Blog Post

For most of my life, I thought I was just disorganized, inconsistent, or “too much.” I was constantly masking, working twice as hard to meet expectations that didn’t come naturally to me. At 50, I was finally diagnosed with ADHD—and everything started to make sense. It wasn’t that I was lazy or lacking discipline; my brain just worked differently.

I like to think of it like this: some engines run on unleaded gas, and some on diesel. Both engines work, but they need different fuel. My brain, it turns out, is diesel—and trying to run it on unleaded my whole life left me frustrated and wondering what was wrong. Once I understood what I needed, my brain could better manage my goals.

I believe in the power of self-diagnosis. Many women, especially those diagnosed later in life, have spent years researching and recognizing patterns in themselves long before a clinician confirms it. A formal diagnosis isn’t always accessible or necessary, but for me, it offered language, validation, and tools to manage my life more effectively.

Late diagnosis has been both a relief and a beginning. It’s not about fixing something broken—it’s about understanding the unique wiring I’ve always had, and learning how to honor it. ADHD doesn’t make me less. It just means I thrive differently.