Who is ADHD? A person who is hyperactive, extraverted, and disruptive. That was how children with ADHD often behaved, or so my mom’s friend claimed when telling us why he thought his son had it. At one point, after my parents had gotten repeated complaints about my trouble with following instructions in school, they began to wonder if I, too, had ADHD. However, my teachers said I couldn’t possibly due to my calm, quiet tendencies, so the matter was left alone. My struggles had to become much worse before anyone bothered to ask that question again. At the age of fourteen, I was entering my first year at a private high school, and like every year that had passed so far, this year had found me constantly distracted and unable to socialize. I didn’t know why.

Everyone, including my fourth-grade teachers, parents, and doctors, had told me nothing was wrong with me. But despite their reassurance, I felt like something was wrong. One Friday night that year, while the girls I called my friends were at my high school’s football game, I was inside doing math homework. I had been at it for two hours. I reached for my math notebook, but my pencil barely grazed the paper before my imagination ran away without me, leaving me stranded in a jumble of numbers that I wouldn’t string together. There was something about the word ‘wouldn’t’ that made me feel like I was too lazy to deserve success. It was always in the back of my mind, reminding me that my potential was wasted and that I was a weak link in a busy world.

Ironically, my slothful attitude toward everything was also what landed me alone every Friday night. I wasn’t motivated enough to overcome my social anxiety. Every time I tried to talk to people about topics I found interesting, my words got trapped in my throat, leaving me unable to make real connections with almost anyone my age. I often reminisced over my failures to make such connections, just like that night, when I became lost in thought, my pencil still hovering over my math paper. Eventually, I stopped thinking about my failed attempts to make friends, put down my pencil, and picked up my phone. Its light was the ghostliest shade of blue, and it cast eerie shadows over my notebook, serving as a stark reminder of the superficiality of my friendships. No texts or calls from anyone at school.

I didn’t resent them for ignoring me. My fate was to always be a voice devoid of depth, a robot in conversation, and I had, after many failed attempts to make new friends, accepted that. So I returned to my math homework and set down my phone. Then the doorbell rang. 

I looked up to see who had walked in, and I saw that it was my mom, standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression. “Sofia,” she said.

I put down my pencil. “What is it?”

“We got your test results back from the psychiatrist,” she replied, her voice unsteady.

I straightened up in my chair. “And?”

“You have ADHD.”

“What?” I exclaimed. I couldn’t believe it. I was supposed to be the last person in the world who could possibly have ADHD. That kid, the one who couldn’t sit still in his chair, listen to his teacher, or stop talking to his five hundred friends - that wasn’t me. 

But even so, my mom repeated the words: “You have ADHD.” 

I frowned. “But you always said there was no way I had it.”

“I thought so,” my mom admitted. “Until your psychiatrist told me that the type of ADHD you have is called ADD, which means you don’t have the hyperactive component of it, but it’s still ADHD.” She sighed. “Oh my God, it’s such a relief to finally know what’s going on with you.” I blinked at her. I didn’t know if I was relieved, sad, or happy, or how I was feeling. The primary thing I felt was shock so deep that it was like someone had pulled the floor out from under my feet. Sleep didn’t reach me that night.

I tossed and turned, rethinking everything I had thought of myself and told myself over the years. On my next visit to the psychiatrist, I learned a bit more about my condition. He told me that living for fourteen years with untreated ADHD was probably the source of my social alienation, and it was also the reason why I was constantly distracted from my homework. It all made sense. I wasn’t lazy or incapable of having conversations; I just had ADHD. The weeks following that realization were a peaceful time of understanding. 

And the first pill of ADHD medication I took heightened that understanding and helped me realize everything I was capable of. That first pill was taken early on a school morning. I was closing the clasp on my necklace, watching it glimmer in the mirror. 

“Sofia, don’t you have to leave for school soon?” my dad asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just a second.” I trotted over to the kitchen counter and found the paper bag with my medicine in it. I opened the bag, revealing a cylindrical pillbox, and popped one of the pills into my mouth.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m ready to go now.” My first class of the day was math, which I despised. There was something so cruel about the way the equations taunted me with the challenge of figuring them out before my mind snatched me away and made me think of something else, breaking my train of thought. It was insanely frustrating, and the longer the equation, the worse my frustration became. But this morning was different. My math teacher, Mr. Wallace, began the class by teaching my classmates and me how to solve the different sides of a special right triangle.

I copied down what he wrote, sure that I’d start doodling on my paper any second. But I didn’t. Nor did I fantasize about random scenarios while blindly writing down the numbers on the whiteboard. I actually paid attention, internalizing everything Mr. Wallace was saying. I thought about every step in solving the equation he was showing us how to do, and when I put down my pencil, I realized I could recite the whole process of solving the equation and the reasons for each step to myself without having to look at my notes. I wouldn’t have to go home and memorize it. I knew it right then and there.

That knowledge served me well during the last ten minutes of class when I was allowed to start my homework and found that I was able to do almost all the questions without difficulty. It was amazing.

The rest of my classes that day, no matter the subject, followed a similar pattern, during which my attention was heightened and I was therefore able to push through entire lessons without getting distracted. 

However, there was another effect the medicine had on me that day that surprised me even more. I noticed it during English class. I was sitting with a group of girls I had always wanted to be friends with, and unlike any other day in the past, I suddenly had the courage to talk to them. 

One of those girls, Ava, was sitting in front of me, and I tapped her shoulder. 

“Did you find the quotes for the chart we had to fill out last night?” I asked her. “I couldn’t find the last two.”

She nodded. “Yeah, they’re both on page thirty-six.”

I smiled. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Ava replied.

“Oh,” I added, “By the way, congratulations on getting the highest score in the class on our test.” I had no idea why I was now brave enough to respond to her so quickly and openly.  

Either way, our conversation reached Ria’s ears, and as we spoke, she twisted to face us. “Are you guys talking about the essay test?” she asked.
Ava nodded. “Yeah.” She looked at me. “Ria and I studied for it at Starbucks every day for a week.”

“Oh my Gosh, that’s so smart,” I remarked. “I love Starbucks!”

Ria grinned. “Me too. When I saw Alex Earl trying their new holiday drink, I was like, ‘I have to try that.’”

“Oh my Gosh, same,” I said. “Do you follow her on TikTok?”

Ria nodded. “Yeah. What about you guys?”

“I do, too,” Ava said, holding up her phone to show her TikTok Following List. “She’s literally my spirit animal.”

I laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.” I had always known about a lot of the things that Ava and her friends liked to talk about, but I had no idea why my mute swan of a mouth was suddenly deciding to let my words out now. “Have you guys seen that one video,” I asked them, “she made about the restaurant POV? I think she uploaded it yesterday.”

Emily laughed. “Yeah! That was so funny! I was like same girl, same.” Our conversation went on for much longer, and I finally felt like I was part of a conversation that I enjoyed instead of a bystander to it. The effect of the ADHD medication had almost turned my world upside down in a day. While I didn’t become extremely social or extremely studious at once, the medicine allowed me to start socializing and paying attention to the things around me more than I ever had before. It put me on the path I needed to be on and freed me from a trap I hadn’t even known ADHD could create.

I didn’t realize escaping that trap was possible until I was fourteen, all because of the way most people thought ADHD was or wasn’t supposed to look. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t have needed that medicine to help me. But in the world we live in, children with ADHD often need help to succeed, so the best thing we can do is accept that there are many forms of ADHD and that each person with it deserves to be diagnosed and treated.

It will be more challenging than just putting every kid we meet in a box that fits our first impression of them. It’s going to be more complicated. But it’s crucial that we put forth that extra effort, because ADHD isn’t a person. It’s a condition that everyone experiences differently.