me on Wellbutrin, 1 week for the rare suicidality side effects to find me, another week for him to put me on Ritalin, and 1 hour for that medication to change my life forever.

Silence.

How had I never noticed how loud my brain was? Like a beehive! Then, as the Ritalin did its work, I felt how heavy my body was. How had I never noticed that? When I sat down at my computer, I wrote for an hour without reaching for my phone, book, or video game.

I cried out of relief but out of anger, too. I thought about how much easier my life would have been if someone had noticed me.

Eventually, I told my parents.

“Mom, I just need to say this, and I need you to know that I’m not mad at you. But it’s shitty that you never noticed that I had ADHD and got me the help I needed.”

“I’m sorry, pookie. I’m glad the medication works for you now.”

“Dad, I have ADHD.”

“Oh yeah? Me, too! Pills never worked for me, though.”

For those of you following along, please note that ADHD is incredibly hereditary. Please also note that the effects of uppers are counteracted when they come into contact with downers such as alcohol. Please also ALSO note that my father having ADHD made so much fucking sense that it was comical.

Now, having been on Ritalin for three years, I’ve stopped imagining a childhood in which I was appropriately supported. That version of me hatched out some incredible survival skills. Her organizational handling of our lives laid a bedrock so strong that other people can build themselves up on it. I look to the future, comforted by the fact that neither of us will have to fight as hard in this one specific arena, and that will leave room for different battles.

Next week, on April 16, Jace and I will be getting vulnerable with you as we talk about neurodiversity and its intersection with bi+ orientation identity, and I hope you listen, knowing that you aren’t alone.

Always,
Bailey