For years, I knew something was off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but life always felt like I was playing catch-up while everyone else seemed to have it together. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties, after years of misdiagnoses and a lot of confusion, that I was told I had ADHD.

When I first heard it, there was this overwhelming sense of relief—finally, an explanation. But that relief quickly gave way to something deeper: grief. Grief for all the years I’d spent blaming myself, for the mistakes I’d made, and the relationships that had suffered because I simply didn’t know. I didn’t know why I was different, why I couldn’t stay on top of things, or why I often felt disconnected from the world around me.

The Invisible Struggle

Growing up, I wasn’t the kid bouncing off the walls or causing disruptions in class, so no one ever suspected ADHD. My struggles were quieter, internal. I was the daydreamer, the one who couldn’t seem to stay organised, constantly losing things, forgetting plans, and missing deadlines. Teachers said I wasn’t “applying myself,” and I internalised that message, believing I just needed to try harder. But no matter how much effort I put in, it never seemed to be enough.

As an adult, these issues didn’t go away—they just became harder to hide. Work was a constant uphill battle. I’d put in twice the effort to accomplish what seemed to come naturally to others. And when it came to relationships, that’s where ADHD hit the hardest.

The Toll on Relationships

I didn’t realise how much my undiagnosed ADHD was affecting my relationships. With partners, I’d often seem disinterested, forgetting important dates or zoning out during conversations. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, but my mind was constantly jumping from one thing to the next. I’d get overwhelmed easily, which often led to emotional outbursts or shutting down completely.

I can’t count the number of times I was accused of being flaky or unreliable, and honestly, I couldn’t argue with that assessment. But it hurt, because deep down, I was trying my best. I just didn’t have the tools or understanding to manage it all.

My partners didn’t understand why I couldn’t just remember to pay the bills on time, or why I’d start a project full of excitement, only to abandon it halfway through. I wanted to be a good partner, but I felt like I was constantly failing. Looking back, I wonder how different those relationships might have been if I had known about my ADHD sooner. Could we have communicated better? Could I have been kinder to myself and, in turn, more present for them?

Parenting with ADHD

Parenting has been one of the biggest challenges with my ADHD. Before my diagnosis, I constantly questioned my abilities as a mother. I’d forget things—important things. The chaos of trying to keep track of schedules, school events, and daily tasks often left me feeling overwhelmed and inadequate.

I wanted so badly to be the kind of mum who always had it together, but most days, I felt like I was barely holding on. The guilt was unbearable. When I’d forget to pack a snack for school or miss a meeting with a teacher, I’d berate myself. I thought I was just disorganised or lazy, not realising there was something deeper at play.

Then there was the emotional side of things. ADHD doesn’t just affect focus—it impacts emotional regulation. There were days when my patience was paper-thin, and I’d snap at my kids over something trivial. The guilt would hit immediately afterward. I’d beat myself up for not being the calm, composed parent I wanted to be.

Once I was diagnosed, I finally had an explanation, but that didn’t erase the grief. I mourned for the mum I thought I should have been, the partner I could have been. I grieved for all the times I’d blamed myself, thinking I just wasn’t trying hard enough.

The Grief of a Late Diagnosis

Receiving an ADHD diagnosis in adulthood is bittersweet. On one hand, it’s a relief to finally understand why life has felt like an uphill battle. On the other, there’s the overwhelming sense of loss—for the years spent feeling inadequate, for the relationships that crumbled, and for the parent I could have been if I’d known sooner.

There’s a lot of “what ifs.” What if I had been diagnosed earlier? What if I’d had the tools to manage my symptoms before they caused so much damage? What if I hadn’t spent so many years blaming myself for things that were never my fault?

That’s the part that stings the most—the self-blame. I look back on years of frustration, anxiety, and depression, all tied to the feeling that I just wasn’t good enough. I wish I could go back and tell my younger self that it wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t lazy or stupid, that her brain just worked differently.

Moving Forward

Getting diagnosed has been life-changing, but it’s also a process of unlearning years of negative self-talk. I’m learning to be kinder to myself, to set realistic expectations, and to ask for help when I need it. It’s not easy, but it’s a start.

I’ve also started talking more openly about my ADHD, especially with my children. I want them to understand that it’s okay to struggle, and that their worth isn’t tied to how organised or “together” they are. I want them to grow up knowing that different doesn’t mean broken.

I still grieve for the lost years, but I’m also hopeful. Now that I know what I’m dealing with, I can start building a life that works for me, not against me. I’m learning how to be a better parent and partner, not by holding myself to impossible standards, but by embracing who I am and what I need. It’s a long road, but it’s one I’m finally ready to walk.

I felt so alone in the early days, so I don’t want others to walk this journey alone. At Aislings, we understand the impact of ADHD and mental health difficulties and are striving to make knowledge and professional support more accessible.