For a long time, I thought I was just bad at being a person.
I was the kid with the messy desk and the brilliant essay turned in three days late. The one who was “so smart, if only he applied himself.” I lost things, interrupted people, started ten projects and finished none, and quietly believed it meant I was lazy, careless, or broken.
It took until my mid-twenties, already in grad school to become a therapist, for someone to say the word ADHD out loud about me. The relief was enormous. And right behind it came a harder question: how did everyone miss this for so long?
Registered Psychotherapist (Q)