Ah, Now It All Makes Sense! The Journey of Undiagnosed ADHD

A Surprise Discovery

While procrastinating the inevitable task of wrapping Christmas presents this year, I stumbled upon something I had forgotten about—my late mother’s journals. As a lifelong, intermittent journal writer, she chronicled much of her life, and I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for that now. Reading her words allowed me to connect with a version of her I hadn’t fully understood before. It’s almost like I’m getting to know her better than I ever did when she was alive. But, of course, that also stirred up a bit of guilt on my end. You see, I’ve never been able to make it past the first two pages of any journal I’ve started. So, sorry, kids—yet another thing I’ve failed at!

It’s My Mum…

As I delved deeper into the pages, something clicked. It became crystal clear to me that my mother had undiagnosed ADHD. Now, I have a tendency to diagnose everyone in my life (that is an understatement... ask my friends!), but this time, I’m certain. The signs were all there: her constant overthinking, wanting to switch her brain off, feeling guilty for relaxing, doubting whether she was a good friend, blaming herself for things that weren’t her fault, and feeling sad a lot of the time. I could see all the things I’ve felt mirrored in her words. The more I read, the more I realized that the struggles I’ve faced, she likely faced as well—only without the understanding of what was going on.

It’s My Dad…

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place when I attended my father’s funeral. To be honest, I didn’t know him well growing up, but the stories shared about him that day gave me insight into a man I had always struggled to understand. His wife spoke about his study, describing it as an overwhelming mess of unorganized cartons filled with details about his accounting clients—nothing was in any discernible order. His computer desktop, she said, was even worse: a maze of disorganized files that she couldn’t make heads or tails of. She had no idea how he managed to function with such chaos surrounding him. And he compartmentalized his life so strongly that even she knew nothing of many parts of it.

At the time, I remember thinking, “Wow, that sounds like me.” But then the thought hit me like a ton of bricks: Could it be? Could this disorganization, this chaotic system that somehow still functioned, have been another sign of undiagnosed ADHD?

It’s Both of Them!

As it turns out, I wasn’t just seeing this through my lens—I was looking at a possible mirror image of my father’s struggles. And now, as I reflect on it, I realize something I had never truly considered before: both of my parents probably had undiagnosed ADHD. They each had their own version of this unique, often overwhelming way of existing in the world. And me? Well, I was set up from the start. With both parents likely dealing with the same invisible challenges, it’s no wonder I ended up where I did—feeling lost, confused, and like I just couldn’t get it together.

Why Didn’t Anyone Know?

I often let myself feel a little regret for not being diagnosed as a child. It’s not something I can change, of course, but the “what ifs” linger. What if I had known sooner? What if I could’ve avoided years of self-doubt? It’s a frustrating thing to think about. But despite this, I try not to sit in regret for too long. I know that growing up in a supportive family, being a good student, and having friends around me made all the difference. It wasn’t a bad childhood by any means—but the self-hatred I carried? That was real. I hated myself. And no one knew.

I wasn’t alone in this, though. On the outside, I was the life of the party, the extrovert, the brave, confident one. But inside, my brain was an endless loop of negative self-talk. I would berate myself constantly: “How could I be so stupid?” and “Why do I make so many mistakes?” I always seemed to be getting it wrong—which, unsurprisingly, was often what my mother had also written in her journals.

But in a strange way, it’s comforting to know that it wasn’t just me. That these behaviors, these struggles, weren’t just personal flaws but likely part of something much bigger—something hereditary and deeply ingrained. It’s a revelation that’s both eye-opening and bittersweet, but it also helps me understand why I have the habits I do, why the things that come so easily to others often feel like an uphill battle for me.

Trauma? Really?

Then, I saw something on social media from a trauma therapist, Nicola Euesdan, that stopped me in my tracks. She listed several signs of childhood trauma, and they resonated with me more than I expected:

• Over-apologizing

• Not accepting compliments

• Avoiding asking for help

• Over-explaining

• Hyper-independence

• Overthinking every interaction

• People-pleasing

• Feeling guilty for relaxing

• Difficulty setting boundaries

• Dismissing your own feelings

• Constantly worrying about being “too much” or “not enough”

• Fear of abandonment

• Overworking to prove yourself

At first, I laughed. I do all of these things, but I never thought of them as stemming from trauma. I didn’t have a traumatic childhood or major life events that would have triggered them. But after some reflection, I realized that many of these behaviors were a result of growing up with undiagnosed ADHD. The struggle was real, but I didn’t have the language to express it back then.

Self-Awareness, Not ‘Bandwagoning’

It’s frustrating when people claim ADHD is overdiagnosed or dismiss self-diagnosis. I mean, what’s the harm in self-awareness? Why does it bother people so much if someone recognizes patterns in their behavior and starts to understand the reasons behind their struggles? ADHD is not something anyone would choose to have. Yes, I love my creativity and the unique ways I see the world, but it’s also a daily challenge. The constant battle to focus, the self-doubt, the emotional rollercoasters—none of that is fun.

But what really gets to me is when people resist acknowledging that children might have ADHD. It’s cruel, honestly, to blame them for their differences. To make them feel like they’re stupid, like they just can’t measure up. The system is broken, making diagnosis incredibly expensive and often inaccessible. So, isn’t self-diagnosis a form of empowerment? A way for people to find answers and validate their experiences, especially when professional help is out of reach?

We Got This!

As I continue to reflect on my mother’s journals, my father’s life, and my own experiences, I’m left with a profound sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the clarity these revelations bring. Gratitude for understanding myself and my parents more deeply. And, of course, gratitude for the chance to finally break free from the guilt that I somehow didn’t measure up, either as a daughter or as a person.

The journey to understanding ADHD isn’t linear, but reading my mum’s journals has certainly helped me see the signs I missed, both in her and in myself. So, here’s to embracing self-awareness, acknowledging our struggles, and understanding that it’s okay to not have it all figured out yet.