ADHD and me.

One year ago, at age 55, I was diagnosed with ADHD. I’ve not shared too much about my diagnosis publicly, not knowing how it would fit into the story or be of value, but as I look at how far I’ve come from where I’ve been, I feel it's important to say something. Someone else out there is struggling and this might help them.

After the diagnosis, my judgmental and unhelpful, inner voice suggested that the ADHD label was the "easy out" of today's culture, where it seems almost everyone has some sort of mental health disorder. Or do they? The diagnosis conveniently grouped all my character flaws and failures and gave me an excuse to dismiss them. Shush, voice. Go away, you’re not wanted here.

But this morning, as I'm sitting on my couch and thinking about this last year's journey, I realize how wrong I was. I was really struggling, and I had been for a good five years. Today I understand how much I struggled and why, because the day of my diagnosis was a liberation day for me.

I wrote a personal reflection during that time, so I went searching for it, curious about what I wrote. Compared to how I am now, the difference is startling. Reading it brings tears. That contrast between how I feel and function today and how I was doing then is what I want to share with you. I believe that “being seen” is a very basic need that we all have. To know that we’re not alone and that others understand us in whatever state that may be.

I wrote this two months before my ADHD diagnosis while recovering from arthroscopic repair of a chronic labral tear in my right hip. That journey that is an entirely different story, but was a condition that, in addition to the joys of perimenopause, magnified my distress. With my hip fixed and finally less painful, I was hopeful that my profound inability to function would improve, yet I still found myself unable to climb out of the physical, mental and emotional hole I was in.

I won’t get into the many details of my journey from here to there, except for the path. After writing this reflection, I asked my husband to read it. He said he thought it was sad, and that made me sad, seeing myself through his eyes. So, I decided it was time to ask for help. I’d been stuck here for months. No. For years. Stuck in this place, this hole, yet continuing to push through, accepting my self-imposed label that this was “just who I was now,” which was a menopausal, career-declining, middle-aged, white woman. I just had to suck it up, accept my age, and the facts. I was functioning on the incorrect assumption that if I worked hard enough on myself and my plans, I’d eventually figure it out. Hahahahaha.

Instead, the help I found was a lovely, 30-something art therapist with a strong kindergarten teacher vibe. I like drawing, so why not. At my first visit, as I vomited out all the things I wanted to work on, she asked me this one question, “Have you ever been assessed for ADHD?” My response was “No, why?” That’s how ignorant I was and the first day I started to learn about ADHD in women. That question led me to a fantastic wise, gentle and patient psychiatrist who works with women with executive dysfunction. She assessed and diagnosed me, which led me to the awareness, medications, treatment, tools, and strategies I needed to slowly climb out of that hole.

Today, I'm creative and taking risks again. I’m more confident in my ideas and less fearful to share them (hence this post). I’m activating and driving my message and my business forward. More than anything, I’m embracing and learning to love who I am, what makes me different, and what I have to offer those who need what I do. What’s really exciting is that, after 56 years, I’m finally figuring out how to manage my resources and make time for the work that I want to do and that is important to me, and not just deliver all my energy and best effort to meet other’s expectations to help them achieve their goals while failing to nurture mine.

This feeling and momentum, it’s still new, and I understand that it’s still fragile. Afterall, tomorrow is a promise to no one. But I’m claiming this moment as a win and running with it while I can. I would not be here if I hadn’t asked for help and found expert support and the right medications. As always, I am the eternal optimist (a positive ADHD trait), so I’m hopeful for today and for the future.

I believe that so many of us – high performing, ambitious, professional women – have succeeded partly because we have undiagnosed ADHD, which I now know is incredibly common. I hear that lots of entrepreneurs and CEO-types have it. I have colleagues, friends, and clients I can see these behaviors in, and it makes me wonder if they have it.

For decades, my ADHD had mostly worked for me to help me become who I am (kind of like a superpower) until it didn’t, but at a high price. Who knows where I would be had I known about this in my teens. That’s just a musing, not a regret. Everything that came before has led me here.

I know that my experience isn’t yours. We’re all on different paths, different journeys, and in different seasons of our lives. For those that have been a part of my journey, I love you and I thank you for propping me up, even though you may not know who you are or that you have.

For the rest of you, if you’re feeling seen by any of this and feeling stuck, I hope you ask for help yourself and don’t lose hope. This is more out there for you.

Kelly

"Who am I? Who are You?"

A Self-Reflection by Kelly Cooper

March 17, 2025

"Who am I?" I ask myself in the quiet dark of the morning, yearning to find my voice in this competitive, noisy world of online contribution. "Who am I, and who cares?" Maybe who I am and what I have to say doesn’t matter. It isn’t relevant anymore. And yet. And yet I have something to say, something to give to a profession that raised me, to pay forward hard-earned wisdom built on the shoulders of giants, triumphs and tears. Wisdom that could help the me's and the not-me's of tomorrow struggle less, win more. This means something to me, it's important, a calling even, and yet, I hold back.

I envision what's possible, churning up exciting new ideas in the middle of a sleepless night, only to rise well before the sun, attempting to capture these ephemeral thoughts while carelessly squandering away the time as hours tick by, motivation fades, and the moment has passed.

In my logical reason, the confidence that I'm competent lives. I'm good enough, experienced enough, and credible enough. After all, a younger, more fearless me scaled metaphorical mountains and frolicked with unicorns. But in my subconscious, where the more malevolent voices linger, I'm a child, a know-nothing naiveté, only to be seen and not heard. "Who are you?" they murmur "Stay back, there is danger there." Quiet, subtle fear is their most effective weapon and my closest, lifelong companion, swimming just beneath the surface of all that I am and all that I do.

In preparation for their whispering ways, I set the bar high, too high for normal human achievement, and try to hit it anyway. Can you see it, way up there? If I get everything just right, perfect even, the bar will be met, satisfaction will flow, and I can move forward. Armored in decision, I will be ready. But wait! The bar has moved, just out of reach yet again.

I overthink, over process, over edit. I write yet don't publish. I envision but don't create. I create but don't launch. I stew on what could be. I play the middle. I imprison myself with thoughts that I'll be seen as too bold, too direct, too negative, too uninteresting. I secretly envy those that are daringly themselves, comfortable in their own skin, own voice, own image. They just go, and they make things happen. While they move forward, I observe from my self-imposed perch, envying their activity with enthusiasm and very little judgement. Yet for myself, judgement abounds.

As I indulge myself in this morning’s random and fanciful production of creative writing, tasks with other people's deadlines loom impatiently just over my shoulder, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck, with warm, humid breath. I'll make them wait, pretend they aren't there, because this is more fun, expressing what's within, letting the humors out. The act is a rebellion. Another mechanism with a stiff-arm that puts off the less pleasant have to’s and the must do's of my commitments. They’ll wait until time is almost up and the pressure to perform is high. When the anxiety presses at me and leaks over onto my spouse and my sleep, then it will be time. The deadline-defined must-dos will be completed, sent off, and launched, because pressure is fuel for production and clarity. The product will be good, great even, because anything less is too little.

If only I could separate myself into two. In one form, the fearless, action-oriented visionary with clarity, confidence and a plan. On the other, the anxious, overthinking, yet high-performing procrastinator, eager to please, who gets the work done on time. But this is not a severed life. I must move forward as one person lingering between who she is and who she wishes she was, unresolved. Drawn forward by inspiration and vision yet held back by nature and comfort.

Two hours have passed, and daylight has joined me, the sun hidden by heavy clouds. So has my husband, signaling that the day must commence. It's time to move forward, after a short break to greet my love and stretch my legs. I started this thought and will finish it, maybe later today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe it's time for a short nap.