A Day in the Life with ADHD: Navigating the Ups and Downs

Growing up, my understanding of ADHD was limited to the stereotype of someone easily distracted and disruptive in class. It didn't resonate with me; I wasn't particularly restless or outwardly disruptive. Instead, my struggles stemmed from an invisible barrier preventing me from doing what I wanted.

I yearned to be like Rory Gilmore: an avid reader, academic achiever, and someone who could maintain healthy relationships. I even dreamt of attending an Ivy League university and becoming a journalist. However, this "wall" in my mind seemed insurmountable, hindering my abilities.

I could only work if it was urgent, focus on topics that interested me, and rely on pressure to stay on task. Even then, my interests shifted constantly, affecting my consistency. During my sophomore year of high school, instead of being accepted into a prep school like Rory, I found myself in an alternative school for troubled students. I still couldn't identify what hindered me, and my life deviated further from my aspirations.

It wasn't until adulthood that I received the correct diagnosis. In retrospect, the symptoms aligned perfectly with my lifelong struggles. Medication removed the resistance; I could see a task and complete it without hindrance.

Here's a glimpse into a typical day in my life with ADHD:

6:45 AM: My alarm goes off, and I hit the snooze button, drifting back to sleep. Initially, I set it for 6:45 AM to start my day with some personal time, but I've developed a habit of hitting snooze and waking up hours later.

8:16 AM: I finally awaken, make coffee, and water my trusty begonia, the only plant I've managed to keep alive.

The choice of begonia was intentional; I read that it thrives on irregular watering, making it ideal for my erratic plant care routine. I usually manage to water it at least once a week, occasionally two to three times, but sometimes I neglect it for weeks. Despite this inconsistent schedule, the plant has survived for three years.

9:24 AM: I sit down at my desk to start working, aiming to start at 8:30 AM. However, upon waking up, I found two text messages that required immediate attention before my coffee could work its magic. But then I got sidetracked by scrolling through Twitter while waiting for the caffeine to kick in. Almost an hour passed before I realized the time.

9:38 AM: I've been "working" for 15 minutes but haven't started any actual work. I'm indecisive about which of four assignments to prioritize.

I still haven't responded to the text messages, and I've missed my morning run and book-reading time. It's only been an hour and a half since I woke up, and my to-do list is growing exponentially, threatening to overwhelm me with indecision.

Finally, I decide to edit an article since it seems less daunting and easier to cross off my list.

11:09 AM: My 10-minute alarm, set for 9:50 AM to remind me of a 10:00 AM meeting, went off. I turned it off and thought I'd squeeze in a few more minutes of editing before setting up the Zoom call. I didn't notice the time again until 11:09 AM.

3:27 PM: Medication helped me make progress for about four hours, so I break for a run and lunch (since the medication suppressed my appetite and I skipped lunch).

My to-do list feels more manageable, but I'm still behind schedule. I'll need a second dose of medication after my run, even though my doctor advises against it after 4:00 PM due to potential sleep interference. However, without it, I won't be able to catch up on today's work, leading to a spillover into tomorrow, perpetuating the cycle of feeling overwhelmed.

4:12 PM: I try to respond to the morning texts while eating my late lunch but feel overwhelmed.

Rejection sensitivity and perfectionism make even simple text messages challenging; crafting one can take 15-30 minutes. Upon sending a message, I often receive a response within seconds or minutes, leaving me with no time to savor the satisfaction of completing a task before a new one emerges.

Explaining this to others without sounding dismissive is difficult. I usually end up avoiding texts for days or weeks, exacerbating the problem. My New Year's resolution this year was to respond to texts within 24 hours; two weeks later, I modified it to "within the week." I'm still struggling to meet even this revised goal.

7:02 PM: I managed another two hours of work and feel mentally exhausted; the wall is back up. Instead of finishing, I go for a walk to clear my head before relaxing in front of the TV.

7:15 PM: During my walk, I start to feel guilt and worry about leaving work unfinished. This is a familiar feeling, stemming from years of failing to meet my potential in school and falling short of career aspirations. I can count the number of days I've completed all scheduled tasks on one hand.

Today is another "unfinished day," but it's a significant improvement. Before treatment, I'd be fortunate to get two hours of work done in a day, so completing six hours is an achievement. I try to remind myself of this progress.

7:37 PM: After returning from my walk, I heat up leftovers for dinner and sit down at my desk, hoping to trick myself into doing more work. However, the wall is still up. I resolve to turn off my computer and allow myself to rest.

Taking breaks without slipping into paralysis and ruminating about undone tasks is challenging. Years of feeling lazy, unambitious, and unproductive have conditioned me to associate any non-working period with procrastination and guilt.

However, I'm practicing, and my breaks are slowly becoming more restorative.

In Closing

My days rarely go as planned, but one of the biggest lessons I've learned since my diagnosis is that mental health involves both working towards improvement and acknowledging limitations.

In the initial months of treatment, overjoyed by the newfound ability to overcome the wall, I tirelessly pursued productivity, resulting in burnout. Over time, I've realized the importance of pacing myself, setting realistic goals, and taking intentional breaks.

While ADHD