My Brain Has 47 Tabs Open and None of Them Are Playing Music

 

The more I snoop around the internet, the more I realize just how differently ADHD shows up in men and women. For years, I’ve been advocating hard for my boys, who very obviously have ADHD. They’re the classic variety. Lots of movement. Lots of noise. Leg bouncing. Random sound effects when boredom hits. If ADHD had a mascot, it would be one of my kids mid wiggle.

Because of that, I would have sworn on a stack of planners that I did not have ADHD. I didn’t look like that. My struggles were quiet. Internal. Exhausting. Getting through daily tasks felt like trying to walk through waist-deep snow. The idea of adding one more thing to my list felt physically impossible.

Then I had a conversation with a friend who has ADHD and has known it for a long time. We were talking about medication. What worked for him. What didn’t. Whether it was something I even wanted to consider. And he said something that absolutely broke my brain.

“When I focus on a task, I only focus on that task. I’m not thinking about anything else.”

Excuse me? Sir. What do you mean nothing else?

Because my brain does not do that. Ever. If I’m doing one thing, I’m also planning what’s next, what’s tomorrow, how this task connects to six future tasks, what might go wrong, and how I’ll fix it when it does. Even now, on medication, I’m still problem-solving. It’s just… less urgent. Less loud. Less like my brain is hosting an emergency meeting with no agenda.

Looking back, I can see that I’ve been showing “atypical” symptoms for years. The kind that don’t immediately scream ADHD. Fatigue. Time Blindness. Shortness of breath. Full-blown panic attacks that convinced me I was actively dying.

I cannot count how many times my poor husband has taken me to the ER because I felt like I couldn’t breathe and my chest was about to explode. I used to joke with my therapist that my husband was my “support spouse.” I eventually learned how to ride out panic attacks, but I couldn’t fully come out of them unless he was nearby, rubbing my back, reminding my nervous system that we were, in fact, not under attack.

When I started counseling, my goal was simple. I wanted to be able to get myself through those moments. I was terrified of having a panic attack without my husband around. And that fear, of course, became its own anxiety loop. Anxiety about anxiety. A truly rude cycle.

Now I can’t help but wonder if adult men with ADHD are still being seen through the same lens as young boys. Hyperactive. Disruptive. Obvious. I only know what it’s like to be a woman of a certain age (cough over 40) and how this has shown up for me.

For years, my life has been a balancing act. Kids. Homeschooling. Church. Callings. Activities. Doctor appointments. Sports. Social lives. Making sure everyone else is supported, connected, and where they need to be. It felt reasonable to assume I was just overwhelmed. Of course I was tired. Of course my brain felt fried. Look at my plate.

Then came a hysterectomy last year, and suddenly that seemed like the answer. Hormones. Even when bloodwork said everything was “fine,” I knew something felt off. But once again, there was a logical explanation. Another box checked. Another reason that made sense.

And that’s the thing. There was always a reason. Always a justification. Always a way to explain away what I was feeling.

It turns out, sometimes the issue isn’t that the plate is too full. Sometimes it’s that the brain holding the plate has been running a marathon without realizing everyone else got a bike.