Your A. A. A. A.

ADHD is classified as a developmental disorder, as it often hinders timely growth. The frontal lobe doesn't fully engage, causing a sense of lag.

School can feel burdensome, and work can seem overwhelming.

This isn't surprising since you may be operating at about two-thirds of your official age.

In high school, I skipped prom because I struggled to understand dating dynamics. Boys intimidated me, and with no one to confide in, I dismissed prom as unimportant.

This behavior is understandable—socially and emotionally, I was still 11!

While I might assert that prom is trivial, it's also a significant life event, much like leaving home, marriage, parenthood, establishing a career, and eventually becoming a grandparent.

I managed to navigate two out of those five milestones. I was labeled an underachiever, but according to my autistic/ADHD age, I was thriving.

Pre-co-shus.

I graduated high school at 11, attended college and lived independently at 12, and married around what I’d consider an emotional age of 24.

Leaving Home at 12

Most 12-year-olds might find the prospect of living away from home daunting, but I was eager to escape the trials of high school.

Once I turned (emotionally) 12, I was ready to meet my new roommate at St. John’s College. It was a sweltering summer day, and my dorm room in Randall Hall was on the fourth floor with no elevator.

My parents and I struggled to carry my few belongings up the stairs, where I met my roommate. Unfortunately, we were incompatible, primarily due to my excessive drinking and the time I spent with my boyfriend.

By 12, I had learned to dress myself, drive a car, and even graduated high school early!

I had already held three jobs: a paper route, a dishwasher/cook at Shakey’s Pizza, and two summers working at a dry cleaner.

Remarkably, my best friend and I landed the paper route job at just seven (socially and emotionally)! At that time, neither of us recognized our ADD.

In college, I wasn’t prepared to make adult choices; having never dated in high school, I felt it was time for romantic exploration. Without any guidance, I entered my “teen” phase, fueled by a constant supply of beer.

My first serious boyfriend was 17 when we started living together. He had skipped a grade due to his brilliance (likely due to being neurodivergent), and we were both wide-eyed freshmen.

Pretending to be adults while engaging in heavy drinking and casual relationships seemed standard for college life, whereas I now realize many peers were networking, plotting career paths, securing internships, and traveling!

I did none of that.

Engaging in activities far beyond your emotional maturity can be distressing.

I felt out of place, but lacking the tools to process it, I ignored my discomfort and adapted to a constant state of unease. I often wondered when I would truly grow up.

(Fifty-four, approximately)

My sophomore year was clouded by significant depression. Although I had battled anxiety and sadness most of my life, it had never before been so crippling.

Emotionally, I was around 14 when I earned my B.A. Given my social and emotional struggles, this achievement was notable — yet, without understanding my true age, I felt like a colossal failure. Scoring C's led me to question my worth.

This pattern emerged: working hard and achieving, yet feeling inadequate.

At my graduation on a beautiful June day in 1988, I didn’t feel optimistic about the future; I was just relieved to have survived junior high, high school, and college.

Began My Career at 15

My college didn’t boast a stellar career counseling program; it was merely a recent graduate named Robin working part-time in a remote office.

To make matters worse, I had a degree in philosophy.

Any guidance Robin offered likely sounded incomprehensible to me, so I took a job at a toy store before becoming a taxi driver. After three months driving cabs overnight, I moved west to Denver to live with my second college roommate.

I felt somewhat like an adult, despite lacking a car, funds, or a clear career path.

Emotionally, I was approaching my sweet sixteen.

With everything feeling overwhelming, it was tough to consider what I wanted, especially having felt inadequate since age seven.

Rejection became commonplace, and experiencing deep loneliness pushed me to figure things out. Lacking networking skills, I set out to find employment.

They say it’s not what you know, but who you know.

I knew no one and had no desire to change that.

Healthy peer relationships were elusive.

Predictably, with a vague college degree, no direction, and the realization that I was an emotional and social outcast, I didn’t advance in my career.

I survived.

The Roaring Painful Twenties

In my mid-thirties, I experienced a growth spurt; having survived long enough in autistic/ADHD years, I was emotionally ready at 23.

At 34, I secured a role as a researcher at a University.

Unbeknownst to me, I was at the ideal age to embark on a career, marry, and settle down.

Despite being slow to pick up on social cues, my intellectual abilities were heightened — yet, this didn't equate to friendship!

My peers were in their actual 30s, appearing so much more sophisticated. I felt disliked and had no idea how to change that.

I eventually found a partner who was also neurodivergent, but due to my lack of dating success and insecurity around men, I resorted to infidelity. He was 15 years my senior.

When everything feels off, cheating often feels trivial.

Milestones like marriage and career development arrived years later, yet felt unremarkable. I graduated with a master’s degree and a 3.9 GPA at 37 (chronologically), but it felt like a hollow achievement — why had it taken me so long?

As I approached 40, I should have felt accomplished: I had finally married, owned a home, and completed graduate school with commendable grades.

Yet, I was baffled by the ongoing struggles of depression, anxiety, eating disorders, and low self-worth, even after distancing myself from unhealthy habits.

It felt as if I were cursed to not truly appreciate my accomplishments.

I went through each day mechanically, lacking motivation and merely fulfilling expectations without any sense of satisfaction.

Why Am I So Tired?

At 40 (emotionally late twenties), I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder, a common result of burnout for neurodivergent individuals.

Just as I was gaining momentum and feeling somewhat adult, I lost my inconsistent, chaotic rhythm.

I was drained and still lacked genuine friendships.

I formed superficial connections and pretended they were friendships, but I longed for true companionship: shared joy, support, and celebration.

Watching shows like Sex in the City and Friends filled me with frustration for reasons I couldn't articulate. At least there was Seinfeld.

My husband became my closest friend, and for the first time, I had someone with whom I could be authentic. Unbeknownst to us, he was also socially and emotionally unique, sharing my autistic traits.

How could I bond with anyone while feeling like a fraud?

Motherhood — Hunh?

People my age had careers and families.

This thought paralyzed me.

How could someone manage both?

I’d never played with dolls, yet the ticking biological clock made me yearn for adulthood.

At 39, I felt time slipping away for that last milestone!

I had little interest in children or caregiving, but I craved the normalcy that seemed to elude me.

My husband had already raised two kids and was vehemently against the idea of having more.

He successfully dissuaded me, and deep down, I recognized that I wasn't ready for motherhood and likely wouldn’t enjoy it.

Socially and emotionally, I was still in my late twenties when I accepted that I wouldn’t have children.

Now, I feel relieved not to have kids, as managing my own life is already overwhelming. Yet, I find myself surrounded by retirees with grandchildren, marking yet another milestone I’ve missed.

Now I Am 38

Before my diagnoses of ADHD and autism, I viewed myself as unconventional, non-compliant, and unmotivated.

I bought into the narrative of laziness.

“Lack of effort. Willfulness. Anti-social tendencies.”

I had tried my best but felt a sense of relief at the prospect of semi-retirement before hitting my sixties.

My diagnoses, along with some faded college memories, opened my eyes.

I wasn’t lazy; I had worked tirelessly, yet felt like I was going in circles.

Now I’m 38, or 58, or perhaps even 12 again. I’m not socially or emotionally middle-aged but rather caught in the midst of my career ambitions, yet I still feel like a child, as those early years were the only time I truly liked myself.

Neurodivergence clarifies the gaps in my experiences, and Adderall offers fleeting motivation — yet, I remain out of sync with my peers.

Emotionally and socially, I wish I had a career, while biologically, I’m trying to come to terms with aging.

I’m still catching up in my journey of self-discovery, and only time will reveal what lies ahead.

More will be revealed when I finally mature.