ADHD was whole days in bed; my mind racing with hope, filled with new ideas and concepts for the future but constantly too distracted to implement anything. 

ADHD was whole days in bed; my heart pounding with fear, tourmented by the threats of untied lose ends, forgotten details, and missed deadlines but constantly too distracted to fix anything.

ADHD was whole days in bed; my stomach filled with dispair, knowing that the past and the present will continually look the same if I don’t get out of this place, but constantly too distracted to move.

ADHD wasn’t always like this. 

I mean, I was always distracted, anxious, and slightly depressed. I knew those things existed in me without having a diagnosis. I had all the classic associated symptoms too. Like adolescent smoking, alcohol, and drug use. Skipping classes. Not doing homework. I was a silent rebel, always doing troublesome things but never getting in trouble for them. 

ADHD and I were good. I knew that the distraction made me creative. The anxiety made me productive. The depression made me compassionate and deep. I knew that those were good things. The authority issues and risk-taking of rebellion made me independent and confident. 

ADHD was like my secret weapon. It made me the amazing, multi-talented, multi-passionate, multi-potentialite that I was. 

But after I got married, had Natalie, and finished law school (all in the same year), something changed. 

Suddenly, what used to be my source of strength turned into a source of weakness. 

The creativity, productivity, compassion; it became embarassment, failure, negative self-talk, guilt, shame, fear, and brokenness. It all told me I wasn’t good enough and that I didn’t deserve to be great. 

The independence and confidence became traits that told me I was different, I didn’t fit in, I would never make it to great because I would always be the scared, sad, distracted adolescent who couldn’t meet deadlines, follow rules, or show up on time to anything. A wife, mom, and lawyer?! As if. 

ADHD became whole days in bed. It became distraction, depression, anxiety. 

ADHD became an excuse to move away from great. It became a dark shadow and I was losing the battle over control with it.  

ADHD became a struggle. And I had to find the bold courage to admit it was hurting me and I had to ask for help.

ADHD became a diagnosis. And I had to find the fearless love to accept it and I had to let it become a part of me.

ADHD became a conquest. And I had to find the endless joy to live with it in faith and out of control, and I had to share that with others. 

ADHD still waits in the shadows for me, sneaking in as depression when it sees progress, triggering anxiety when it notices hustle, flaring up with distraction when it feels growth. 

But when ADHD sees faith it becomes all the good things. Creative, productive, compassionate, independent, and confident. As long as I stay in faith and out of control, ADHD and I are good. 

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