If you have ADHD and you’ve ever called yourself lazy...
I hope you’ll read this to the end.
For years, I chased a version of myself that didn’t exist.
She answered every email.
She was never late.
She remembered birthdays.
She knew exactly where she put her keys.
She finished every project she started.
She never forgot why she walked into a room.
Every Monday, I promised myself...
This is the week I’ll become her.
I never did.
Instead, I kept arriving at the same conclusion.
Maybe I’m just lazy.
Not because I didn’t care.
Because I cared so much.
I had dreams that felt bigger than me.
I wanted to write songs that mattered.
Build a meaningful career.
Be fully present for my son.
Advocate.
Create.
Love well.
Leave the world a little softer than I found it.
The desire was never missing.
Execution was.
I Knew the Diagnosis. I Just Didn’t Understand It.
I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was six years old.
It was the ‘90s.
Back then, the conversation was different.
Especially for girls.
Especially for girls who learned to mask.
Most of what people talked about was medication.
My mom wasn’t comfortable putting me on Ritalin.
I understand why.
She made the best decision she could with the information she had.
I don’t look back with blame.
I look back wishing we had more options.
More education.
More support.
More conversations like the ones we’re finally having now.
Because knowing you have ADHD...
...and understanding what it actually means...
...are two very different things.
My ADHD Didn’t Get Worse.
My life got bigger.
For a long time, I managed.
Then life asked more of me.
My career grew.
Motherhood changed everything.
My calendar filled up.
People depended on me.
The mental load became heavier.
Around 2020...
everything felt harder.
I remember asking myself,
What happened to me?
Had I gotten lazy?
Lost my drive?
Stopped caring?
No.
Life had simply reached the point where the way my brain works could no longer hide behind adrenaline and good intentions.
This Is What ADHD Looks Like for Me
People hear ADHD...
...and think distraction.
Mine looks like this.
Five alarms.
Calendar reminders reminding me to check my calendar.
Walking upstairs...
...and forgetting why I went.
Opening my laptop to answer one email...
...and somehow ending up doing three completely different things.
Hyperfocusing on a song for six hours.
Forgetting to eat.
Forgetting to answer the text I picked up my phone to respond to.
Staring at my to-do list...
Wanting to start...
Knowing exactly what needs to happen...
And feeling like my brain won’t press “go.”
It’s carrying a thousand ideas.
And feeling frozen by where to begin.
For years, I didn’t just experience those moments.
I judged myself for them.
Every forgotten appointment.
Every late arrival.
Every unread email.
Every unfinished task.
They all became evidence.
Evidence that I wasn’t disciplined enough.
Responsible enough.
Good enough.
Looking back...
I spent years trying to manage my symptoms.
What I really needed was to stop making them mean something about my worth.
Grace for ADHD Looks Like This
One day, I walked into a writing session.
I was about fifteen minutes late.
Ironically...
I had actually left earlier than I normally did.
I remember thinking,
I’m getting better.
I opened the studio door.
Everyone laughed.
Apparently, my collaborators had started placing bets on what time I’d show up.
For a split second...
my stomach dropped.
That familiar voice came rushing back.
See?
You’re the late one.
You’re the problem.
But then...
nothing happened.
Nobody was upset.
Nobody rolled their eyes.
Nobody questioned whether I cared.
They laughed.
Gave me a hug.
And we got to work.
Somewhere in the middle of that session...
I realized something that still makes me emotional.
I was safe.
They knew I struggled with time.
They just didn’t confuse that struggle with my character.
They trusted that when I walked into the room—
even if it was fifteen minutes late—
I would show up.
With ideas.
With energy.
With curiosity.
With heart.
With work that made the room better.
They saw the whole person.
Not just the symptom.
That moment quietly unraveled years of shame.
For so long...
I’d measured my worth by the clock.
Not because time doesn’t matter.
It does.
I still set multiple alarms.
I still check my calendar more times than I can count.
I still work hard to respect other people’s time.
The difference is...
I no longer believe one recurring struggle gets to define my character.
That’s what grace for ADHD looks like.
Not lowering expectations.
Not making excuses.
Not pretending the struggle isn’t real.
It’s being held accountable...
...without being shamed.
It’s someone saying,
“I know this is hard for you.”
“And I also know who you are.”
Success Didn’t Cure It
One of the biggest misconceptions about ADHD...
...is that success somehow makes it disappear.
It doesn’t.
I’ve had the privilege of living dreams I once only imagined.
I’ve built a creative life I’m deeply grateful for.
People see those moments.
They don’t always see the systems holding them up.
The alarms.
The sticky notes.
The reminders.
The body doubling.
The invisible work.
Success didn’t change the way my brain works.
It changed my willingness to understand it.
The Grief No One Talks About
The hardest part wasn’t ADHD.
The hardest part was believing what it said about me.
Or at least...
what I thought it said about me.
Lazy.
Careless.
Too much.
Not enough.
I wasn’t grieving the diagnosis.
I’d had that since I was six.
I was grieving the years I spent believing I was the problem.
I wonder how many women are carrying that same grief.
Especially Black women.
How many little girls grew into women who still believe they’re lazy...
...when what they really needed was understanding.
I’m Building a Different Kind of Life
These days...
I’m not trying to become someone else.
I’m becoming someone who knows herself.
Someone who builds systems instead of shame.
Someone who asks for help.
Someone who accepts support.
Someone who understands that different...
...doesn’t mean broken.
I still forget things.
I’m still occasionally late.
There are still days when getting started feels impossible.
But I don’t hear that old voice the way I used to.
The one that whispered I wasn’t enough.
The one that confused a symptom with a character flaw.
When I show up...
I show up.
Maybe not perfectly.
Maybe not always right on time.
But with my whole heart.
And these days...
that’s the measure of my character that matters most.
Turns out...
I was never lazy.
