I'm 45 years old, and thanks to my ADHD diagnosis I finally know why I've felt distracted all my life

This First Person column is the experience of Elisha Dacey, awriter and former journalist in Winnipeg.For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see thisFAQ.

I looked at the blank space where the door to my teenage bedroom used to be, annoyed.

Beyond the doorway were my bed, unmade; my desk, piled high with garbage; and my clothing, strewn about on the floor, clean and dirty piles co-mingling.

My parents' goal in removing the door was to shame me into cleaning my room. Instead, I raided my father's workshop and hung my door back on the hinges.

That was much more interesting.

And my mess stayed out of sight.

It wasn't until my daughter's diagnosis that I started to wonder.

I look back at the times I've struggled in my life. For the first 45 years, I figured it was a character defect.

How many essays were started at midnight the night before they were due? I was chided for being a hardcore procrastinator.

How many times did I have (or still have) trouble starting the laundry? I was admonished for being lazy and gross.

Then there was the time I was put on probation at work because I kept making the same mistake over and over. Ergh.

My sometimes foggy memory. My horrible habits of interrupting people as they talk and finishing other people's sentences. My impulsivity.

My starting new hobbies, then abandoning them. (They included guitar, keyboard, drawing, canning, sewing, dog training and so many more. The only one that stuck was singing, because I was already good at it.)

My five-cans-of-Coke-Zero-a-day habit, unknowingly self-medicating with caffeine.

'Failing at life and being a mom'

The big ones: my inability to start a task I thought was boring, and the fact that once I did gather all my mental energy to start a hated project, I loathed being interrupted.

Even though I myself am an interrupter, I hated it when people did it to me because once I was distracted, I knew that getting back on task would drain my brain of thinking power.

I thought all these things meant I was overworked (I was), my husband wasn't taking his share of the mental load (he wasn't), and I was failing at life and being a mom.

I did what I could to cope with these failings. Endless lists so I didn't forget things. Staying rigidly organized because if I didn't, it would explode into chaos.

It wasn't all bad. When I was a journalist, I thrived in the newsroom because the adrenaline would keep me focused. I was the person people went to in an emergency because I could tune in, laser-like, to solve problems.

But I was using so much of my energy trying to do what others seemed to do easily that I was exhausted at the end of the day. Then I couldn't sleep, because I had too many thoughts running in my head.

Still, I never considered it was attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. It wasn't until my daughter's diagnosis that I started to wonder.

Why are boys more likely to diagnosed?

ADHD in women often looks much different than in men.

Mostly, it comes down to the fact that women tend not to have the "H" part of ADHD they're not hyperactive.

This describes me. I have "inattentive ADHD" meaning I daydream, I get distracted, and it's all inside my head.

Studies have found that boys are far more likely to be diagnosed with ADHD than girls.

Why?

In broad, sweeping terms the patriarchy.

Women are supposed to manage children and household and careers and dress nicely and be slim and wear lipstick, and it's a character flaw if they can't handle it all. Most women I know put themselves last every time for the sake of their families, their co-workers, their communities, for fear of being judged or shamed.

Men are the "default" humans in most medical studies. If it's something inside a woman's brain, she's crazy or hysterical or she just needs to destress, treat herself better. Get your nails done, relaxand head to a spa.

I used to joke that I needed a wife for myself. I never considered I might need medical help.

'I sleep now. I still hate laundry'

A low dose of medication made a life-altering difference.

I still use lists, but I can put everything on the list at once, instead of adding things whenever they swim up from the depths of my consciousness.

My brain is quiet. Inside my head, where a silent soundtrack forever plays, I have gone from cacophonic nightclub to banjo on an empty beach.

When I get distracted, I just go back to what I was doing.

I sleep now.

I still hate laundry.

After my diagnosis, I sat on it for a while before speaking out about it on social media. I immediately had numerous women tell me they recognized themselves in my story.

Some have been diagnosed. Some are pursuing it. All are struggling because mental health care in Manitoba is a nightmare of disconnected, underfunded services.

But I finally know what's wrong with my brain. And I have started to clean up my mess.

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