The Courage to Be Human

A bit of background before we begin: What’s Wrong With Me? Just for some reference, women with ADHD often suffer from comorbidities

Common comorbidities in women with ADHD include:

– Anxiety disorders (especially generalized anxiety and panic disorder)

– Depression

– Bipolar disorder (often misdiagnosed or overlapping)

– Eating disorders (binge eating, bulimia, anorexia)

– PTSD or complex trauma

– Substance use or self-medicating behaviors

– Sleep disturbances

– Obsessive-compulsive tendencies

– Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD)

– Borderline personality traits

– Sexual impulsivity or oversexualization

– Chronic low self-esteem and shame

And I think this list alone is the very reason why I started writing this book, but not the reason I continued. I’ve lived through nearly all of these experiences and somehow made it out the other side—with scars, yes, but also with insight. I’ve realized that this list doesn’t only describe ADHD. It describes being human, the symptoms and flavors may take different shapes, but the struggle is universal.

Today, I live free from many of the extremes I once faced, though I know life will always bring new struggles. And I also wouldn’t trade any of it because on the other side I’ve been left with the most precious things:

A greater sense of empathy

A greater sense of purpose

A profound love and appreciation for life

A sense of peace and presence

And most importantly, a closer relationship with myself and with others, with more love and gratitude than ever—because every struggle invites us to step further into ourselves with more power, courage, and love

It’s also given me the desire to share my story—because I believe in it, others will find pieces of theirs too.

I have come to believe that struggling and suffering is not something to fear, but something to be cherished. It forms us. The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way, becomes the way.

Our struggles are our greatest gifts.

I’ve wrestled with many versions of myself—my “parts” (IFS people will recognize this; I’ll explain more later on). For years I was an expert at masking—fitting in on the outside while silencing what felt right on the inside. Yet I always had a strong inner knowing: maybe my brain works differently, but I know who I am. Some kind of inner wisdom I trusted even when I was busy contorting myself into molds I was never going to fit. I don’t think our job is to explain ourselves forever or spend our whole lives trying to figure out why. (And trust me…I’ve tried.) Maybe the answer is more about just letting ourselves be and finding a lifestyle that actually works for us.

Now don’t get me wrong—finding out the root of our minds, of our traumas is incredibly valuable. And if you couldn’t already tell, this whole book basically proves that all I do is ask “why, why, why.” But sometimes the answer isn’t in the why. Sometimes it’s in the how. Like: okay, I know this about myself—so how do I want to live my life given this knowledge?

I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 11. Ironically, it was because I had spent a lot of my life asking why, why, why. Why am I so different, why do I struggle so much with things that others don’t? Why do I feel so much? That’s when my lifelong love affair with Google rabbit holes began. But really—it was a huge turning point. After fifteen years of thinking, researching, and rabbit holes, I kept circling to the same questions:

“Is this trauma? Or is this actually a neurological disorder that we are born with?” “Is this genetic because it’s actually in our genes? Or maybe it just seems to be ‘genetic’ because we suffer from generational trauma that we pass on to our children?”

We can ask a million why’s. And those questions are fascinating. But while I don’t have the ultimate answer (yet), here’s what I do know from my own experience:

I have always been the way that I am for as long as I can remember

ADHD feels like neurodivergence, like your brain truly does work in different ways

AND that difference creates a lot of trauma.

And that trauma then makes ADHD symptoms worse.

It’s like a negative feedback loop.

It’s not being able to function “normally” in a world that wasn’t built for you. And it’s also the world’s reaction to your wiring— which slowly deepens your belief that something is in fact wrong with you.

But I also believe we can find ways of life where it can actually become

A positive feedback loop too

Because while a lot of people with ADHD feel the weight of their struggles, most will also tell you they feel like they have superpowers, that they love their silly, goofy, creative, outside of the box selves, that they have this deep sensitivity and empathy for others that while many times may feel like a curse, I think deep down know is also quite a blessing, that while they may feel their brains can be quite “chaotic” and perhaps at times cause some “chaos” to those around them, they also make life a little more bright, and give the world a perspective that it often misses.

There are ways to live that aren’t just about “managing symptoms.” You can build a life that lets you execute your desires, use your gifts—your superpowers—be true to yourself, and thrive instead of shrinking into someone else’s mold.

And there are ways that make it worse: forcing yourself into ill-fitting molds, shrinking to keep others comfortable, convincing yourself you’re broken, cutting yourself off from your needs. (I’ve done all of it. I wouldn’t be writing this book without those detours—and I also wouldn’t trade them, because they gave me such a deep understanding of myself and taught me to value the chaos, the mess, because within them, lies superpowers.)

If your brain runs fast, feels deeply, forgets things, cares intensely about some things and not others, loses track of time, struggles to sit still—and you’re told those traits make you lazy, disruptive, stupid, too loud, too emotional, too weird—you eventually believe something is fundamentally wrong with you.

And that’s confusing, because at the very same time you know you’re wildly creative, funny, full of emotional depth, able to hyperfocus on what you love, and overflowing with passion and energy. You know you’re not stupid—you can be incredibly smart, motivated, and talented when something matters to you. But when you spend your whole life trying to force that chaos, thought, and creativity through a cracked funnel (your executive functioning) your ability to focus, organize, communicate—it leaks everywhere. And all your energy gets wasted on trying to patch the funnel instead of letting things flow. No wonder you end up with meltdowns, frustration and shame, left feeling incapable.

That’s why I started making cartoons about ADHD traits, because there’s a huge discrepancy between how they look from the outside and what’s actually going on inside. My hope is that through this book and through those cartoons, I can reframe how these “deficits” are seen because for every deficit, there is also an equal and opposite strength.

In life, for everything you “lose” in one area, you gain something in another. When our brains are wired differently, they may have “deficits” in some areas, but they also hold unique strengths—and those gains can be remarkable. Those differences are often what move the world forward and advance our society. If we keep focusing only on the negatives (the “defecits”) that’s what multiplies. But if we focus on the positives, they grow too. When we learn to harness those traits, the impact on ourselves—and in turn, on the world—can be exponentially greater.

Look Like : Chaos, Lazy, Stupid vs Reality:

Can’t sit still

A body made for movement, and this is incredibly intuitive, movement helps us think, it helps us regulate our emotions, movement is amazing for all of us and I’m deeply passionate about the power of exercise for everyone, not just people with ADHD, our bodies need movement to process emotions, to think more clearly, to ease anxiety, to set us freeeeeee

Disruptive

We’re passionate. We want to share what’s on our minds, connect with people, spark ideas. Sometimes the impulse can’t wait.

Lazy

We just don’t care about stuff that doesn’t matter to us. But when we do care? Endless energy. Endless passion.

Stupid

Our creativity, problem-solving, and depth of thought thrive outside the box. Sometimes emotions get in the way of thinking linearly or clearly. That happens to everyone—but for people with ADHD

Can’t pay attention

We pay too much attention….to everything. It’s like a thousand tabs are open in the brain. Focus isn’t absent—it’s scattered, or it’s laser-sharp when something ignites us. This is why we can have tons of ideas and get overwhelmed by it all

Disorganized

Our brains aren’t linear. They’re creative, associative, web-like, filled with patterns and metaphors

Can’t finish a task

We have too many ideas, too many passions, too many directions we want to run at once. It’s not failure—it’s overflow.

Overly Emotional

We feel deeply, and that depth gives us empathy, creativity, and connection. Our sensitivity is a superpower.

The list goes on and on and a lot of these things are actually overlapping and circular and a laid out chart can’t ever really capture the depth, but it can try.

I found a note to myself the other day that really sums up the feelings I carried with me for much of my life: “Journal about ADHD and how you never felt capable on your own and how it led to bad relationships in your life but ultimately brought you back to square one.”

In this case, square one meaning: myself. I was in and out of relationships, always pouring myself into other people, using others as anchors while my own ground slipped away, because I never learned to steady myself. I focused on them instead of me, too afraid to figure out who I was, what my own dreams, or passions were. I lacked belief in myself and ended every relationship back where I started: scared, alone, and convinced I was incapable.

When kids are made to feel they’re incapable—like there’s something wrong with them, when their natural traits and abilities are treated as problems to be fixed, when they start to feel that medication that changes themselves is the only way they’ll ever succeed—what kind of self-esteem does that create? What kind of capability does that build?

How can you ever believe in yourself when everything in the world is convincing you that you shouldn’t?

And while I haven’t actually read the book You Mean I’m Not Lazy, Stupid or Crazy?—I think the title says it all.

Because that belief—that you are lazy, stupid, crazy? That’s where the trauma begins.

It’s not just the ADHD itself that is so traumatic It’s the shame. The constant self-doubt. The feeling of being stupid. The world labeling you “out of control”

Deep down, I knew I wasn’t any of these things. But after enough time, you start to doubt yourself, and you start to believe you really are lazy, stupid, and crazy.

How can you stay convinced you aren’t stupid when you sit in class and everyone around you seems to know the answers—because they were able to listen and follow the process—while you were zoned out in your own world, doodling, or whispering to a friend?

You rush to catch up, but you’ve already missed steps. And now panic sets in. Your thoughts spiral: You idiot, how do you not know this? Everyone else does.

The teacher calls on you and you freeze. You don’t want to disappoint them. You don’t want to look stupid. Heat rushes to your face. You feel all of it at once—embarrassment, shame, disappointment—because you’re not just in your own head, you’re also highly sensitive and in tune with what’s happening around you. The emotions are too much to hold.

And once you’re in that state, you can’t even begin to learn or focus. You’re too overwhelmed, frustrated, sad. Then you label yourself as stupid and incapable and stop wanting to try at all. From there, your self-esteem sinks lower and lower.

But the most confusing part is that deep down, you have a quiet knowing that somehow it isn’t true. That you aren’t stupid. But that knowing is a whisper, drowned out by the loud, in-your-face screams of everything around you telling you otherwise.

That’s where the masking begins. Trying so hard to become someone I was never meant to be. Telling my parents, “I think something is wrong with me.” Going on medication, hoping to erase all the pain and struggle.

And that eventually spiraled: to anxiety, an eating disorder, panic attacks, mood swings. I came to believe I’d need medication for life, that I couldn’t be trusted otherwise, that life wasn’t meant to be enjoyed—only managed. I decided my goofiness, sensitivity, creativity, curiosity, intuition, and stubbornness were useless—even though I cherished those parts the most of all. I thought success meant shutting down my real traits and joy. I wondered if I’d ever be okay, or always be stuck “managing” something broken. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But what if nothing was ever wrong with me? What if the real problem is believing there was? The expectations. The comparisons. The doubts and fears. The shame. The relentless push to “try harder,” to ignore mind, body, and emotions—to just “be normal.”

Every one of us has gifts, talents, and purpose. When we’re forced into molds, we can’t grow into who we are or use what we have. It’s in being ourselves—mess and all—that we find our true gifts and purpose. Not just in a “dream job,” but in everyday life: relationships, how we carry ourselves, the peace we feel, the small ways we impact the world.

Eventually, I stopped trying to change myself. I accepted, cherished, and loved the girl inside. I built a life around how I actually work. I leaned into my gifts. I stopped asking, How do I fit the world? and started asking, How do I make my world fit me? How can I—me, Dani—fit into the puzzle piece of this world as myself, instead of contorting into someone else’s shape? I quit squeezing into other people’s jeans. I learned to communicate my thoughts and needs. I fostered my gifts instead of suppressing them.

And I’m not saying to never push yourself outside your comfort zone and grow, in fact I’m always advocating for the opposite, I believe it’s the only way we can actually fully step into ourselves. But I also believe each of us has an inherent self that shines brightest when it’s given the space to do so.

I still lose things. I’m disorganized. I have meltdowns and mood swings. My brain struggles with organizational and linear tasks and often gets overwhelmed. I want to start a million projects and struggle to finish them. I can zone out when I’m not interested and talk way too fast and hyper when I am. My mind swirls with ideas I can’t always separate. And I still often times feel misunderstood, anxious, and overwhelmed

But I have myself again— and I love her.

I’ve reclaimed my full spectrum of emotion—not the absence of pain, but the presence of it all—and I’m grateful. Now I have real passion, and drive from alignment, not force. I accept my struggles. I build a life that suits me instead of crushing me. In that, I’ve found creativity, joy, motivation, and peace. I get to do things I actually enjoy.

Here’s the wild part: when we bury trauma, often trauma caused by having ADHD, many ADHD-like symptoms amplify—difficulty focusing, low motivation, scattered thinking, executive-function struggles, feeling disconnected, believing we have no passions (when really, we’re not allowing the ones meant for us). It’s a cycle: ADHD can create trauma; trauma can worsen ADHD.

When I stopped taking medicine and started healing, I stopped needing the medicine so badly. I began believing I was capable and smart as I am. I did what I love, became more present, and my gifts surfaced more and more each day. I still have ADHD and still struggle, but I’ve found a capacity to regulate my attention and emotions I never imagined.

I’m not saying medication shouldn’t be used — everyone’s needs are different. What I am saying is that we need to question how quickly we diagnose and medicate, especially young kids, before truly looking underneath. We aren’t having deep, real conversations about how these children feel in the process. Instead, we’re pressuring them to be “functional” before they’ve had a chance to discover who they really are.

Curiosity, exploration, messiness — these matter, not just for kids but for adults too. When we cut things at the root in the name of function and perfection, we rob people of the chance to fully grow.

This book isn’t just about ADHD. I don’t want it to be. It’s about emotions, identity, and the human condition. It’s about letting ourselves be and feel — saying what’s in our hearts, showing our weaknesses, our shame. It’s also about my life. I won’t claim to know best, but these are the truths I want to share. I could swap “ADHD” for many other struggles and the truth would still hold.

We all carry struggles, traumas, and hidden parts — some true, some created by shame. We fall into the same trap: trying to be someone we’re not, afraid of our own mess. In our world, sensitivity is mistaken for weakness, creativity for chaos, divergence for brokenness. We force functionality at the expense of letting it emerge naturally.

Labels can be useful, but they will never hold our fullness. Too often, mental-health labels convince us we’re defective — something to fix, medicate, or erase — instead of asking, “Where did this come from? How can I live with it?” Often it’s a healthy brain navigating unhealthy experiences and environments.

The cure isn’t erasure. It’s acceptance, processing, compassion. Struggle and pain are part of life. Our goal isn’t to eliminate them but to live through them, because beauty comes from feeling the uncomfortable. That’s how we flourish.

I want to question a system that rushes to relieve with medication before looking beneath the surface. When it comes to the traits we’re born with, the answer isn’t erasure — it’s embrace.

So while my story is one of ADHD (and other struggles), the label isn’t the point. It’s a doorway.

The heart of this book is being human: letting go of the version built only for survival and meeting the one ready to live. Because at the end of the day, all you have is you. We’re told peace comes from functionality. I’ve found the reverse is true: functionality comes from peace.

When we finally allow ourselves to unravel—to be messy, vulnerable, ashamed—then we can gather ourselves back up and move forward.

That’s where my story took me, and where this book begins: because if I fit in for you, I no longer belong to myself. The rest of these pages are the road I walked to get here through poetry, art, reflections, philosophies, and lived experiences. Within them, themes circle back and intertwine, forming a map of myself, and of what I believe it means to be human