I often wonder—who would I have been if someone had seen me clearly? If, instead of being dismissed as too much, too scattered, too emotional, or not trying hard enough, someone had recognized the signs?

From a young age, I learned how to survive in a world that felt unsafe. I became a master of reading people, sensing danger, adapting to keep myself protected. But the cost of that survival was silence—the quiet, internal war of someone who felt different but didn’t know why.

My mind has always been a wildfire—alive with ideas, passion, and endless possibilities. But the world around me expected a steady flame, a controlled burn, a predictable rhythm I could never seem to maintain. So I adapted. I masked. I worked twice as hard just to keep up. Yet no matter how much I pushed, it always felt like I was running against a current no one else could see.

Now, as an adult, the realization of ADHD isn’t a limitation—it’s a revelation. It’s a doorway, not a diagnosis. It’s the missing piece of a puzzle I spent years trying to solve. It explains the struggle, the exhaustion, the ways I have fought to mold myself into a world that was never designed for the way I think, the way I feel, the way I thrive.

I am not broken.
I am not behind.
I am wired differently, and that difference is my power.

I no longer shrink to fit the expectations of others. Instead, I embrace the fire, the creativity, the untamed brilliance that has always been inside me. Because what I once saw as a burden, I now see as my greatest strength—a divine design, not a mistake.