Recently diagnosed with ADHD and I’m 63!

I have felt “different “ as far back as I can remember. As a child, even as young as three, I was hyper-sensitive and fearful of loud unexpected noises (like those from fireworks) and sudden, or even anticipated, flashes of light (i.e. camera flashes). I have no idea if this hypersensitivity has anything to do with my ADHD, but my parents had no tolerance for such foolishness and I was highly criticized for being so “odd.” (At one point in my teaching career I taught preschool, and I realized, from both my training and firsthand experience that certain young children are highly sensitive to certain stimuli, and what my parents felt were unreasonable fears were, in fact, very real and very legitimate). That was just the beginning of a lifetime of overeating and other addictive behaviors, poor self-esteem, people-pleasing (at all costs), perfectionism to an extreme degree, and making sure I excelled in every single thing I did. Due to nonexistent executive functioning skills I had to pedal harder and faster than everyone else, but with great effort (and perhaps great acting) I managed to excel and make it look effortless. It was exhausting, and took its toll emotionally, too, because I truly believed that I was actually quite stupid. I thought that my accomplishments were just a matter of “dumb luck.” Being diagnosed with ADHD as an older adult has explained a lot, but I look back with such regret and really wish I could go back and do much of my life over again with an “ADHD mentor” by my side. That person would help me understand the neuroscience of ADHD, that it isn’t a character flaw or lack of intelligence. I would be spared the secrecy and shame, the constant feeling of not being “good enough.” The unattainable standard of being a perfect person (which was my New Year’s resolution every year for most of my life) would not exist, and I would learn accommodations to navigate life without “normal” executive functioning skills. Perhaps I would even be able to embrace wearing a tee-shirt that boasted “World’s Okayest Person” on the front, and laugh, because I, of all people, would understand the irony behind it. Alas, that did not happen when I was a young child, young adult, or even a middle-aged woman. Now that my hair has naturally turned platinum and I have more wrinkles than I should from the passage of time and too many years in the sun, now I understand why I am the way I am. I can’t go backwards in time, and regrets are becoming just too exhausting. Maybe, just maybe, I can still make a life that I feel good about, a life in which I can make a difference—for myself and for others. Maybe I can accept, be happy about, and proud of a life where my personal best truly is “good enough.” It’s time to move forward, even if I am sixty-three…