I was 48 when I finally found out.
“My husband thinks I’m lazy.” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
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My therapist, Emma, nodded, her expression gentle.
“Why do you think he feels that way?”
I let out a shaky breath. “Because he asks me to do simple things, and I... I don’t.”
“Like what?”
“House stuff. I mean, I can get to work on time, hold down a job, but at home...” I trailed off, staring at the tissue in my hands. “I can’t even keep up with the laundry or call the doctor. It’s like my brain just... shuts down.”
“Sarah, do you ever feel like you want to start a task but something stops you?”
“Yes! I can see the pile of dishes, know I need to wash them, but it’s like there’s a wall in my mind.”
Emma leaned forward. “What do you feel when that happens?”
“Guilt. Shame. Like I’m failing at being an adult.” I wiped my eyes.
“Peter doesn’t understand. He’ll say, ‘Why can you get up and go to work but can’t manage to vacuum the living room?’ And I don’t have an answer.”
Emma gave a soft nod. “Have you ever heard of ADHD?”
My breath caught. “But I’m not hyperactive. I’m not bouncing off the walls.”
“It’s not just that. ADHD can present differently in adults, especially women. It can look like time blindness, difficulty with self-regulation, or struggling with routines.”
A memory surfaced: sitting on the couch, scrolling my phone, hours slipping away.
I’d told Peter I’d call the doctor, but I hadn’t. When he asked if I’d done it, I’d lied. Not to deceive him, but because I felt so ashamed.
Emma’s voice was soft. “I think it’s worth exploring.”
A month later, I sat in her office again, my hands resting on my knees.
“I started medication last week.”
“How do you feel?”
I hesitated, then spoke. “Clearer. It’s not like magic, but the fog isn’t there. I can see what needs to be done and... just do it.”
Emma smiled. “That’s progress. How about routines? Are they still difficult?”
“They are. I know what I need to do, but sticking to it feels impossible.”
“What if we create a reward system? Something small but meaningful?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Like what?”
“Anything that feels like a treat. A song you love, a five-minute walk, a cup of your favorite tea. Something you can give yourself every time you complete a routine.”
She handed me a worksheet. “Try this. It’s designed specifically for ADHD. It breaks tasks into manageable steps and helps you create small rewards. Many of my clients find it useful.”
I thought about it. “I could try it.”
Emma handed me another worksheet.
“This one’s great for breaking down overwhelming tasks into bite-sized steps. It can help you visualize progress, which can be really motivating.”
I took it, flipping through the simple prompts. “So, I write down a task and break it into smaller actions?”
“Exactly. And each time you complete a step, mark it off. It gives your brain a little dopamine boost, like checking something off a to-do list.”
I decided to try it that afternoon. The kitchen was a mess, dishes piled up, counters sticky. Instead of seeing it as one big job, I broke it down: clear the table, load the dishwasher, wipe the counters. Each step had its own box to tick off.
With every checkmark, I felt a tiny thrill. By the end, the kitchen was clean, and I didn’t feel drained.
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The next morning, I woke up and sat on the edge of the bed, the usual dread settling over me. I glanced at the pile of clothes on the chair, the empty coffee cup on the nightstand. Normally, I’d ignore them, let them blend into the background.
But Emma’s words echoed in my mind. “One small step.”
I picked up the cup, carried it to the kitchen, and set it in the sink. My brain didn’t protest. I didn’t feel the usual weight dragging me back to bed.
“Okay,” I whispered. “That’s one.”
I opened Spotify, played my favorite song, and let myself dance around the kitchen for three minutes. It felt silly, but the tiny reward worked. When the song ended, I put away the dishes. Then I started the laundry.
By the time Peter came home, the living room was tidy, and I was on the couch with a book.
“Did someone come by?” he asked, his voice light with surprise.
“Nope.” I smiled. “Just me.”
He sat beside me. “You did all this?”
I nodded.
“I found a way to make it easier. My therapist suggested giving myself small rewards. I did a task, then I played a song or stepped outside for fresh air.”
Peter’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t know it was so hard for you.”
“I didn’t either. I thought I was just lazy.”
He took my hand. “I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.”
“It’s okay. I’m just glad to understand it now.”
Over the next few weeks, I built tiny routines into my day. I’d set a timer, do one task, and then let myself enjoy a reward.
A podcast episode, a square of dark chocolate, a quick walk around the block.
Emma and I continued working together, exploring why certain tasks felt impossible. “It’s about the brain’s reward system,” she explained.
“For some people with ADHD, the brain doesn’t naturally release enough dopamine during mundane tasks. The trick is to create a burst of joy to balance it out.”
I started seeing my day in blocks. Instead of “clean the house,” I’d think, “put away the dishes, then listen to that new song.” Instead of “respond to all emails,” I’d tell myself, “answer two, then take a five-minute break.”
One evening, as we sat down to dinner, Peter reached over and squeezed my hand.
“I’ve noticed you seem... lighter,” he said.
“I feel lighter. I’m not at war with myself all day.”
He smiled. “I’m proud of you.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “I’m proud of me too.”
It wasn’t perfect. Some days, the wall was still there. Some days, I sat on the couch, the TV on low, and time slipped away. But now I had tools. I had language. And I had hope.
ADHD wasn’t a failure of willpower or a lack of discipline. It was my brain working differently. And now that I understood that, I could finally start working with it instead of against it.
If you’re struggling with ADHD—or if you think you might be—there’s no shame in seeking help. It’s not about needing a crutch. It’s about giving yourself the support you deserve.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn’t alone. And that made all the difference.
This story reflects one perspective and is shared to spark discussion and connection. While inspired by real situations, some details may have been altered for privacy and clarity.
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