I was diagnosed with ADHD at 42

I have started and stopped the beginning of this post about twelve times in the last few months. I keep sitting down to gather my thoughts and my brain and fingers just don’t want to connect — probably because I like telling a full story from start to finish, wrapped up in a nice little bow with a conclusion at the end.

But the truth is, I’m still learning about myself forty-three and a half years in.

I tell my kids this often: when you learn something new about yourself — medical, social, spiritual, whatever — it doesn’t change who you are. We were all made with our own quirks and wiring, and that’s what makes people interesting. Some of those things evolve over time. Some are just how we’re built. An allergy. Colorblindness. Neurodivergence. It just is what it is. And that’s all a diagnosis really is: information. You’re the same person you were yesterday, the same person you’ll be tomorrow. You just know a little more about yourself now.

My attention deficit diagnosis actually started with a DM in my Instagram inbox.