I Have ADHD. Here's What I'm No Longer Apologizing For: On Shame, Rest, and Joy

I have inattentive ADHD.

Since October is ADHD Awareness Month, I’m sharing what that experience has meant for me: the shame I’m unlearning, the rest I’m making room for, and the joy I don’t want to keep putting off.

I was officially diagnosed almost two years ago, after a lifetime of struggling and beating myself up for things I didn't understand. I'm still getting used to saying I have ADHD without immediately feeling like I need to explain myself. For years, I had plenty of other explanations: lazy, careless, inconsistent, too much. Full of potential, but somehow always falling short of it.

Maybe you know those words. Maybe somebody said them to you so often that eventually you started doing their work for them. Nobody had to call you unreliable anymore. You were already calling yourself that.

That's the part I'm working on now. Understanding my ADHD has given me another way to look at my life, but those old judgments don't just pack up and leave because I have better information.

Apparently, there's some unlearning involved. Quite a bit, actually.

I thought the problem was me

I could work hard. I could care deeply. I could show up for other people with tremendous focus and commitment. Then there were the emails I couldn't answer, the tasks I couldn't begin, the appointments I forgot, and the ideas arriving faster than I could organize them.

How could I be so capable in one area and so overwhelmed in another? I didn't have a kind answer to that question for a long time.

People see what you manage. They do not always see what it costs you to manage it.

When you've spent years judging yourself, understanding why something was difficult can bring relief and grief at the same time. I'm grateful for the understanding. I also wish I'd had it earlier. There are things I would have said to myself differently.

I don't need to pretend that nothing went wrong. Some things did. Some things still do. But difficulty was not proof that I was lazy or that I didn't care. I'm learning to stop treating it that way.

Please don't make me be resilient all the time

I've spent a lot of energy looking like I'm fine. Systems, reminders, backup plans, urgency, apologies. Whatever it took to keep things moving.

Then people call you resilient.

I understand the compliment. I've used the word myself. But I've also talked about being tired of being resilient. At some point, I want us to ask why a person has to keep finding another way to push through. Where is the support? When do they get to stop?

ADHD has affected my work, my relationships, my confidence, and my ability to do ordinary things without turning them into a full production. I don't want to dress that up just to make the story more inspiring.

And no, I don't think calling it a superpower explains the whole experience.

I appreciate my creativity, my curiosity, and the connections my mind makes. I also get frustrated with my mind. I can value who I am and still need help with parts of my life. I am allowed to tell the whole truth.

The work may not be finished when I rest

Somewhere along the way, I absorbed the idea that rest comes after everything else. Return the messages. Finish the project. Make the money. Be dependable. Then sit down.

Everything else is a very long list.

If I'm waiting for every loose end to be tied up before I rest, I'm going to be waiting a while. There's always another task, another idea, another thing I suddenly remember I was supposed to do.

I'm learning to take a break while something is still unfinished. Sometimes that means turning off the noise or lying down. Sometimes it means deciding that a task can wait until I have more capacity to do it.

That sounds simple when I write it. Living it is another matter.

When people know you as the person who handles things, taking a break can feel like letting them down. Even when nobody has said a word, the guilt can show up ready to supervise.

I don't have a perfect routine or a neat solution. What I have is a growing awareness that I want enough space to live, not just manage. Rest has to be part of that life now, while there are still things on the list.

What does belonging look like in church?

This follows me into my ministry, too. I think about the things we expect people to do to show that they're paying attention or taking their faith seriously: sit still, stay quiet, remember every announcement, follow the sermon, maintain the routine.

What happens when somebody loves God and struggles with those things?

A person might need to stand, move, doodle, ask a question again, or receive information in another way. We can get so caught up in how participation should look that we miss the person trying to participate.

Who was the room designed for?

That's a real question for me. When we talk about radical inclusion, I want us to think about what happens after somebody walks through the door. Can they ask for what they need? Will we listen? Or will they spend the whole service trying to look like everybody else so nobody questions their commitment?

I believe God meets us in our actual bodies and minds. That includes the distracted mind, the tired body, and the person who needs the instructions one more time.

My understanding of faith has had to make room for my own humanity. I want the communities I'm part of to do that, too. We can start by asking people what helps them stay connected and taking their answers seriously.

I can be accountable without being ashamed of myself

Let me be clear: I'm not saying ADHD means I never need to apologize.

If I've hurt somebody, I want to acknowledge it. If I've missed something important, I want to address it. There are supports I can build and patterns I can work on. Other people's feelings still matter.

So do mine.

Forgetting something doesn't give somebody permission to define my entire character. Needing a reminder doesn't mean I'm incapable. Asking for room to pause, move, or write something down isn't an unreasonable demand.

I can take responsibility for what happened without agreeing that I'm a terrible person because it happened. That's a distinction I'm still practicing, especially when the harshest voice in the conversation is my own.

I want room for joy, too

I ask people about joy on INSPIRE! because I'm interested in their lives beyond their accomplishments and what they've survived. It's a question I need to keep asking myself.

What brings me joy? What do I enjoy simply because I enjoy it?

A good conversation. Music. Food made with care. Laughter. Following an idea because it interests me, even if it never becomes a project or earns a dollar.

My curiosity doesn't always cooperate with my schedule, but I don't want to treat everything that delights me as an interruption. There's a whole life here that deserves my attention, too.

Joy doesn't resolve every difficulty. I can have a good day and still need support the next morning. I can laugh and still be working through grief. I don't have to finish healing or become perfectly organized before something beautiful is allowed to happen.

I'm trying to make room for that now.

Still figuring it out

This is part of what I bring to my ministry and advocacy, to INSPIRE!, and to the conversations I care about: what becomes possible when people don't have to spend so much energy pretending they're okay?

I want that question asked in churches, workplaces, families, and anywhere else people are trying to belong. I want us to offer support before somebody is completely exhausted.

If you're living with ADHD, you don't owe anybody an inspirational conclusion. You can feel relieved, angry, hopeful, frustrated, or several of those before lunch. You can still be figuring out what helps.

I certainly am. I'm learning to rest with less guilt, question the old labels, and leave some room for joy while the work is unfinished.

I am not a problem to be managed. Neither are you.

What resonated with you? What has your own experience been? Share your response below. You don’t need a polished story. Bring the unfinished one.

Further reading

For readers who want to explore these conversations further:

• "We're just not even on the map": Black women's experiences of adult ADHD diagnosis and care
• The Impossible Subject: Belonging as a Neurodivergent in Congregations