Why I Only Found Out I Had ADHD at 38 — And What It Did to Me

It was a completely ordinary Tuesday evening. My kids were asleep, I was sitting on the sofa with a long-since-cold cup of tea, scrolling — again — through videos I couldn't stop watching, even though I should have been in bed hours ago. Then one particular video appeared. A woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, talking to camera and describing her life: the constant feeling of not getting enough done. The forgotten appointments. The housework that felt like an enemy. The exhaustion that no night's sleep ever truly resolved. The guilt that ran like a background hum.

I thought: That's me. Word for word. That's me.

She was talking about ADHD. I was 38 years old, a mother of two, somehow still holding down my job — and had never seriously considered that what had cost me so much effort for so many years might have a name.

The moment that changed everything

A few months after that evening, I was sitting in a psychiatrist's office. I had fought to get that appointment — six months on the waiting list, then rebooked, then almost cancelled again, because I thought: I'm imagining this. I'm just lazy. I just need to try harder.

After two detailed conversations, a long questionnaire, and going through my childhood school reports, the psychiatrist concluded: ADHD, predominantly inattentive type.

I remember crying on the way home. Not from sadness — I didn't quite know why. Maybe from relief. Maybe because 38 years of my life were suddenly being reorganised. Maybe both at the same time.

"If you're at that point right now, or wondering whether you might have ADHD too: this blog is for you. For us."

Why ADHD in women is recognised so late

The first thing I did after the diagnosis was research. And the first thing that made me truly angry: it's no coincidence that I only found out at 38. It's systemic.

ADHD in women looks different. The classic image — the fidgety, impulsive, hyperactive boy who can't sit still in class — simply doesn't apply to most women affected. We more commonly show what's called the inattentive type: inner restlessness instead of visible hyperactivity, dreaminess instead of excitability, deep exhaustion instead of obvious impulsivity.

This is called masking. Women affected often compensate for their symptoms for decades: they develop elaborate systems, memory aids, perfectionism as a shield. Outwardly they often appear organised. Inside, chaos reigns — but nobody sees it.

Social expectations as an invisible camouflage

A woman who thinks too much, is emotional, forgetful, scattered, chaotic — she's quickly labelled as "too much". As hysterical. As overwhelmed. Not as someone who has a neurobiological difference that deserves a name. I was all of that: too much. And always with the feeling: everyone else manages it. Why can't I?

The feelings after the diagnosis

People who haven't experienced a late diagnosis might imagine the reaction is mainly relief. Finally knowing what's going on. Finally having an explanation. And yes — the relief was there. Big and immediate.

But what surprised me: alongside it came a grief I hadn't expected. I mourned. For the girl I was, who never understood why school felt so exhausting. For the young woman who thought she was simply too chaotic for a serious career. For the mother who hated herself for every outburst, every forgotten appointment.

And then — at some point — comes the anger. At a system that overlooks women with ADHD for decades. That anger is justified. I still carry it.

What has changed since then

I want to be honest: the diagnosis didn't make everything better overnight. It doesn't. It's not a switch. What it gave me is understanding. Of myself. For the first time in my life, I stopped punishing myself for things I can't control.

I started working with a therapist who specialises in ADHD. I tried medication — with mixed feelings, but also genuine moments of clarity I hadn't known before. I explained to my family what ADHD means. And I started this blog.