I narrowed my eyes as I aimed my invisible fishing rod at the car ahead of us in the next lane. Carefully, I pulled back, waiting for the perfect opportunity to cast. There! The line reeled out and caught the other car by the bumper. I started reeling us in, hoping my catch wouldn’t get away. Bit by bit, we got closer. Their bumper lined up with ours. Then it was by the mirror. We were side by side! With a decisive jerk, I pulled my hook out of the bumper and took aim again. Before I could catch another car, we exited the freeway and soon pulled up in front of my school.
I hopped out of the car and ran to my classroom. Despite my success at reeling us past the other cars, we were still late—which happened more often than I liked. Catching my breath at the door, I slipped inside, hoping not many people would notice. I took my seat with a sense of relief. At least I wasn’t last! A couple more students straggled in after me, which gave me a small, grim satisfaction.
I half-listened as my teacher launched into the day’s first lesson, distracted by my friend pantomiming about butterflies. Eventually, we were told to start on an assignment, so I pulled out my binder. I followed the string my pencil was tied to—and found nothing. It was time to make another embarrassing trip to the pencil machine.
This was a typical day in my elementary school life. If I managed to find my pencil, I probably couldn’t find my scissors, glue, or something else, even if it was tied to my notebook, my backpack, or even my wrist. I was an expert at losing things.
I was also the kid who was constantly distracted. We were always running late, and I rarely turned in homework on time. It wasn’t unusual for my mom to show up after school to talk with my teachers about how they could help me. Not that I paid attention, of course—everything was more interesting than listening to adults talk. Somehow, I always managed to get by. Looking back, I realize it was thanks to my mom, who was always there for me, helping whenever I let her. She knew something I didn’t: I had ADHD.
I didn’t learn about my ADHD until my senior year of high school, when my mom told me while I was applying for college. I was surprised, but the diagnosis made so many things make sense. Even knowing just a little about ADHD helped me. I started losing things less frequently and catching myself when I got distracted. It was a little disheartening when my friends said they weren’t surprised by the news, but in a way, that validation helped the realization sink in.
In college, I carried this new awareness with me, but the struggles didn’t stop. I faced endless reading assignments I couldn’t finish, challenging concepts that didn’t quite click, new dynamics with roommates and friends, and the freedom to do anything except my homework. Emotional dysregulation made its presence known in ways I hadn’t experienced before. At the same time, I had better friends than ever, and I loved the challenges my classes offered. I started to see my strengths more clearly: I was kind, curious, and good at connecting with others. But it often felt like those things didn’t matter. Being kind didn’t help me finish homework. Curiosity wasn’t a skill I could take into the corporate world. Connecting with others didn’t make me more efficient.
In the middle of college, I took a break to serve a religious mission for 18 months. My mission asked a lot of me, but I knew I could do it. Kindness, curiosity, and connection were invaluable, but so were focus, organization, and staying on schedule. The structured environment helped me thrive.
When I returned to college, I brought that structure with me. I was more organized than ever before. I started turning in my assignments—usually on time! When I struggled, I asked for help. For the first time in my life, I earned straight A’s. I felt unstoppable.
After college, though, I hit a wall. I realized I had no real plan for what came next. High school and college had prepared me for… more school. But now what? I bounced between jobs, avoiding corporate roles because I didn’t think they’d value my skills. I was a zipline guide, reservation specialist, custodian, catering employee, SPED aide, DoorDash driver, and even a data entry clerk. I made ends meet, but nothing felt like a long-term fit. I’d get bored and move on.
During the pandemic, while working as a DoorDash driver, someone recommended Jessica McCabe’s TED Talk to me. That rabbit hole changed my life. I devoured her YouTube channel and articles from ADDitude magazine. The more I learned about ADHD, the more my life made sense. I started sharing what I learned with friends who had ADHD, helping them make sense of their experiences too.
Eventually, I came across the idea of ADHD coaching. I researched it and realized it was exactly what I wanted to do. I saved up for the courses, registered at the ADHD Coach Academy (ADDCA), and waited several months to start.
Now, after incredible classes and an eight-month journey, I’ve learned more about ADHD than I ever imagined. ADDCA didn’t just teach me how to coach—it gave me tools to manage my own ADHD and a deep understanding of how ADHD works in the brain. I graduated on January 15, 2025, as a trained ADHD coach. I’m excited to guide my clients through the challenges of ADHD, helping them forge their own path, discover their strengths, and navigate toward their goals.
Throughout my life, I felt fortunate when it came to my ADHD. I was lucky to have a supportive mom, to stumble upon helpful coping strategies, and to develop a fascination with ADHD itself. But I don’t want my clients to have to rely on luck to navigate their lives. My goal is to support them on their journeys, helping them embrace their strengths and become the people they’ve always dreamed of being.