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I'm a lesbian with ADHD, and for most of my life, I had absolutely no idea.
Don't get me wrong - I knew I was "different," but I didn't have the words to describe HOW I was different. Primarily, because I didn't see people like me reflected anywhere in my life. This lack of representation had a profound impact on my journey of self-discovery and acceptance.
As I've grown and learned more about myself, I've come to realize just how crucial representation is in shaping our understanding of the world and ourselves. It's not just about seeing someone who looks like you on TV or in a magazine; it's about recognizing the vast diversity within communities and understanding that there's no one "right" way to be.
In this post, I want to share my personal journey of discovering and embracing my identities. I hope that by sharing my story, I can contribute to the much-needed diversity in representation and perhaps help others who might be on similar paths of self-discovery.
My journey to self-discovery
Growing up as a child of the 90s and early 2000s (or early aughts, as I like to say when I’m feeling cheeky), representation for neurodivergent individuals was almost non-existent. The vast majority of research surrounding ADHD was centered around white, hyperactive boys. Based on what I saw on TV, and the few kids in my class with a diagnosis, here’s what I could surmise about kids with ADHD:
- They were usually boys.
- They were in constant motion.
- They were often disruptive and regarded as class “troublemakers.”
- They had bad grades.
- They had very little social skills.
- They didn’t get along well with adults and were seen as “defiant.”
Not a single one of those things resonated with me. I knew how to sit still in class (even if I was doodling and talking non-stop). I made great grades and even took advanced math. I got along with my teachers and my peers. My report cards often read, “a pleasure to have in class.”
I thought EVERYONE’S brain was a non-stop carnival show of lights and sound. I thought all the extra mental work I was doing to remember my homework, get started, and stay on task was something we were all doing. Yes, I was quirky, but that’s not a diagnosis.
It wasn’t until I was 16 years old, and my cousin was diagnosed, that I even thought to look up ADHD. When I saw the list of symptoms in the DSM, a lightbulb went off in my head. I was evaluated, diagnosed, and then quietly put that to the side to deal with bigger issues. At 23, as social media’s influence grew, I was exposed to more women like me. I finally began the work of unpacking my diagnosis and learning how to live in harmony with my brain.
Plenty of late-diagnosed folks may relate to that, but some might really question how I had NOCLUE I was gay.
Well, I grew up in what appeared to be a very heterosexual community. I knew that gay people existed, and my immediate family didn’t speak poorly of the LGBTQ community. I just didn’t have a lot of exposure to LGBTQ folks. The primary examples I had of gay people were the two men who lived together at the far end of our cul-de-sac and all the stereotypes the 90s and2000s had to offer. Here’s what I gathered about lesbians:
- They dressed “like boys.”
- They enjoyed stereotypically masculine things like high-contact sports, tools, and motorcycles.
- They hated men and men didn’t like them.
- They had crushes on their friends.
I could not be more opposite.
I’m a girly girl who loves all things pink and pretty. I’m terrified of bugs, don’t particularly enjoy getting tackled, and would much rather bake muffins than try to fix a car. I don’t hate men! I love men. I’ve had many deep and meaningful friendships with men. Because I didn’t hate them and could recognize when they were attractive…that meant I was attracted to them…right? As far as having crushes on my friends, nothing sounded grosser to me. I’d known my childhood friends for years and they were more like siblings. I had crushes on OTHER girls…but not my friends.
I could write an entire book on my coming out journey, but that’s for another time. Long story short, it wasn’t until I was in my late 20s that I saw just how diverse the lesbian community was and was able to unpack what years of stereotypes and lack of representation meant.
Why it matters
Both of these journeys have informed how I choose to show up today. I am loud and proud about all of my identities. I’ve received plenty of backlash. Stop me if you’ve heard any of the following:
“EVERYONE seems to have ADHD these days.”
“Why do gay people have to make it their whole personality?”
“You’re just saying that stuff to be ‘woke’ and trendy.”
Does it sting? Absolutely. Will it stop me? No. Because I am showing up exactly as the woman little me needed to see. If she had had the knowledge I have now, she would have had access to treatment and tools much earlier. She would have been able to seek out community earlier. She would have saved a lot of time, energy, and heartbreak on systems that were never built for her. She would have had the opportunity to deepen her relationships in a different, profound way. I wish these things for her, and I wish them for generations to come.
Foster acceptance with representation
My communities are diverse AF, and should be represented as such. I implore you to explore these communities beyond stereotypes. Representation matters. Seeing ourselves in the world around us not only validates our experiences but also educates others and fosters a more inclusive and understanding society. Let's continue to advocate for and support diverse voices in all spaces.
