Failing at Normal

Hello, brains! I say that to you because, if you think about it, it wasn’t really you who decided to come here today. It was your brain. Whether you walked, drove, took a taxi, or rode a bike, that decision was made by your brain. Behavior, all behavior, is affected by the brain. This is a story about my brain.

I was a smart kid. By 18 months, I was speaking in full sentences. By third grade, I was scoring post-high school on standardized tests. My teachers all agreed—I had so much potential. But despite my intellectual gifts, I struggled. I didn’t have many, if any, friends outside of books. I was easily overwhelmed, often spacing out in class and losing things constantly. Trying to get my brain to focus on anything that didn’t excite me was like trying to nail jello to the wall. But I was smart, so no one worried too much.

It wasn’t until middle school, when I had to manage getting myself to classes on time and remember my homework, that being smart wasn’t enough anymore. My grades began to slip. My mom took me to a doctor, and after a thorough evaluation, I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD).

ADHD isn’t just about being hyper or distracted. It has three primary characteristics: inattention, impulsivity, and hyperactivity. Some people with ADHD are mostly inattentive, the daydreamers and space cadets. Others are more hyperactive-impulsive, the ones who often get diagnosed early. But the most common presentation is a combination of both.

My doctor and my parents thought that maybe stimulant medication would help where traditional discipline had failed. When I tried it, it was like putting on glasses for the first time and realizing I could see without squinting. I could focus. And without changing anything else, my academic performance soared significantly. It felt miraculous. By 15, I had friends who liked me, by 16, I had published my first poem, and by 19, I knew I wanted to be a course in engineering.

I enrolled in a local college with a program that guaranteed admission to Maseno University. I moved in with my boyfriend, and everything seemed perfect—until it wasn’t. I started having trouble making it to class on time. I aced a statistics course but forgot to sign up for the credit. I took classes to support my boyfriend’s career but lost sight of my own. I never made it to Maseno. By 24, I dropped out of college and moved back home.

Over the next decade, I started and quit, or was fired from, 15 jobs. I ruined my credit and went through a brief marriage that ended in divorce within a year. By 28, I was lost, reading self-help books that didn’t seem to help. What happened to all that potential? Was I not trying hard enough? No, I worked harder than anyone I knew, with no time for friends. My failure felt like my fault.

At this point, I could have given up on myself, believing that everyone who thought I had potential was wrong. But I didn’t. I knew that my behavior was influenced by my brain and that my brain had ADHD. I started researching ADHD more deeply, seeking information that went beyond the surface.

I found a wealth of resources, including websites, podcasts, and books by researchers and medical professionals. I learned that ADHD is real—it’s not just bad parenting or lack of discipline. It’s a neurodevelopmental disorder with measurable differences in the brain. While ADHD is often diagnosed more frequently now, it’s not due to factors like sugar or technology; rather, it’s because we’re better at recognizing it in various populations.

ADHD affects about 5 to 8% of the global population, so chances are, you’ve encountered someone with ADHD. It’s more than just inattention or hyperactivity. It can lead to more accidents, higher rates of job loss, divorce, and struggles with addiction. ADHD is on a spectrum, and having it means facing challenges that affect various aspects of life, from emotional regulation to executive function.

One of the biggest realizations for me was understanding that ADHD is a terrible name—it implies a deficit of attention when, in reality, it’s about regulating attention. It’s like having your brain switch between 30 different channels while someone else holds the remote. Sometimes we struggle to focus, and other times we get stuck on one channel and can’t pull away.

Current research suggests that these difficulties are linked to how our brains produce and process neurotransmitters like dopamine and norepinephrine. Medication can help, but it’s not a cure-all. ADHD affects much more than focus; it impacts executive functions like planning and prioritizing, and it can influence emotional regulation, behavior, and sleep.

Despite these challenges, ADHD is highly treatable. Stimulant medication can boost neurotransmitters and improve focus for about 80% of people with ADHD. But medication alone isn’t enough. I also discovered that cognitive behavioral therapy, coaching, and strategies like using lists and timers could make a huge difference.

I learned that ADHD is not about failing to meet societal norms but about finding a way to work with a brain that operates differently. I connected with an ADHD community, which helped me see my strengths and appreciate what I had to offer. ADHD brains are often creative, generous, and entrepreneurial. They excel in urgent, novel, and challenging tasks.

By 30, I had started a Medium channel, connecting with ADHD experts and creating a platform for learning and support. Now, at 31, I’m engaged to a wonderful man who also has ADHD and helps with the channel. I’m reaching out to schools to help kids understand their brains earlier.

So, what did I learn? Understanding my brain, finding a job that engages it, and learning strategies for ongoing challenges have allowed me to reach my potential. It’s about recognizing that ADHD is not a failure but a different way of being. If you have ADHD, you’re not alone, and you’re not broken. Embrace your unique strengths and find your ocean to swim in.

Thank you.