26/05/2025
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/16JnoBTzvZ/?mibextid=wwXIfr
“We didn’t have ADHD in my day.”
I hear that a lot. And every time, I want to say: Actually, you did. I was there.
I’m 49 now. I started school in 1979. I was that kid—the one who talked too much (‘Emma is a very bubbly child’ or ‘Emma is very chatty’ was always on my school report’ My favourite comment of all though was ‘Emma fluctuates from being passionately focussed or extremely disinterested’ that teacher totally got me), thinking, questioning, daydreaming. The one who “had potential” but never quite delivered the way the system expected.
When people say ADHD is some new trend, I think about being 5 years old and sitting in a doctor’s office while my parents asked for help because “she doesn’t stop all day.” The doctor smiled and said, “She’s just hyperactive. There’s nothing wrong with her.” And that was that.
But there was something different about the way my brain worked. I just didn’t have the language for it—and neither did the adults around me. Back then, kids like me were called “distracted,” “disruptive,” “daydreamers,” “lazy,” “too talkative,” “too sensitive,” or “too much.”
I was there in the classroom, switching off because everything felt slow or repetitive or just… not interesting enough to hold my attention. I was there when I underachieved, while you were probably excelling and getting gold stars. I was always there—just often missed, overlooked, or misunderstood.
ADHD isn’t new. But what is new is the recognition and the understanding that’s finally starting to catch up. The awareness that ADHD shows up differently in different people, and that girls—especially back in the day—were often missed entirely because we didn’t always fit the stereotype. We weren’t always bouncing off the walls. Sometimes, we were quietly zoning out, overwhelmed inside but masking it with a smile.
To me, ADHD means I have a brain that’s wired for interest, not for routine. It means I feel everything more intensely—boredom, excitement, frustration, passion. It means my thoughts move fast, sometimes faster than I can keep up with, and it takes effort to rein them in. It means I struggle with things others find simple, and I thrive in places they find chaotic.
But ADHD also means creativity. It means seeing patterns others don’t, jumping between ideas, thinking outside the box because I never really fit inside it anyway. It means I can be spontaneous, empathetic, intuitive, and deeply curious.
Yes, ADHD brings challenges—but it also brings strengths. And it’s not a flaw or a failure. It’s a difference. A valid, neurodivergent way of experiencing the world.
So no, ADHD isn’t “new.” It just wasn’t talked about. It wasn’t seen. People like me were there the whole time—you just didn’t notice us. Or if you did, you probably misunderstood what you were seeing.
Now I know how to manage my brain -which comes from knowing I am AuADHD- things are easier; I know when to rest, to take time out and to let myself go with the interest I have. I can laugh at myself when I’m researching an actor in a TV show I’m watching while relaying the facts I’ve found to Hubbie.
I don’t mind being on the go all the time; I recognise my burn out or near burn out that always looms just around the corner.
It’s doesn’t bother me that you’re upset that you’ve finally noticed people whose brains are different to yours.
I was always there.
