The ADHD brain is one of great extremes—referred to as both a curse and a superpower. One minute, you can't focus on anything; the next, you're locked into hyperfocus and can't break away. You feel unmotivated and uninterested—until something ignites your curiosity and you're consumed by it. It's the child who struggles in school, but grows into the entrepreneur who changes an industry. The adult who gets overwhelmed at the grocery store, but envisions connections no one else can see. It's a brain built for bursts of brilliance—but it's constantly coming up short in a world that celebrates consistency and linear thinking.
The dual nature of ADHD has long divided our community, sparking debate among researchers, clinicians, and lived-experience voices alike. For some—like the well-known Dr. Russell Barkley—ADHD is a neurological disorder with serious, chronic impairments that are deeply disabling. According to him, calling it a superpower risks undermining decades of advocacy aimed at securing accommodations and recognition. And honestly? On the days I find myself lying on the floor having my third meltdown of the week (deeply short on sleep because my dopamine hungry brain had me scrolling on my phone until 2 AM), acknowledging that I have a disability brings a sense of relief. It helps me understand that my struggles are valid and not simply a result of personal inadequacy.
But I also have days when I admire this brain. Her curiosity. Her rebellious spirit. Her refusal to grind for things that don’t matter. For all the times I’ve been late, for all the emails I’ve missed, I sometimes catch my own unimpressed reflection and wonder: maybe my sense of time isn’t broken. Maybe that immersive daydream—the one I reluctantly tore myself away from—mattered more than the scheduled teeth cleaning. Somewhere underneath all the hard days—all the ones where I feel incompetent and frustrated by my nonlinear mind—I can’t shake the feeling that this chaos is leading somewhere meaningful. That this brain might help the world in ways I don’t yet fully understand.
It’s in these moments that I understand where the other side is coming from. I feel a quiet frustration rise—not just at my own struggle, but at the world around me. A world so focused on diagnosis, so invested in defining one kind of brain as the gold standard. A society that prizes linear thinking, predictability, and productivity—and teaches us, often subtly, to measure ourselves against those ideals. We try to fit the mold. We put in more effort. But ironically, the harder we work to become what the world expects, the further we drift from our own strengths—and the less able we feel.
While the debate surrounding ADHD's nature – whether it's a disorder or the result of an evolutionary mismatch – is captivating and often stirs emotions, it's not the debate I’m interested in today (for the record, my official stance is that each ADHDer should use the language they find most empowering – and yes, that is allowed to change from moment to moment while we wait for scientific consensus).
Whether you embrace the term 'disability' or find comfort in the ideals of neurodiversity, an ADHD diagnosis allows us to attribute our difficulties to something beyond our individual shortcomings. And for those of us diagnosed as adults, this is the first step in healing what I call the ‘ADHD Shadow’ – the painful internal narrative that forms before diagnosis—when years of struggle are misattributed to personal failings rather than neurobiological differences.
In my own blog, The ADHD Awakening, I’ve explored how the stories we carry about ourselves don’t just explain our present reality—they shape it. That’s why changing those stories isn’t just helpful—it’s mission-critical. If we don’t, we risk staying stuck, living out a future written by our past.
But foundational to changing that inner narrative is something even more overlooked: changing the expectations we hold for ourselves.
In my experience—and in so many others’—this part often gets missed. We get a diagnosis, maybe try a medication or two, and then carry on with life, now with a label. But the pressure to function like everyone else? That stays. And when we inevitably fall short, we tend to meet ourselves with the same old message:
Whether you see your ADHD as a disability or a difference, the reality is this: you are living in a world that places expectations on you that don’t match your capacity to meet them. That mismatch? That’s called ableism. And after decades of living inside that system, we start to internalize its messages—absorbing those expectations and mistaking them for our own. That’s called internalized ableism — the process of taking society’s biases and turning them inward, often without even realizing it. It’s the shame-filled voice that whispers, “I should be able to do this.”
So the next time you hear yourself say the word “should,” I want you to pause—and choose the metaphor that speaks to you most.
Picture an orchid that looks like it’s dying a little. (Don’t worry—this ends well.)
Drooping leaves, stunted blooms, a stem that looks like it’s giving up. But here’s the thing about orchids: they aren’t like other plants. They need specific conditions to thrive—indirect light, just the right humidity, and a careful balance of space and care.
They may seem finicky, but when those needs are met? They’ll outlast and outshine every plant in the room.
If it wasn’t clear: you are the orchid. And can we all agree that the solution isn’t for the orchid to try harder?
Would you expect someone with less than 20/20 vision to try harder to see? Of course not—you’d hand them glasses.
ADHD is no different. It might be invisible, but its impact is real—on focus, memory, energy, and emotion. Clinicians and governments recognize it as a disability for a reason.
If that’s the lens that helps you understand your experience, you deserve support. You’re not asking for special treatment. You’re asking for tools that fit your brain
And for the love of all that is good, please—stop trying harder!
Laura Hudson is a writer, ADHD educator, and advocate with both lived experience and professional expertise in adult ADHD. She specializes in supporting individuals diagnosed later in life—helping them untangle internalized shame, understand their unique neurobiology, and build ADHD-friendly systems for thriving. Laura is also passionate about working with individuals who struggle with Body-Focused Repetitive Behaviours (BFRBs), such as hair-pulling, skin-picking, and nail-biting.
She is currently training as an ADHD coach and is the creator of The ADHD Awakening, a blog dedicated to demystifying ADHD, challenging pathologizing narratives, and equipping readers with practical, evidence-based strategies for self-understanding and growth.
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