From Meme to Seen, an Essay.

In Dr. Edward Hallowell’s book Driven to Distraction, he shares a poignant story about a patient fixated on a cough drop left on her car’s dashboard. She recounts:

“Someone left a cough drop on the dashboard of our car. The other day, I saw the cough drop and thought, I’ll have to throw that away. When I arrived at my first stop, I forgot to take the cough drop to a trash can. When I got back into the car, I saw it and thought, I’ll throw that away at the gas station. The gas station came and went, and I hadn’t thrown the cough drop away.

The whole day went like that: the cough drop was still on the dashboard. When I got home, I thought, I’ll take it inside and throw it out. In the time it took me to open the car door, I forgot about the cough drop.

It was there to greet me when I got into the car the next morning; (Jeff) was with me. I looked at the cough drop and burst into tears. Jeff asked me why I was crying, and I told him it was because of the cough drop. He thought I was losing my mind.

‘But you don’t understand,’ I told him, ‘My whole life is like that. I see something that I mean to do, and then I don’t do it. It’s not only trivial things like the cough drops; it’s big things, too.’”

When she finally breaks down in tears over the cough drop, it’s not about the cough drop—it’s about the countless tasks, big and small, that remain undone despite her best intentions.

In 2022, I read this story on a meme while scrolling my Instagram feed. It wasn’t until the end of the story that I realized tears were rolling down my own face. The story hit a chord, and I understood why—it mirrored my experiences. It explained something so deep within me that I could never explain outwardly.

Then I looked at who was posting it. It was an account that shared content related to ADHD.

I was shocked.

That was almost three years ago. Since then, I began unraveling a revelation that is reshaping my understanding of myself: I have ADHD.

This journey toward diagnosis began in 2022 after I was laid off from the only real job I ever had. Since then, I’ve been drifting from one thing to another, searching for footing and identity in the working world and beyond. It’s through this unsettling path that I started noticing recurring themes in my life—patterns that my own research eventually led to a professional diagnosis.

Yes, that research began with a meme.

I began a deep dive into ADHD accounts and quickly saw how relatable every quote, story, symptom, and nuance was. Every alarm bell and light bulb went off.

With each new discovery in my research, which did not just include Social Media (I eventually began diving into scientific, credible research, don’t worry), so much of my past, particularly my school-aged years, began to make sense.

I had NEVER felt so seen.

After researching on my own for nearly a year, I finally sat down with Adam one night and vomited my research on him. He sat quietly, taking in every example I came up with from my past—my childhood, our marriage, my communication skills, my career, my parenting… My words and tears spilled like a giant bin of Legos.

Once finished, I could see his wide eyes and the lightbulb shining above his head, like a cartoonist portraying that ‘a-ha’ moment.

He was shocked.

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” he said.

And boy, did I need to hear that validation.

I reached out to my doctor that week.

Imagine being handed a video game set to the hardest level, but everyone around you insists it’s in easy mode. They watch you struggle, fail, and restart while questioning why you can’t keep up. That’s what undiagnosed ADHD has felt like—a constant uphill battle where the terrain was invisible to everyone but me.

Everything feels harder than it should be.

It’s funny how three decades can pass, filled with self-doubt, anxiety, and a persistent feeling of underachievement, all because of an undiagnosed neurodivergence. The restless nights, the daydreams that pulled me away from reality, the self-critical internal monologues, my quitter mentality, social anxiety—these weren’t just quirks; they were symptoms.

My parents, teachers, peers, and, in recent years, co-workers remarked on my potential, wondering aloud why I couldn’t just apply myself, not realizing the silent battles I fought daily. I began to internalize this, believing that maybe I was just not trying hard enough, that maybe I was the problem.

I can still recall the post-dinner conversations when I would push against studying or putting in more effort at school.

There’s no point in studying, Mom! I’m stupid – it isn’t going to make a difference! I can’t do this!

You’re not stupid, Karen! You’re just lazy!

My ADHD was misdiagnosed as “smart but lazy,” “selfish,” “lacks effort,” “overly emotional or sensitive,” “not emotional enough(!),” “quitter,” or, my personal favorites, “not living up to her potential” and “doesn’t care.”

This isn’t anybody’s fault. Not many young girls in the 90s and early 2000s were being diagnosed with ADD or ADHD. Lots of boys were, but ADD in boys seemed easy to spot.

One of the most profound realizations has been understanding how well I’ve masked my symptoms. Neurodivergent women often become experts at hiding their true selves. We learn to adapt and fit into societal expectations. The external facade of competence and composure hides the internal chaos.

I graduated college on the Dean’s List. I played sports, had friends, was in relationships, got married, had kids, and had jobs, one of which lasted ten years. Why would anyone think something was internally wrong with how my brain was wired?

I have “succeeded” despite feeling like I’ve swam against the current all my life.

As an adult, I knew something was different about me, but professionals unsurprisingly took different paths each time I dug deeper to determine what it was. ADHD was never a thought, not for a female in her thirties who was “successful” in life.

You have General Anxiety Disorder.
You have Depression.
It’s your hormones.

I even wrote about being diagnosed with depression on this very blog!

None of it was wrong, per se, but my ADHD diagnosis has helped me see those were all symptoms of a larger issue. They weren’t the issue.

Medication and therapy in those areas were helpful – but they weren’t hitting on something internally bigger within me.

There was something more going on.

Why was I almost let go three different times during my tenured job? Why do I love to write but never actually write? Why do I fantasize about changing the world but fail to get out of bed early enough to change my own world? Why do I start and quit so many things now? Why did I start and quit so many things growing up? I could have been a writer, singer, guitarist, or collegiate athlete … but never made the extra effort.

I quit when the going got tough. I disassociated when things got too hard. I had desires but didn’t seem to care enough about them. It seemed that I was selfish with my time and enjoyed wasting it. I spent my days looking for the quickest way out, the easiest way to earn a grade, the just enough effort to be good enough but not great.

I avoided responsibility like the plague. That’s why I yearn for childhood even today. When responsibilities become too much, I crave the world I lived in as a little girl – a world of daydreams and fantasies.

Ask my husband how often I’ve bought, subscribed to, applied to, or signed up for something I promised to give my all to, only to let it fall by the wayside six months later.

Gosh, ask my parents the same thing!

Ask my sister about the time she wasted her money to buy me guitar lessons because this time I was going to learn how to play.

Ask me how many times I’ve revamped this blog because this time, I was going to become a real writer.

Ask me how many times I’ve done the research to get help professionally because this time, I’m going to commit to therapy and work on my healing.

Do you know how many unused journals I own? Exercise equipment I’ve never touched? Healthy foods I’ve bought and wasted? Self-help books I’ve started and never finished?

I can go on and on and on.

People in the neurodivergent world sometimes refer to this as the “Life Gap.” There’s this vast chasm between the life you’re living and the life you envisioned for yourself.

This is where depression creeps in, between the chasm.

I churn out grand plans in my head, but when it comes to execution, I’m paralyzed, not for lack of desire but because my mind becomes so overstimulated that I can’t function properly.

It’s referred to as Executive Dysfunction.

Executive function skills enable us to plan, focus attention, remember instructions, and manage multiple tasks. Executive dysfunction is inherent in ADHD.

Executive dysfunction is a symptom that happens with conditions that disrupt your brain’s ability to control thoughts, emotions and behavior.

Everyone experiences executive dysfunction from time to time. People with ADHD experience it a lot, and the biggest difference is we don’t have the ability to turn it off, whereas neurotypicals do.

This can also coincide with Hyperfixation. Hyperfixation is a complete obsession with or absorption into a particular task. The task can be a hobby, a TV show, a subject of interest, or something else. People who hyper-fixate may tune out the world around them and ignore important responsibilities.

See: all the things I’ve started and quit above. I will hyper-fixate on learning the guitar—research it crazily, download every app available, impulsively spend on items I need to learn it—only to lose the fixation after three months.

These ADHD traits can cause impulsivity, poor decision-making, and a whole lot of overthinking.

I have somehow managed this my whole life until now.

But as my responsibilities grow, my symptoms do, too.

And I can’t manage it on my own anymore.

When I became a Mom, these challenges amplified. The organizational demands of parenting and the emotional labor often leave me overwhelmed and burnt out. When I feel out of control, overstimulated, or not listened to, even over the most minor things, it induces rage.

With ADHD, emotions aren’t just felt; they’re experienced intensely. Joy feels like euphoria, sadness like a deep abyss, and frustration can quickly escalate into overwhelming anger and rage.

In my relationships, I can be overbearing or nonexistent, an over-sharer or completely mute.

But to people on the outside looking in, I’m chill, relaxed, and unbothered.

Or, sadly, uncaring.

Unfortunately, those traits are the makings of the external mask I’ve created over the years.

I care immensely, and I desire deeply.

I used to stare out of classrooms, dreaming of being the next Beat Reporter for the New York Yankees, the next Taylor Swift, or a NY Times Best-Selling Author (I always envisioned myself on Oprah for something heroic I did, lol).

As an adult, my dreams haven’t ceased.

I often lie in bed at night thinking, “Tomorrow is the day everything changes,” and I believe it every time.

But then tomorrow becomes today, and the cycle repeats. Before long, I was in my thirties, wondering if the cycle would ever end.

A funny meme (back to the memes) says, “I am a person who wants to do a lot of things trapped in the body of a person who wants to sleep a lot.”

It’s funny because we ALL have those moments, but the reality is that this is a daily occurrence for me.

Working a job is hard. Communicating is hard. Loving myself is hard. Doing things I actually enjoy is hard!

Riding this rollercoaster daily is exhausting, especially when those around you can’t see the invisible forces at play.

Unfortunately, and most importantly, it’s also affected my relationship with God. My desire to know Him has weakened exponentially over these last few years, nearly pushing me away from God altogether. I’m only now taking baby steps back to Him as I relearn how to live my life.

Discovering that I have ADHD has been both liberating and daunting. On one hand, it explains so much and has lifted a weight off my shoulders. I feel less shame and disdain for myself. On the other hand, it means learning to navigate a world that wasn’t designed for minds like mine. My flaws, mistakes, and neurodivergence are more illuminated.

Sharing this now is my way of unmasking, of embracing who I am to lessen the shame. If you’re reading this and any of it resonates, know that you’re not alone. ADHD in adult women is often overlooked, misdiagnosed, or dismissed entirely.

For me, most importantly, it’s about finding my way back to God, finding the right professionals to guide me in therapy, and finding strategies to manage my symptoms.
It’s about giving myself grace on the days when executive dysfunction takes over. It’s about celebrating the small victories, like remembering to throw away the metaphorical (or literal) cough drop.

It’s about redefining what success and fulfillment look like for me, rather than measuring myself against neurotypical standards.

I’m still learning. This is still new. I don’t have an inspirational ending on what it teaches me or how God speaks to me. I’m not even certain when I’ll write again. I have a long road ahead.

But just knowing the battle I’m fighting daily has been a step in the right direction.

I want to show my kids that Mommy never gave up, so they never give up either.

To anyone navigating similar uncharted waters, I encourage you to explore the possibility that there’s more beneath the surface. Seek professional guidance, connect with supportive communities, and give yourself permission to be seen.

You can also reach out to me if nowhere else feels safe.

I hope this helps you. It’s the only reason I’m sharing this entirely too-long essay.

Here’s to navigating the seas ahead, through storms (memes) and squalls.