‘I thought I was just lazy’: The quiet grief and relief of discovering ADHD in adulthood

That session would change everything. Within weeks, an online assessment revealed what years of therapy didn’t. She scored high on every ADHD marker. “It was a relief,” she says. “For the first time, things made sense. It helped me approach myself with kindness.”

Across the world, similar stories are surfacing. Professionals, artists, entrepreneurs, and parents are discovering in adulthood that the restlessness, disorganisation, or emotional intensity they once called “personality” is part of a neurodevelopmental condition they were never told they had.

The missing diagnosis

Dr Deeksha Kalra, a psychiatrist based in Delhi, says that ADHD in adults has always existed, but only now is it being recognised. “It’s not occurring more than before. It’s just being identified more now.” Awareness, she says, is driving adults to seek evaluations that were denied to them as children.

For decades, ADHD was nearly synonymous with hyperactivity. “Teachers and parents were taught to look for the child who couldn’t sit still,” Dr Kalra says. “But many children, especially girls, present with inattention, impulsivity, and emotional dysregulation rather than physical restlessness. Those cases were often dismissed as laziness or daydreaming.”

‘I thought I was just lazy’

For Vandhana Ashok, a 35-year-old content creator from Chennai, the label came later in life, after years of struggling to keep structure in a self-directed career. “When I was teaching, the classroom gave me routine,” she says. “Once I started freelancing, I was completely lost.” She laughs gently, then adds, “I’m very time-blind. If someone says five minutes, I genuinely think it’s five minutes, but it’s not. I’ll always be late.”

Vandhana’s story is one of endurance. She grew up introverted and studious, thriving in structured school environments. “I loved learning, so I did well,” she says. “But I was always last-minute. I’d pull through exams by luck and adrenaline.” When she moved into adulthood, the scaffolding of routine disappeared, and her mind’s volatility grew harder to hide. “It took me longer to calm down than others,” she recalls. “I thought maybe it was trauma or PMS. It wasn’t until my sister was diagnosed that I realised it might be ADHD.”

When Vandhana finally took the assessment, she felt an odd relief. “It was not that I changed overnight. But knowing there was a reason I struggled with everyday things — it was liberating.”

She recalls years of shame over her disorganised spaces. “People would say, How can you live like this? But in my head, it made sense. That’s my order.” The shame, she says, lifted once she understood it was neurological, not moral.

‘Underdiagnosis and over-identification’

ADHD arises from maldevelopment in brain. (Wikimedia Commons)

The pandemic years catalysed this reckoning. As lockdowns confined people to their homes, social media became both a mirror and a magnifier. “The rise in adult ADHD diagnoses is strongly linked to online communities,” says Dr Itisha Nagar, a Delhi-based psychologist. “People began reading about neurodivergence, hearing others describe experiences that mirrored their own. It gave them vocabulary.”

Awareness, however, has brought confusion. “We have a dual problem,” says Dr Kalra. “Underdiagnosis and over-identification.” The internet has turned self-diagnosis into a joke. “Someone forgets an appointment and says, ‘my ADHD brain,’” she says. “This casualness dilutes what people with ADHD truly go through.”

At the same time, others who could benefit from assessment are discouraged by stigma. “There’s still a taboo around psychiatric medication,” Dr Nagar notes. “In India, even antidepressants carry shame. Stimulant medication for ADHD is tightly regulated, which means people are often under-medicated rather than misusing drugs.”

In the West, stimulant misuse has been documented among students and professionals. But in India, access itself is the barrier. “You can’t walk into a pharmacy and buy ADHD medication,” says Dr Nagar. “It’s highly controlled. The bigger issue is that many adults who could benefit from it are not even assessed.”

The emotional landscape of ADHD

ADHD, as both clinicians emphasise, is a condition that shapes emotion as much as attention. “We talk about attention deficits, but the deeper issue is regulation,” says Dr Nagar. “Energy, mood, and emotion are all connected.”

For Ashwami, this rings true. “My energy is never steady,” she says. “I can be very high or completely drained. And I feel emotions too intensely. Even small rejections used to feel like heartbreak.”

This emotional volatility often defines adult ADHD more than fidgeting or forgetfulness. “Many people come to therapy not because they can’t focus,” says Dr Kalra, “but because they feel everything too much.”

Vandhana remembers thinking she was “too emotional” as a child. “I’d cry over small things,” she says. “I was told I’m overreacting. Now I know it’s neurological.”

These patterns — emotional dysregulation, sensitivity to criticism, bouts of hyperfocus followed by burnout — are common threads among adults diagnosed later in life. “The ADHD brain doesn’t lack attention,” says Dr Nagar. “It lacks regulation of attention. That’s why hyperfocus is as much a symptom as distraction.”

In Bellingham, Washington, Mike Ortiz realised this at 30. A digital marketing professional, he was struggling with anxiety and chronic disorganisation. “He was always late, always overwhelmed,” says his wife, Andria Ortiz. “He felt like he was constantly letting people down.”

A visit to his doctor for unrelated health concerns led to an unexpected question: had he ever been tested for ADHD? Childhood teachers had mentioned it, but no one had followed up. The adult diagnosis brought an almost immediate shift. “It was a sense of validation,” says Andria. “He realised he wasn’t broken. His brain just worked differently.”

Mike channelled that difference into entrepreneurship. He left his corporate job and launched Canvas Monsters, a small business turning digital art into custom home décor. “He realised he could hyperfocus on his own work,” Andria says. “He stopped fighting his brain and started using it.”

That ability to redirect attention is increasingly recognised by clinicians as one of ADHD’s paradoxical strengths. “These are incredibly creative, idea-driven minds,” says Dr Nagar. “Many entrepreneurs are neurodivergent. The same wiring that makes routine difficult can make innovation natural.”

But success depends on understanding. “Without awareness, hyperfocus can lead to burnout,” warns Dr Kalra. “With awareness, it can be harnessed.”

The price of misunderstanding

The late diagnosis, while often transformative, carries emotional costs. Adults who learn about ADHD in their thirties or forties frequently speak of grief for their younger selves. “It’s like looking back and seeing how hard you tried,” says Ashwami. “All those years thinking you were lazy, or unreliable, when you were just wired differently.”

Dr Nagar hears this often. “People cry in my office. Not because of the diagnosis, but because of the realisation that their struggles were never moral failings. They were neurological patterns.”

Vandhana agrees. “It’s freeing, but also sad. I think, what if someone had told me sooner? Maybe I’d have been kinder to myself.”

A shift in cultural understanding

India’s growing recognition of adult ADHD marks a cultural turning point. Mental health literacy has expanded dramatically over the past decade, aided by social media, wellness platforms, and pandemic-era introspection. Yet stigma persists.

“In Indian families, behavioural differences are moralised,” says Dr Kalra. “‘Lazy,’ ‘careless,’ ‘emotional’ — these are labels, not diagnoses.” She recalls patients whose parents dismissed their symptoms as excuses. “We must educate families that ADHD is neurodevelopmental. You don’t ‘grow out’ of it on your 18th birthday.”

Dr Nagar adds that ADHD’s cultural framing also intersects with gender. “Women internalise failure. They mask symptoms to appear competent. They’re more likely to be misdiagnosed with anxiety or depression.”

A 2025 study in the Asian Journal of Psychiatry echoes this finding: Indian women with ADHD often report more severe symptoms than men, including lower self-esteem, higher emotional volatility, and greater demoralisation. Yet they are less likely to seek help. Many were first misdiagnosed with depression or personality disorders, their inattention and impulsivity explained away as emotional frailty.

“It’s a generational ripple,” says Dr Kalra. “Parents recognise their child’s symptoms because they see themselves.”

Between awareness and misuse

As awareness grows, so do misconceptions. ADHD medication, usually stimulants, is tightly regulated in India, partly due to fears of misuse. “People assume it’s addictive,” says Dr Kalra. “But when prescribed correctly, it improves focus and quality of life.”

In the United States, where stimulants are more accessible, concerns about overprescription have led to stricter oversight. Yet even there, Andria Ortiz says, stigma lingers. “People joke about ADHD, but they don’t see the exhaustion behind it,” she says. “Before the diagnosis, Mike was drowning in guilt. After medication and therapy, he could finally breathe.”

In India, under-medication is the larger issue. “Most adults with ADHD don’t reach a psychiatrist,” says Dr Nagar. “They either self-diagnose or stop at therapy. Medication can be life-changing, but access and stigma keep people from trying.”

Both experts caution against taking medication without supervision. “We’ve had cases where people took their friend’s prescription to ‘improve performance’ before exams,” says Dr Kalra. “It’s unethical and risky. These are powerful drugs that must be tailored and monitored.”

“People still think ADHD means you are careless or spoiled,” says Sourav Banerjee, a 42-year-old advertising executive in Kolkata who was recently diagnosed with it. “When I told colleagues about it, someone said, ‘Everyone has concentration problems these days.’ They didn’t see how years of missed deadlines or lost files weren’t because I didn’t care, but because my brain just works differently.”

The everyday adjustments

For many adults, management involves more than medication. “Therapy helps rewire habits,” says Dr Nagar. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy and coaching can address time blindness, task initiation, and emotional regulation. “The goal is to work with your brain, not against it,” she says.

Ashwami agrees. “I’ve learnt to plan differently. I keep visual reminders, move my body when I need to reset, and give myself permission to take breaks.” She laughs. “I’ve stopped trying to be a morning person.”

Vandhana’s approach is similar. “I structure my day around my energy, not the clock. Some days I’m hyper-productive, others I’m not. That’s okay.”

For couples like the Ortizes, communication is key. “We had to learn a new language,” Andria says. “If Mike’s overwhelmed, I don’t take it personally. We talk about what’s happening in his head. It’s made our marriage stronger.”

The broader picture

The growing awareness of adult ADHD reflects a larger shift in how societies view neurodiversity. The conversation has moved from deficit to difference — from “disorder” to “divergence”. In workplaces, this shift is beginning to take hold. Some companies are introducing neurodiversity training or flexible policies that recognise varying attention patterns. Yet progress remains uneven.

“Corporate India still prizes uniform productivity,” says Dr Kalra. “Neurodivergent employees are often labelled as inconsistent. But what they bring — creativity, intuition, problem-solving — is invaluable.”

Dr Nagar believes that inclusion begins with language. “We must stop using ADHD as a punchline. Every time we say, ‘I’m so ADHD today,’ we erase real experiences.”

What comes next

Adult ADHD remains under-researched in India. The 2025 gender study signals a growing recognition of the condition beyond childhood. Clinicians hope this will spur policy changes, including better training for general practitioners, insurance coverage for assessments, and public awareness campaigns.

For those living with ADHD, the journey is ongoing. “It’s not something you cure,” says Ashwami. “It’s something you learn to live with, and even love, sometimes.”

She recalls a recent moment at her restaurant. “We had a chaotic evening. Orders were flying, music was loud, everyone was shouting. And I thought, this is my element. My brain thrives in chaos.” She laughs. “Maybe that’s the gift in it.”

Across borders, cultures, and genders, what once hid in classrooms has found its voice in adulthood, reshaping how we understand the human mind and ourselves, one diagnosis at a time.