From Masking to Mastering: How ADHD Made Me a Better Coach
From Masking to Mastering: How ADHD Made Me a Better Coach
ADHD didn’t break me—it built my brand.
That day was rough. I had gotten a note that my last email had three typos (so much for polished and professional). In a meeting, I rattled on way too long and veered off into a new topic just as everyone was clearly ready to wrap up. Cue the colleague eye rolls—at least that’s how it felt. I’d been bouncing my leg all day with nervous energy, practically shaking the earth beneath my desk.
Just one more appointment to go.
She was a rockstar client—close to my age, same MBTI score, and while I was already diagnosed with ADHD, she was in the “is this me?” stage. She was leading a major grant initiative, applying for director and VP roles at top nonprofits, and playing with business ideas on the side. Total powerhouse.
Over the next few meetings, I noticed something. We shared so much: the ambition, the self-doubt, the habit of overthinking everything and second-guessing nothing at the same time. The brilliant ideas. The deep empathy. The subtle but exhausting ways we masked ourselves to seem more "professional."
And that’s when it hit me—hard.
💡 My brain isn’t broken. It’s just not built for the systems we live in.
But that doesn’t mean I have to hide it.
I realized I could be just as badass as she was. I just needed to embrace how I work, instead of constantly trying to “fix” it.
Just like my client—the one who always asked the questions no one else thought to ask, or came up with a perfectly-timed program idea no one else could’ve imagined—I could use my ADHD superpowers in my coaching.
Turns out, ADHD makes me:
More empathetic to the clients who feel like outliers
More creative with solutions and tools
More inquisitive, always digging for the why behind the what
More structure-seeking, because I know how much it helps
And way more authentic, because masking is exhausting and I’m done with it
ADHD didn’t make me worse at my job.
It made me better.
😵💫 Missed, Masked, and Maxed Out
My life has always been a giant mix of contradictions.
I hated school in elementary but became an A student by 7th grade—all because one teacher in 6th said I couldn’t do better. I was a quiet, observant kid... until I felt comfortable—then I wouldn’t shut up. I always got my work done—but it took me twice as long as everyone else. I loved writing—but procrastinated until the last possible hour, then cranked out an A+ paper in three hours flat.
Deadlines stressed me out—but somehow, the stress helped me perform better.
Looking back now, it’s clear: ADHD was there all along. The signs were loud. I just didn’t know how to read them yet.
I managed to mask and overcompensate for years. And it worked—until it didn’t.
At 38, everything came crashing down.
I had a new baby. I was six months into postpartum life and suddenly, the delicate system I’d built—my routines, my adrenaline-fueled productivity, my ability to juggle all the chaos—just... stopped working.
Everything became too much.
I was foggy, exhausted, and forgetful. The dishes were never done. I couldn’t remember the day of the week. My go-to systems for pulling things together last minute? Useless. Babies don’t care about your carefully timed meltdown-meets-motivation cycles. They need snacks. Now.
I thought maybe I had postpartum depression. Or anxiety. Or hormones.
(Which—yes, all of those things were absolutely real.)
But the real turning point?
I finally saw a psychiatrist and asked: What’s happening to my brain?
We talked through everything—my racing thoughts, the nervous energy, my leg bouncing like an earthquake, my chronic overwhelm. They asked about family history. Yep, ADHD runs in my family—but I’d never seen myself in the classic “hyperactive boy bouncing off the walls” image.
Except... maybe I was that kid.
Just in girl form. In the ‘90s. Quiet, driven, internal, missed.
Turns out, my brain wasn’t broken. It was just undiagnosed and unsupported for nearly four decades.
Now what? I was 38, a new mom, and feeling like a failure. But getting that diagnosis gave me a word, a framework, and most importantly, a path forward.
🧠 The Deep Dive Into My Brain
Once I had the diagnosis, I did what I do best: I hyperfocused.
I devoured everything I could get my hands on—TikToks, YouTube videos, books, blogs, research articles, podcasts. If it had "ADHD" in the title, I consumed it like my life depended on it (because, in a way, it kind of did).
I tried medication, therapy, supplements, and every productivity hack you can imagine:
✅ Pomodoro
✅ Color-coded checklists
✅ Timers and reminders
✅ Visual schedules
✅ Sticky notes in places I shouldn’t admit
I created my own systems—ones that actually worked with my brain instead of against it. I had a list for everything and finally understood why I needed them. But the most powerful thing I did?
I talked about it. Loudly. Openly. Proudly.
I started sharing my story—with friends, family, clients, and colleagues. I stopped hiding the shaky leg, the scattered thoughts, the high-speed idea machine inside my brain. And as I spoke it out loud, something wild happened:
I stopped feeling broken.
I started feeling brilliant.
I realized I do think differently—and that’s a strength.
I make connections others don’t see.
I’m wildly creative and constantly bursting with new ideas.
I can problem-solve on the fly.
I’m deeply empathetic—and now, I let that show.
The more I embraced my neurodivergence, the better I became at my work. My coaching got sharper, more intuitive, more human. I wasn’t just reading articles about ADHD anymore—I was living it, and using it to support others who felt like they were "too much" or "not enough."
Turns out, I wasn’t either of those things.
I was just neurodivergent. And once I stopped trying to hide it, I found my spark.
🔥 From Chaos to Confidence
I went from chaos to confidence—not because I figured it all out, but because I finally started building a life and business that works with my brain, not against it.
I created a schedule that gives me structure without stifling me. I built tools and routines that support my flow. I tried a bunch of things—some flopped, some clicked—and I kept what worked.
I learned that maybe I’m not the traditional version of “professional.”
I ramble sometimes. I overshare. I write emails with typos.
But I’m still professional—just in a way that’s real.
And you know what? That’s okay.
The people who need perfectly polished, never-distracted, always-glossy coaching? They’re not my people.
There’s a coach out there for them.
But for the ones who crave relatability, authenticity, and some good old-fashioned real, raw talk?
I’m here. And I get it.
