I was 28 years old sitting in my physiatrist’s office when she uttered the words: “You have ADHD.”

In many ways, it felt like a revelation. For years, my life had felt an exhausting dance of chaotic energy and unmet potential. The diagnosis offered clarity – finally, a reason behind the struggles that had haunted me for what felt like forever. ADHD is often described as a mind racing in every direction, fuelled by bursts of creativity and drive but often crashing against the walls of frustration and distraction. 

ADHD arises from a combination of genetic, neurological, and environmental factors. It can often be hereditary, with certain genes linked to dopamine regulation – the neurotransmitter responsible for focus, motivation, and reward. These genes impact dopamine pathways, especially in the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain governing attention and decision-making. For folks with ADHD, these pathways don’t function as efficiently, leading to impulsivity, inattention and hyperactivity.

Environmental factors also play a role. Stress, chaotic home environments, and exposure to toxins – both prenatal and during childhood – can amplify the risk. It’s a mish-mash of biology and circumstance, where everything from genetics to early experiences can ultimately shape how ADHD manifests in each person. 

At the time of my diagnosis, it actually felt like a wave of hope crashing over the distraction, anxiety, and confusion that had shadowed my life for years. Suddenly, things began to make sense – like why I would procrastinate completing simple, repetitive tasks at work or why my apartment could go from pristine to chaotic in 24 hours.

Throughout high school, teachers would say, “He has so much potential, if only he applied himself”. Those words haunted me for years. I lived with the constant weight of being perpetually on the cusp of becoming the person I knew I could be – if only I tried harder. The harder I tried, though, the further I seemed from my goals. I scoured WebMD (pre-ChatGPT days) for the latest supplements and lifestyle changes. 

Eventually, I gave in and started the medication my therapist prescribed.

The first 12 months on medication were transformative. For the first time, I experienced focus and clarity on a level I’d never known. I thrived at work, earning two promotions and more money than I ever thought possible at that age. My newfound confidence was intoxicating – borderline obnoxious – but as someone who’d grown up a shy, skinny kid, with low self-esteem, I basked in it.

Then, the crash came. My sleep began to dwindle to three or four hours a night. Anxiety crept in, and soon it was uncontrollable. From the time I woke up to when I would try to fall asleep. I lost weight rapidly, and everything culminated in a frightening panic attack – right in front of my staff.

It took me a long time to recover from that experience. I stopped working, unsure if I’d ever return to that life. During that time, I stumbled upon meditation and yoga. What started as curiosity, quickly became obsession. As I started to notice my health improve, I began practising for hours daily. I read every book I could find, attended workshops, went on retreats and even lived with my teacher. At one point, I was so immersed I almost became a monk – but that’s a story for another day.