Why I Think I’m a Worthless Clown 🤡

Living with ADHD, shame, and the long road toward self-acceptance.

It’s been an emotional week. Not the first, and probably not the last. We all struggle in our own way, but for me, living with ADHD has always been the hardest part.

And unlike, say, a heroin addict (not to compare pain, but stay with me), people joke about ADHD. We don’t joke about the gambler who lost his home betting everything on the Cubs. But we throw around “ADHD” like it’s a quirky personality trait. “Oh, I’m so ADHD today” - like forgetting your car keys is the same as living inside a mental hurricane.

ADHD is a mental health condition. It’s often labeled a psychiatric or neurological disorder, but whatever the terminology, it’s a lifelong difference in how your brain is wired. A difference that often comes with stigma, misunderstanding, and a quiet but constant undertone of: you are not like us.

And the truth is, I’ve always known I was different.

Maybe it started in fifth grade, when Miss Dargis asked me in front of the entire class if I knew I had “diarrhea mouth.” (Which, fair. But also, rude.)

By the time I hit high school in the mid-90s, the DSM-IV had just come out, and my parents finally had enough when they saw I pulled a D in Math third quarter junior year. Their solution? Therapy.

So every week, I started seeing Dr. David Botkin, PhD - clinical psychologist, soft-spoken guy, vaguely resembled a hippie in his old high school photo. I decided to be honest with him, because that’s usually how I roll. I told him everything. About my struggles. My restlessness. My frustration. The way my brain worked like 23 radio stations playing at once.

Dr. Botkin introduced me to two life-changing facts:

1. There’s something called ADHD.

2. Every year, there’s a weed festival at the University of Michigan called Hash Bash where you can legally smoke cannabis on the Diag.

This man got me.

He also mentioned the head shop in Ann Arbor called Stairway to Heaven - which I would, purely coincidentally, visit every summer during hockey camp.

By 4th quarter, I was on Ritalin. I had a name for what I was dealing with: ADHD. And for the first time, I felt something close to relief. A reason. A diagnosis. A way to understand why I felt like I was living a few seconds out of sync with the rest of the world. And I pulled off an A in Math fourth quarter.

But here’s the hard truth: life with ADHD isn’t magically solved with medication.

It’s a constant, daily battle. I often feel like I’m wrestling myself just to complete a task that seems simple to most people - send an email, clean the kitchen, pay a bill on time. Meanwhile, my mind is dragging me through 300 open browser tabs, a parade of half-finished thoughts, and the emotional equivalent of a trampoline park run by toddlers on espresso.

To cope, I lean on a toolkit that includes diet, exercise, sleep, medication, little to no alcohol, and continuous learning. My guiding stars right now include:

• Jessica McCabe, whose TED Talk Failing at Normal hit me like a brick wrapped in validation.

• ADDitude Magazine, with its ADHD webinars and articles that remind me I’m not alone.

• LDA Minnesota’s ADHD support group, which meets every other Thursday morning to discuss topics like “ADHD and Change” (this week’s theme).

I sometimes ask myself: if human beings evolved to dominate the planet because of our brains… where does that leave someone with a neurodivergent brain?

The stats aren’t encouraging. Higher rates of anxiety and depression. Increased suicide risk. Emotional dysregulation. Lower life expectancy on average, seven years shorter. Roughly twice the healthcare costs of a neurotypical person.

And for me, the hardest part? Not finding full-time employment after five years of looking. I used to feel like I didn’t fit in - now I feel like I don’t belong.

ADHD affects executive functioning - planning, prioritization, regulation. In this world, that’s not just inconvenient - it can feel like a death sentence for your dreams.

And yet… there are gifts in ADHD.

They don’t always get talked about enough, especially on the dark days. But they’re real.

We have hyperfocus. Creativity. Resilience. Humor. Empathy. Spontaneity. Courage. An ability to connect dots others miss. And yeah - sometimes we have “diarrhea mouth” and talk too much. But if you need someone to turn a Zoom call into a therapy session with jokes? We got you.

So I’m writing this not because I want sympathy - or to be told I’m “so inspiring.”

I’m writing it because I know I’m not the only one who wakes up feeling like a clown.

And if you’ve ever felt like the joke’s on you - I see you.

You’re not broken.

You’re not lazy.

You’re not alone.

You’re just wired differently.

And there’s beauty in that - even if it’s hard to see some days.