When I look back at my childhood, I can still hear the words that followed me everywhere: lazy and hyperactive. I was the kid who couldn’t sit still, who lost assignments before they made it home, who would space out in class only to come alive at the wrong time. On the outside, I probably looked careless. On the inside, I was trying harder than anyone could see.

My sister still talks about how I never helped her clean our room when I was a kid. She and I were supposed to tackle it together, but she’d always end up frustrated with me. I wasn’t being stubborn, I just couldn’t stay focused long enough to finish. I’d start with the best intentions, but the moment I touched something, my brain took me somewhere else. A sticker sheet would spark a whole new project. A toy would suddenly become the center of an imaginary world. Meanwhile, my sister was doing the actual cleaning, muttering under her breath (if not tattling to our mom) because I wasn’t helping. To her, I was lazy, but I couldn’t help it. Every effort pulled me further away from the task at hand.

The thing about being a girl with ADHD in the 80s and 90s is that no one really understood what that meant. Boys were labeled with ADHD. Girls like me were “dreamers,” “chatterboxes,” or simply “difficult.” I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me, that my lack of focus and constant energy was a character flaw instead of a brain wired differently.

Now, in my 40s, I know better—but that doesn’t mean it’s easier. ADHD doesn’t magically fade with age. If anything, the responsibilities of adulthood—career, relationships, home, bills, and all the moving parts of daily life—make it even more obvious when my brain struggles to keep up. Add OCD and Complex PTSD into the mix, and the simplest tasks can feel like climbing mountains in flip-flops.

The Balancing Act
My OCD demands structure, order, and control. My ADHD rebels against it. My C-PTSD sometimes hijacks both with unexpected triggers. This trifecta makes daily living a juggling act that most people don’t see. On the outside, I might look put together, but the truth is, I’ve had to build a lot of scaffolding to survive.

I’ve had to create processes for myself to cope.

• I keep routines simple and repetitive, so I don’t get overwhelmed with choices.
• I use alarms and reminders for almost everything, even things as basic as switching the laundry or taking medication.
• I write down everything—if it doesn’t make it to a list, it might as well not exist.
• I give myself permission to step back when my brain and body can’t keep up, instead of pushing until I crash.

But here’s the reality: even with all my systems, I still function in a mess. My car, for example, is always a disaster. No matter how many times I clean it out, it somehow turns back into a catch-all for half-finished water bottles, travel mugs, receipts, shoes, and random odds and ends. I’ve had to accept that it’s part of how I live. Same with things like sunglasses—I don’t buy expensive ones, because I know myself. I’ll lose them. Probably within weeks. It’s not a lack of caring; it’s just how my brain works. Learning to accept those quirks instead of beating myself up over them has been a big part of making peace with ADHD in adulthood.

And then there are the physical quirks I’ve never outgrown. I still can’t sit or stand still. If I’m in a chair, I’m fidgeting, bouncing a leg, or shifting constantly. I bite my nails. I play with my hair obsessively, twirling and tugging at it without even realizing I’m doing it. These habits aren’t just “bad behaviors”—they’re my brain’s way of burning off the excess energy that never really goes away.

What’s Hard to Explain
The hardest part about living with ADHD (and the extra layers of OCD and C-PTSD) is that it’s invisible. People don’t see the effort it takes to stay on track. They don’t see how exhausting it is to constantly self-regulate. They don’t see the shame that creeps in when you lose focus during an important conversation, or when a missed appointment makes you look careless.

For me, being a woman in my 40s with ADHD is about carrying both the child I was—misunderstood and mislabeled—and the adult I am now, who works every day to create a life that makes sense with the brain I have. I’m not lazy. I never was. I’m not just hyperactive. I’m resilient, resourceful, and creative in ways that only come from years of figuring out how to live in a world that often misunderstands people like me.

It’s not easy. It never has been. But I’m learning that my brain isn’t broken—it just works differently. And instead of fighting against it, I’m finally starting to build a life that works with it.