The first 30 years of my life seemed like a long rehearsal for a role that wasn’t mine. Something I’ve observed over time – in myself and in other girls – is a silent phenomenon: girls who start life being expansive, talkative, curious, intense… and who gradually, even before adolescence, lose the sparkle in their eyes and the enthusiasm that once pulsed through everything they did. It’s as if a light is being gently dimmed so that they fit better into the world around them.

For me, this erasure began between the ages of 7 and 9, when I had my first panic attacks – an early break with my sense of security in the world. In my teens, episodes of depression became more frequent, and at the age of 14 I found an emotional anchor in Buddhist philosophy that, in a way, saved my youth. Just to give you an idea, throughout my academic career, I changed schools seven times. I never felt like I belonged anywhere. It was as if my presence was always a little out of place, as if I were a crooked piece trying to fit into straight systems.

At university, I noticed a pattern that bothered me: I would leave studying until the day before exams, spending entire nights trying to absorb the content. And, curiously, if I liked the subject, I would just revise it and do well in the exams – because I paid attention in class. This behavior made me feel average, always improvising. Deep down, I always thought that this was immaturity and that one day it would pass.

When I Started Wondering

It was when I reached the age of 30, with more maturity and a certain honesty with myself, that I began to notice an uncomfortable pattern: some behaviors that I had hoped to abandon with “adulthood” were still there.

But the most striking thing was noticing how the people around me seemed to navigate life with more focus, more linearity, more internal stability – and this led me to a question that became a mental refrain: why am I not like this?

At some point – I don’t remember how – I came across a list of ADHD symptoms and felt a shock. Symptoms that I would never have thought were linked to the disorder described exactly what I was feeling. It was as if someone had finally put a caption on what I was experiencing.

Until then, my only contact with ADHD was the clichéd image of the hyperactive child who won’t sit still, can’t watch television and is constantly scolded for not doing their homework. I was completely ignorant of the diversity of manifestations of the disorder – especially in adult women.

When I told a friend about my suspicion, she encouraged me to see a doctor. Even so, it took me a while to take it seriously. I thought: if I’ve come this far without a diagnosis or medication, I can carry on like this. At the time, I still saw everything as an unnecessary luxury, not as a mental health issue.

Two years later, something happened that made me seek help.

One weekend I would travel to another city three hours away. I’ve always loved driving alone, putting on my favorite songs and immersing myself in my inner universe, and disconnecting. The thing is, New Zealand’s roads are narrow, winding and dangerously empty.

That day, I left the house at five in the morning, without having slept properly, driving my new car. Two hours later, distracted and immersed in thought, I collided with a stationary vehicle with its warning light on, waiting to turn right. Luckily – and perhaps by divine intervention – no one was hurt.

My car was totaled. The insurance gave me another one, but that episode was a turning point.

When people asked me what had happened, I lied – I said the sun had blurred my vision. But inside I knew the truth: I was so distracted and dissociated that I simply didn’t see the car in front of me. It was at that moment that a realization hit me – I wasn’t just doing this in traffic. I realized how much I was masking. I’d always hidden and adapted. It was my unconscious way of surviving in a world that doesn’t work for my internal rhythm.

That’s when I decided to book an appointment. The waiting list in New Zealand was nine months, but I called to ask to be put on the list in case of cancellation and managed to get it down to six. I needed to talk to someone, I needed to understand if it was all just an invention in my head or if there was, in fact, a deeper explanation for what I was experiencing.

The Diagnosis

I’ll never forget March 6, 2024. Talking to a professional and finally describing my symptoms without a filter was like opening a door I didn’t even know existed. When he confirmed the diagnosis and explained how my brain works, I burst into tears. It was as if a movie was playing in my head – behaviors that I had previously attributed to personal weakness or a lack of discipline accompanied by a lot of guilt – all of a sudden gained context and meaning.

The doctor shared an analogy with me that I’ve never forgotten: living with ADHD is like having a Ferrari – a powerful engine, full of ideas, energy and creativity – but which can’t get out of second gear. In other words, the problem is not a lack of capacity, but a lack of regulation. It’s having internal speed but not being able to direct it consistently. This image translated exactly how I felt: accelerated inside, but stuck in the gears of everyday life.

It was a huge relief to understand why I had felt so out of sync for so long. The diagnosis was an external validation of something that, deep down, I had already sensed – but had never had the words or understanding to say out loud.

Rewriting My Sense of Identity

After the diagnosis, a process of restructuring my personal narrative began. I delved deeper into the subject and realized how much I still didn’t know about it. I learned about the myths, the stigmas, the limitations and also the potential associated with ADHD. As I delved deeper, I also experienced a phase of victimization: I began to see the diagnosis as a kind of sentence, a definitive explanation for everything, feeding the limiting belief that “that’s just the way I am”.

Over time, the movement reversed: I began to see the strengths of my functioning – my creativity, my intuition, my intense sensitivity – and to explore ways of putting them to use in my life, rather than trying to fit into a model that was never mine.

But what surprised me most about all this was that many studies show that ADHD manifests itself differently in girls and boys – and these differences profoundly shape the way the disorder is experienced, perceived and treated.

Boys, for example, because they have more visible symptoms such as hyperactivity and impulsivity, are usually diagnosed earlier.

Girls, on the other hand, tend to mask their symptoms in order to adapt to social expectations, internalizing inattention, confusion and self-criticism. This constant camouflage makes diagnosis more difficult and contributes to the silent accumulation of guilt, anxiety and low self-esteem – which accurately describes my internal state until diagnosis.

So while boys are sometimes encouraged to see their behavior as a sign of boldness or creativity, girls are taught from an early age to silence what doesn’t fit expectations.

Many of us suffer in silence for years, until we have the language – and the courage – to name what we have always felt. This became even more evident to me when I watched interviews with men with ADHD: the way they talk about themselves, with more naturalness, confidence and even pride, is completely different from my experience marked by self-doubt, self-sabotage and camouflage.

My Inner State Today

To this day, I’m surprised to realize how much I was masking – and how much I was fighting against myself. The internal conflict of looking functional on the outside and being in turmoil on the inside is real and exhausting. Only those who live it know.

The diagnosis was a watershed. Today, I look at my story with more self-compassion.

I’m still learning, getting to know myself and rebuilding myself, but now with more clarity and, above all, less guilt.

I wonder how many other women keep molding themselves, adapting, silencing themselves – without knowing that there is an explanation behind all this effort.

I hope that my story can reach someone who, like me, carries a nameless internal conflict, and who may find here a mirror, a relief or even a starting point to look at themselves more kindly. Because sometimes, all you need to begin to understand yourself is to know that you’re not alone.

From my chaos to yours,