The Wild Inside Her

There was a time when I knew something was different about the way my mind worked, long before going to see my doctor. I remember the quiet moments—doing online tests, watching videos, skimming through books (or attempting to), and suddenly, everything just clicked. Things that never made sense before started to make sense. Patterns I couldn’t explain were suddenly clear.

And yet, I kept it to myself. I didn’t want to tell anyone or talk about it. There were so many reasons why:

Would anyone believe me? Or would they just think I was crazy, or worse, making excuses?

I thought I needed a professional diagnosis. Even though I felt certain in my gut, I knew my doctor might not believe me, or might dismiss what I was feeling.

Saying it out loud felt terrifying. I could think about it, write about it, but if I spoke it, it would become real. I feared an emotional meltdown. I was still masking, still holding myself together. If anyone in my circle knew, the wall I had built to hide behind would crumble, and I wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable. I wasn’t ready to let the tears flow, even though I was exhausted and desperate for help. The anxiety of stepping into this new chapter was overwhelming.

The impact on my sons weighed heavily on me. How would it affect them? Would they feel relieved that I finally understood what they experience every day? Or would they think I didn’t know what I was talking about, that maybe I just think I know? We didn’t necessarily act the same on the outside even if I understood similar connections on the inside. Could this understanding bring us closer, or would it create tension? The ruminating worst case scenario thoughts sent my mind in a tailspin of anxiety. Either way, I knew I had to tell them and we would need to learn how to navigate our neurodiverse family differently.

Before this, I was a mom raising neurodiverse kids. Now, I was a neurodiverse mom trying to parent ADHD teens. Some strategies that worked for them didn’t work for me, and I realized why I had felt like I was constantly failing. Why couldn’t I keep up with the house? Why was I always forgetting forms, running late every morning? Why couldn’t I just “get it together”? I couldn’t I pick up the slack when I knew they were struggling? Like not being able to find things in the house, keeping up with clean rooms and laundry (oh, the laundry! BRB…), and forgetting important things.

Finally, I knew. And in that knowing, there was relief. Relief that the struggle wasn’t just me being lazy or disorganized—it was part of who I was. Relief that the path forward, while still challenging, could now be approached with understanding, not guilt.

Recognizing ADHD in myself didn’t erase the exhaustion or the overwhelm, but it was the first step toward honesty, healing, and connection—with myself and my beautifully neurodiverse family. Eventually I went to the Dr who confirmed my suspicisions. I was ready in hand with my books and notes but he trusted that I had done my research and I think I even taught him a few things. I also told my family, I knew that if I was going to continue navigating this new journey successfully I could no longer walk it alone, and while they were super supportive, I know that we still have work to do together to ensure our home is successful for us all in the way we uniquely need. We will get there, I know it. We have to. We all deserve to live and love in a place that we feel we belong.