I was diagnosed with ADHD as a result of my daughter’s diagnosis.

I recognized myself in her psychologist’s notes. I knew that ADHD was highly heritable. I knew that my brother had taken Ritalin as a kid. I thought ADHD was only physical hyperactivity. Thankfully, my significant other was well versed in the subject and encouraged me to be tested.

Since then, I have seen my story talked about so many times on social media that it feels cliché: the 40-something mother diagnosed with inattentive-type ADHD as a result of a child’s diagnosis. But it’s real, and it changed my life.

The diagnosis came at a time in my life where I was really struggling. Within six months of my ADHD diagnosis, I was also diagnosed with major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety disorder, a triple diagnosis that astounded me. I was the golden child growing up, successful at anything she tried. This new reality rocked my sense of identity.

It took time to see and accept all the ways that ADHD had impacted my life. Moving across the country from my family on a whim. Starting a new to-do app every three months. Rearranging furniture in my bedroom every six months. Changing who I was depending on who I was with. Talking so fast no one could understand me. Constantly playing with my hair and nails. Living day to day on a wing and a prayer with no routine to ground me. Feeling emotions so big that they would disrupt my life and throw me completely off course.

My treatment journey has been slow. I was coached unofficially by my ever-patient significant other. I saw a therapist. I started a medication and then another and then another until we found the right one. I clawed my way out of a depression. I built routines one brick at a time. It’s been a journey that’s so much “more” than I could ever put into words. Unexpected, difficult, glorious, adventurous.