When I was diagnosed with ADHD and dyscalculia at age 38, I wept for 10-year-old me. For the little girl who could not make sense of numbers, whose legs would shake and voice tremble when forced to stand and recite multiplication tables.
When I fumbled, my teacher would smack the chalkboard and shout “Wrong again!” as the class erupted in laughter. “Stupid, dumb me.” I whispered to myself as I retreated.I also wept for teenage me, who was called “dumb” and told countless times that she just needed to “try harder.” For the girl who felt she needed to wear a mask.
No matter what I did, it never felt like it was good enough.The tears I shed after my diagnoses have been like healing rains.
The grief and shame I feel are real, but I don’t want to stay in these places for too long. I want to move beyond them. So, I have decided to try to find the victory stories I never experienced as a child.I wish my teachers knew about my ADHD and dyscalculia.