I didn’t grow up knowing what ADHD was.

I grew up believing I was dumb.

I didn’t understand why I couldn’t memorize, why school felt impossible, why everyone else seemed to “get it” and I didn’t. I failed subject after subject. Kids laughed at me. Teachers moved on. I was told — directly and indirectly — that it “wasn’t that hard,” which only deepened my shame.

I never felt like I belonged in the classroom. I carried confusion, embarrassment, and the constant feeling that I was failing at something everyone else seemed to manage effortlessly.

That shame followed me into adulthood.

For more than 30 years, I lived with bulimia. Not because of vanity, and not because of food alone — but because of a food addiction rooted in ADHD, something incredibly common in girls and rarely recognized when I was growing up.

Food became regulation. Control. Relief.

I believed that if I could weigh less, if I could look “right,” then maybe my mom would love me more. I grew up in an environment where appearances mattered deeply and where what others thought carried enormous weight. So I learned to feel ashamed — of my body, my impulses, my hunger, and myself.

I didn’t lack intelligence.
I lacked understanding.

Everything began to change when my son was diagnosed with ADHD.

As I learned how to support him — his emotional explosions, his intensity, his struggles at school — I started recognizing myself. My childhood. My pain. My patterns. What I had lived through suddenly had a name.

I was diagnosed with ADHD as an adult.

Suddenly, my entire life story made sense.

And then something even more surprising happened.

After my diagnosis, I discovered that I have high intellectual capacity — an IQ of 133, placing me in the top 5% of intelligence. It took me 45 years to understand that I was never incapable. I was never stupid. I was never broken.

I was a highly capable child trying to survive in a system that didn’t understand ADHD — especially in girls.

That realization didn’t make me angry. It made me compassionate. Toward myself. Toward my family. Toward my mother, who did the best she could without the information we have today.

If my mom had known then what I know now, my life would have been very different. I would have grown up with less shame. I would have understood my brain sooner. I would have struggled less in silence.

And that is why I do this work.

I help moms of ADHD kids because I wish my mom had had this information when I was a child. Because I love children and I know how painful it is to grow up misunderstood. Because it is unfair to expect them to function like everyone else when their brains work differently.

We are not defective.
We are different.

I teach moms because children need advocates, not fixes. And a mom who understands ADHD can change the entire trajectory of her child’s life.

This work isn’t about fixing children.
It’s about understanding them.
It’s about breaking cycles of shame.
It’s about helping moms lead with calm, clarity, and compassion.

Today, I am deeply grateful for my story. ADHD didn’t ruin my life — not knowing about it did.

My mission is to give other moms the information, support, and guidance I wish my own mom had — so their children can grow up knowing who they are, and moms can finally exhale.

You are not failing.
Your child is not broken.
And you don’t have to do this alone.