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I was defined as “normal” early on, and I didn’t fit it.

Growing up, I was the hyperactive kid that teachers often complained about.

I used to run out of class, jump around constantly, and even perform odd dances while eating my food (a habit I still have). I was talkative and very loud.

Things started getting weird when comparisons with my older “normal” cousin increased significantly.

Save money like him.

Manage things like him.

Focus on one thing like him.

Trust me, I did everything in my power to do it all. I used to have a plastic box where I kept money from everyone so I could one day buy a computer like my cousin and prove that I was no less.  But the box remained empty by the end of every year. 

Sometimes, I used the money; sometimes, my parents did, but I was the only one labeled “irresponsible.”

People thought I was good at studies—I wasn’t. I was made to be good at them. That complaint from teachers went beyond just behavior. When I was a kid – I just didn’t study.

I used to be creatively driven. More than books, you would find me near ice cream sticks, glue, paint, and all fancy craft items.

My parents thought this could be a problem, so since my childhood, they worked pretty hard to instill that study habit in me. My dad used to sit with a stick, and each time I got distracted, I used to get a pat hard enough to get me back to my studies. I tried to run away as I could not sit in one place long, but my dad just made me study. 

Before I knew it, I started getting good grades, and the academic validation motivated me to pursue them independently.

Little did I know, it still wasn’t enough. I would never be enough.

I remember being extremely excited the day before my fifth standard PTA meeting at school because I had secured first rank in my class. During a free period, my teacher was compiling report cards for the next day, and when I saw her pick up mine, I approached her with a chirpy tone and asked what remark she had written for me. She gave me a crooked, warning smile and said, “See it tomorrow.”

I convinced myself it was probably a surprise. It had to be. I had done nothing wrong. I had behaved very well that year. I was excited when the report card was handed over to my parents. They were happy until they weren’t. The remark read: “Great academic potential but is over-smart and loud. Can improve there.”

I looked at my teacher and felt betrayed as if she had thrown me under the bus for no reason.

All I did in class was raise my hand frequently to give answers and ask many questions because I was always curious, even when I knew people might laugh. I never expected a teacher to find me annoying simply for wanting to learn.

My heart broke. Later, I asked my dad what “oversmart” meant, and he told me, “Just don’t speak much from now on; you’ll be fine; you just study.” 

I did that. 

I wasn’t afraid to be myself as a kid, and I resent that people took that away from me when I wasn’t even strong enough to be my own person.

Fast forward to when I graduated from 12th standard, I was so relieved that I wouldn’t have to return to a school where I was bullied and had unsupportive, judgmental teachers.

I relocated to Delhi for college, and normally, people hope things will change when they go to college. But I never thought about it because I didn’t even know that having a healthy environment was a possibility.

In college, people were not fighting or bullying. They were engaging in conversations and openly speaking their minds, just like I used to. That meant I wouldn’t be ridiculed if I spoke my mind. And for the first time in my life, I felt welcomed by my peers. My thoughts were appreciated.  

I became more conscious of speaking because I feared that if I said something odd, people might find me weird and never talk to me again. It made no sense that I was sabotaging the good things that were happening. And I felt ashamed because it seemed childish and not a mature way to handle things.

I didn’t know why, but life never felt this overwhelming. Sure, school was painful, but that pain numbed rather than overwhelmed me. I felt emotions I had never experienced before and wasn’t prepared to deal with them. I didn’t know where this anxiety was coming from, and when I couldn’t handle it, I opted for counseling sessions at my college.

I never believed something could change my life, but I’m glad I was proved wrong.

Four months into therapy, I was asked to get an assessment for ADHD, and I did.

When I went through my assessment in 2023, my psychologist asked me many questions that focused on my behavior before the age of 12. As I answered, I could recall patterns and incidents from when I was 6 or 7.

I didn’t know what ADHD was, but it blew my mind that with every question, I didn’t just understand it but felt it resonate deeply. For every question, I had an instance to share. It felt like someone was interested for the first time and made space for “me.”

I was assessed with the combined representation of ADHD, and suddenly, my entire life made sense to me.  I felt anger toward society, my parents, and my teachers. Due to their ignorance and pre-defined notions, I had to hide myself, and for a very long time, I didn’t even like who I was because the people I loved never made me feel loved in a way I understood.

I was also angry at a higher power because it endowed me with great creativity and energy but made it equally hard to execute and bring these to life.

Time blindness, emotional dysregulation, impulsivity, distraction, executive dysfunction, and problems with planning and organizing can take away a lot of your precious time. Accepting this was the hardest thing for me because I am very ambitious.

Like you, I also wanted to “skip to the good part.”

Everything that was happening felt unfair, especially to an 18-year-old living away from home.

I was stuck in a loop of “what-ifs.”

What if people embraced differences?  

What if people were aware of neurodivergence?  

What if people were emotionally mature and evolved?

Maybe then, I wouldn’t have felt I needed to be someone else all my life.  

Maybe then, someone would have noticed how badly I needed help.

Even though I understand it was nobody’s fault and that my parents were doing the best they could, the consequences I faced brought these feelings out of me. This was until I found the light at the end of the tunnel.

Luckily, ADHD is the most researched brain disorder, and there are many great resources available for help.

It’s been one year since my assessment, and thanks to some great friends I made along the way, my therapist, and the space I made for “myself” every day, I can say that I love whatever I am doing and whoever I am becoming.

• I am developing that trust and confidence I never had the chance to develop because I thought I would always do the wrong thing.
• I learned to find ways that worked for my brain and developed a mindset where ADHD no longer feels like a disadvantage.
• I started learning more about successful people who were neurodivergent and reading books to understand it better.

And it all started by:

– Taking therapy sessions four times a month. I used to go every week, even though I was exhausted, and sometimes even ended up ghosting my therapist for weeks. But I made sure that I always went back and learned to face things.

– Focusing on the breathing techniques that were taught to me when I was feeling suffocated and very anxious.

– Understanding my resentment and allowing myself to feel angry with the people I love the most without feeling guilty about it.

– Not judging my neurodivergent symptoms anymore, but instead understanding and accepting them.

– Deciding not to feel sorry for myself and to stop thinking of ADHD as a disadvantage.

– Trying (and still trying) to listen to my creative self, which was shunned so brutally as a child.

I am proud to say that I own a keyboard I am learning to play; I have two sketchbooks. I sing and perform and recently painted a switchboard at 3 a.m. I write scripts and film creative videos, and I am letting my creative horses run wild.

To everyone who has read this far, I want you to know that neurodivergence is not bad. Even though I am on my journey to fully embrace it, I have come to understand that a little bit of awareness, a change in perspective, and some help can unlock some superpowers that can be leveraged in many great ways.