I remember very distinctly, in about junior high, trying to imagine my thoughts in a single, continuous stream. I literally pictured green, scrolling words on a digital ticker. But after about 2 seconds of that, my thoughts devolved into complete chaos. Green stripes whizzed and banged and flew all around in a perfect sphere around my head,

My whole life has been an attempt to harness those frantic green lines and wrestle them into the single ticker reel again. That always seemed like the “right,” way to think, but my thoughts never seemed to want to acquiesce to this notion. They would whizz and hum to their heart’s content, and the efforts to wrestle them into one line would leave me exhausted, depleted, and overwhelmed by my daily Sisyphean task.

So I lived this way, every day, feeling like I was never reaching my true potential, and ashamed of this daily struggle. I could see point A (minimal function) and point B (growing, succeeding, thriving), and the path to B seemed so straightforward. But somehow the path always ended up winding and circuitous, as I would often get sidetracked innumerable times. I got good grades in school, but I always had the sense I could do more, do better, if I could just get my wandering brain to stay on the straight and narrow.

All kinds of things grew up around this struggle. I almost never paid attention in school (and still have difficulty paying attention).  I’ve had trouble sleeping for as long as I can remember. No matter how tired I am, my brain simply doesn’t want to turn off. Occasionally, when I am really tired, my eyes aching from exhaustion, my brain almost is almost defiant in its refusal to sleep. It’s like a hotel air conditioner: not intrusive, but stubborn in its refusal to allow perfect silence.

I am really, really forgetful, and because of this, I learned anxiety and an extreme aversion to mistakes of any kind. For me, trying to remember something is like the scene in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone where letters are pouring down the chimney and swirling madly through the air, only every letter is a different thing you want me to remember, and Uncle Vernon is my own learned inner mean girl, waiting with sullen satisfaction for me to fail.

I saw many therapists over the years for the anxiety and mean-girl voice. I thought vaguely that I might have something the Internet called, “anxiety-induced depression.” My incessant, fragmented thoughts left me feeling equal parts depleted and anxious at the end of the day, resulting in an impermeable brain fog that sounded an awful lot like depression. But all of the instructions from therapists never quite took; small nuggets of wisdom would emerge, but larger patterns never seemed to take hold.

Until one day, by chance, I watched a video.

I wish I could find it; it was a minute or so long and filmed by one of my favorite public figures, Mel Robbins. I don’t know why I stopped my scrolling to watch, but I did. In the video, she says, “If you’re a woman and you’ve experienced these things, and are also anxious, you may not have an anxiety disorder, you may actually have undiagnosed ADHD.”

Everything she listed was like a lightbulb exploding in my head. Forgetfulness? Check. Poor time management? Check. Difficulty paying attention? Check. Easily distracted? Check. None of these things were tied to what I had been told to believe ADHD was, and yet they all fit. I started googling “ADHD in women” and found out due to its reputation as a disorder for 8 year old boys who can’t sit still, it’s criminally under-diagnosed in women and POC (you can read this great piece in Quartz about it).

I immediately found a therapist who specialized in ADHD in women to bear out my suspicions, and again, more lightbulbs exploded. It was like going to a psychic; she seemed to know answers to some of my questions before I did. After working with my therapist every week for 4 months, she recommended a formal diagnosis of inattentive-type ADHD (formerly called ADD), and referred me to a physician to talk about medication.

For the record, I think those uncomfortable with medication should not take it. For some, the benefits simply do not outweigh the negatives. I am not a doctor, nor do I advocate for taking medication of any kind if you and your doctor decide it is not the treatment plan for you.

But for me, it has been an absolute lifesaver. My first few weeks on stimulants, I would constantly say to my boyfriend, “is this how everyone feels?!” I couldn’t believe how much easier my life was. I can stick to a morning routine. My time management improved by leaps and bounds because I’m not constantly being distracted. My showers are shorter, and “30 minute meals” actually take me 30 minutes because I can concentrate. For the first time in my life, I can relax, knowing I remembered something important.

The truth is, stimulants successfully treat ADHD in 70-80% of cases. For reference, in depression medication, a 40-50% success rate is common.  Yet, antidepressants are more widely accepted than stimulants. Thanks to some prominent voices in the 90s (and some desperate college students), Ritalin (the medication I’m on) has the worst reputation of all. Its chemical name is “methylphenidate,” and though it is not chemically similar to methamphetamines, it is commonly (and wrongly) equated with them. Methylphenidate is not “meth” in the same way that hydroxychloroquine (the anti-malarial drug of note) and hydroxyapatite (the stuff your teeth is made of) are not the same.

Since being on Ritalin, my anxiety attacks have stopped. I would have multiple per day, gearing up to one continuous feeling of impending doom (sometimes for hours) before bed time. I can’t describe the positive effect this change has had on my life; I am no longer in fear of living in fear. I’m not about to say Ritalin should be totally deregulated, but its effects on my life have been so overwhelmingly good that I can confidently say it is not the boogeyman popular culture has made it out to be.

Even after being given these tools, the stigma around my diagnosis is real. I have been dismissed by multiple doctors, saying I couldn’t possibly have ADHD because I had good grades and got a master’s degree. Let me be perfectly clear: doing poorly in school is not a symptom of ADHD any more than smacking one’s face on a pole is a symptom of blindness. It’s a problem that points to a lack of appropriate support and resources. Many people who have ADHD do poorly in school thanks to the things I listed above (easily distracted, forgetful) but that doesn’t mean every person with ADHD has struggled academically. My diagnosis journey has been tough; not only do I have to contend with finding out I have a disability, I also have to battle the many medical professionals who do not, “believe” in my diagnosis.

ADHD is in fact covered as a disability by the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), but because ADHD has the reputation of being an “excuse” for “lazy people,” many ADHD experts and coaches recommend not disclosing your diagnosis at work for fear of increased discrimination. I often tell people I have an “executive functioning disorder” that makes managing distractions and following strict guidelines difficult.

A few weeks ago I broke down crying. My boyfriend had been gently teasing me about my insistence on bringing a list to the grocery store. He had always been able to just remember what he needed and pick up a few other things that caught his eye without going overboard. I felt a deep, profound grief upon realizing that I would never, not ever, be able to do that.

If I need even 3 things, I must chant them under my breath continually like Arya Stark, lemons, popcorn, turkey; lemons, popcorn, turkey. Even then, I usually get back out to my car and remember with despondency that I really need butter for the cake I’m baking tomorrow. Sometimes I will wander around the grocery store in a near dissociative state, overwhelmed to an impossible extent, torn between wanting desperately to leave and not wanting to have to repeat the experience tomorrow.

So, I cried. I grieved. I grieved, because in that moment I realized the lifetime of work I have done to improve myself will never, ever work. No matter how many self-help books I read, or courses I take, or “hacks” I try, I will always need a list at the grocery store. I will always need to-do lists and maps and rigid adherence to my key hook. I will never be able to let myself off the hook for even a moment, lest my executive function totally crumble.

But despite these darker, more vulnerable moments, my diagnosis was a huge relief. I always thought I was lazy, or inadequate; deficient in some greater way. My diagnosis has helped free me from the spiral of shame I felt every time I tried to make my brain act like a neurotypical brain. I no longer feel desperately obsessed with self-help books. I no longer feel like I have to hide who I am or how I operate. It’s opened me up to a kind of freedom I could’ve never imagined, pre-diagnosis.

There is a lot more to ADHD than what I can cover in one blog post. I learned about a common comorbidity with ADHD called RSD (which is also where I learned that not everyone convinces themselves they’re the dumbest person who’s ever existed when they make a mistake). I learned about the phenomenon of hyper-focusing (which seems to be similar to what neurotypical people experience when they take stimulants). I’ve learned that ADHD brains produce less dopamine.

But mostly, I’ve learned that my whizzing green thoughts are okay. That with the right support from medical professionals and people who love me, I can use my neurodiverse brain to my full advantage. I can’t predict what my life would be like if I got a diagnosis earlier, but I know that now that I have one, I can begin the business of living my life true to who I am.