Part 2: Living with Undiagnosed ADHD

Stephanie Angela
Nov 14
5 min read

The Struggle Behind the Smile

Woman with undiagnosed ADHD looking sad.

Picking up from where Part 1 left off, school was behind me, but the quiet confusion only grew louder. I was no longer a child being told who to be. I was supposed to know who I was now. Everyone else seemed to know. But I didn’t. I only knew I didn’t feel like they did.

College: Where Pretending Became a Full Time Job

College arrived, and with it came a crash course in pretending. Back then, I had no idea ADHD had followed me into adulthood, shaping every moment, every decision, every internal battle. I just assumed I was the odd one out, the girl who couldn’t quite catch the thread of what professors were saying, who drifted in and out of conversations, whose thoughts slipped through her fingers the second she tried to hold them still.

Like so many late diagnosed women, I didn’t choose a major with purpose or direction. I picked something impulsively, because it seemed fine in the moment. That was my pattern, jump first, realize later.

ADHD accommodations in the form of highlighters, colored pens.

At first, I still felt somewhat in step. But as lectures grew more demanding, the gap between me and everyone else widened. I was the student who took endless notes just to keep up, pages and pages of scribbles I’d later rewrite in neat bullet points, then rewrite again. Highlighters were my lifeline, the colors actually helped my brain make sense of the information. I found a few ways to make learning work for me, but they took so much longer than everyone else’s methods. What others could study in an hour might take me an entire evening. I didn’t know then that I was creating my own accommodations. I thought I was just doing everything the hard way.

Tests and exams were their own battle. While other students seemed calm and focused, I felt like I was holding an entire storm inside my head. I’d reread the same question over and over, trying to force my brain to land somewhere solid. Information I knew just wouldn’t appear when I needed it. And the harder I tried, the more everything scattered.

And the worst moments were being called on in class. I’d freeze. Completely.

My mind would go blank, white noise, buzzing silence, while the professor’s eyes were on me and everyone waited for an answer I couldn’t form fast enough. The words were there somewhere, floating just out of reach, but retrieving them felt impossible. I’d mutter something vague or incorrect, cheeks burning, pretending it didn’t bother me. Pretending I hadn’t replayed it a thousand times in my head afterward. That freeze wasn’t shyness. It wasn't a lack of preparation. It was my ADHD brain colliding with pressure and expectation. But I didn’t know that. No one did.

I can still remember the constant feeling that there had to be a better way for me to learn. A different way. My own way. Something I couldn’t name but felt in my bones. But I never spoke up. I didn’t know I was allowed to. I didn’t understand that the traditional method, the one everyone else thrived with, wasn’t built for a brain like mine.

If only I had realized.If only someone had pointed it out. Things might have been different.

Social Life: Performing Competence While Overwhelmed

The social side was its own kind of performance. In group conversations, I’d smile and nod, doing my best to keep up, while the noise around me swallowed every word.

Background chatter always took centre stage. Voices blurred together. Jokes landed before I caught the setup. So I laughed along to avoid being the girl who didn’t get it. I wasn’t aloof, I was overwhelmed.

Bars and pubs were the worst. Student life in the UK practically revolved around them, all noise and movement and sensory chaos. I’d walk in as one version of myself and immediately become another, quieter, distant, overstimulated, trying not to show how hard it was to process anything in that kind of environment. Friends never said anything, but I was sure they noticed the shift. That fear of being found out kept me on edge constantly.

Quieter settings were different. In small groups or one on one, I came alive. I could think. I could listen. I could be myself. But those moments felt rare compared to the constant noise, constant expectations, constant performance.

Even watching TV or movies with friends was frustrating. I’d lose track of the plot and ask questions everyone else already understood. Fast paced dialogue, comedians, action scenes, it all blurred into noise I couldn’t untangle.

The Internal Storm No One Could See

Inside, my mind was buzzing, racing thoughts, internal noise, constant over analysis. On the outside, though, I probably looked calm. Maybe even reserved. That disconnect made relationships feel impossible. I wanted to connect, desperately. But I couldn’t stay in conversations long enough to be truly present. And when I finally had something to say, something I thought might add value, I’d start speaking, then lose my thread halfway through, watching my words collapse mid sentence. I’d trail off, embarrassed, pretending it didn’t matter. Pretending I didn’t care. But I did. Every single time.

I wasn’t quiet by nature. I was just doing everything I could to avoid looking stupid. So I masked. I pretended I was shy. I avoided parties when I could. I acted oblivious to the fact that some people found me odd. It was easier that way. Safer. Low self esteem became my constant companion.

From the Outside, I Looked Fine, but Undiagnosed ADHD took over.

From the outside, my life looked perfectly acceptable.

I got through college. I graduated with a decent grade. I made a few close friends. I checked the boxes everyone said mattered.

Apparently, I was ready for the world. But inside, nothing made sense. Life felt harder than it should. I was the girl with a degree and potential, but I was also the girl who couldn’t hear herself over the internal noise. Who smiled through confusion. Who made impulsive decisions, jobs, moves, relationships without pausing long enough to consider what she truly wanted.

I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t careless. I wasn’t dramatic. I was undiagnosed.

Coming Next: The Unraveling

In Part 3, I’ll share what my late twenties and early motherhood looked like as things began to slowly unravel, the workplace trauma, the burnout, the constant excuses, and the escape that changed everything. The move that shaped the rest of my life without me even realizing it.

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