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Frame Of Mind
“As an Asian woman, I thought I didn’t fit the image of what someone with ADHD looks like”
By Anonymous
2 years ago
8 min read
In a piece for Processing, a Stylist Frame Of Mind series, one writer explores how her Asian American ethnicity may have prevented her ADHD from being noticed sooner.
The first time someone asked me if I’d ever been tested for ADHD, I emphatically denied it as a possibility. Following another difficult day at work, I was in the midst of a frustration-filled vent session and the last thing I wanted to hear was what I perceived to be an irrelevant question. “No,” I flatly replied, “I don’t have it.” My ability to complete higher education and maintain a job was surely proof of this. Plus, I surmised, if I did have it, someone would’ve detected signs when I was a child.
It wasn’t until a work colleague mentioned being diagnosed with ADHD as an adult that I learned about the large population of people, particularly women and people of colour, who had gone undiagnosed until adulthood. I spoke to medical professionals and confirmed I was one of them. It wasn’t until then that I realised I had long held an unconscious assumption of what ADHD ‘looked like’, and thus who was able to have it.
ADHD has long been stereotyped as a condition common in young rambunctious white school boys. I watched portrayals of ADHD in characters such as Bart Simpson from The Simpsons or Spinner from Degrassi and thought I couldn’t be more different from them. I wasn’t hyper, devious or loud-mouthed. Plus, I was an Asian American woman. I didn’t see or know anyone who looked like me who also had ADHD.
I questioned why I was missed for so long
Now with more awareness and research, ADHD is finally beginning to be understood as a condition that presents in various ways. While boys are more likely to demonstrate external symptoms like hyperactivity and fidgeting, girls often experience symptoms internally, through daydreaming and overthinking. This blind spot leads to misdiagnosis or underdiagnosis for many people who desperately need treatment. For people of colour, who face additional challenges of bias, community stigma and racism, this issue is compounded.
After beginning treatment and accepting my diagnosis, I questioned why this had been missed for so long. As a child, I was a terrible student. Homework was completed inconsistently, I could barely refrain from rocking my chair or picking my nails during class and daydreaming was a regular occurrence.
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When I was eight, I transferred from a predominantly Chinese American school to one where I was one of the handful of Asian students and the only Chinese student in my grade. Like most kids, I suffered from the first day of school jitters. However, unlike most of my peers, the discomfort didn’t fade as the year progressed.
The topic of my race would frequently come up when I interacted with people at school. I quickly learned that responding to “Where are you from?” with “I was born in New York” was not the answer my classmates were seeking. Peers commented on my distinct eyes. Typical household breakfast items like pork buns or egg custard were considered ‘weird’ once I was outside my home. I realised I wasn’t just being judged as the new girl in school. My self-consciousness towards my perceived differences led me to believe I needed to change. To that end, I pushed away my culture and became extremely shy. To me, the closest option to fitting in was being invisible.
In the middle of my first year there, my teacher referred me to the school’s English as a second language coordinator. For weeks, during my usual reading period, the two of us met in a small room where I would read aloud Junie B. Jones And The Stupid Smelly Bus and summarise the events of each chapter. At the end of our time together, the coordinator gave me the book with “You are a smart girl so let your teacher see how smart you are!” inscribed in it. It took me years to realise I was in that room because my teacher questioned my English language ability. After returning to regular class, I continued to struggle. Now I question if my ADHD was misread because I’m Chinese American. If I weren’t Asian, would I have been diagnosed earlier?
A recent study showed significant racial disparities in ADHD diagnosis with Asian American children the least likely to be diagnosed. In researching my diagnosis, I found few research studies examining the impact of ADHD on Asian Americans.
My life before ADHD treatment was an executive functioning nightmare I’ve often forcefully, and unsuccessfully, attempted to wake myself from. However, I knew this wasn’t how other people viewed me. I’ve navigated the world knowing I was seen as obedient, perfectionistic, and intelligent, both by the nature of my strict upbringing as well as the misconceptions produced by the ‘model minority’ myth. The model minority myth perpetuates the stereotype of Asians being intrinsically obedient, academically gifted and hardworking. This picture certainly juxtaposes the typical portrayal of ADHD as a ‘hyperactivity disorder’.
Among the many harmful impacts of the ‘model minority’ stereotype is labelling Asian people as a monolith by erasing individuality and creating damaging expectations of success, behaviour and character. It can create the misconception that Asian Americans do not need support or resources. Being unable to fall in line with these expectations can lead to feelings of worthlessness, failure and shame. A 2018 study showed that Asian Americans who internalise these beliefs had worsened depression, anxiety and suicidality.
I thought I just needed to try harder
This stereotype is also deeply rooted in a ‘pull yourself up by the bootstraps’ mentality that says anything is achievable through hard work while downplaying other complex factors in success. This can lead counsellors, teachers and other professionals to attribute someone’s academic difficulty to a lack of effort rather than offering resources or support. Within the stereotype, failure was entirely a result of your personal responsibility and actions trumped intent. Whenever I failed an exam, didn’t complete an assignment on time or forgot to run an errand, I viewed it as a reflection of my character and a sign I just needed to try harder, which is what I did.
As I grew up, I developed toxic strategies to unknowingly mask my symptoms, which sapped my energy and time. Many people who are unaware they have ADHD will provoke negative emotions like anxiety, avoidance and anger to spur themselves into action. I took on intense course loads, accepted extracurricular responsibilities I knew I couldn’t physically or mentally handle and neglected sleep and regular meals to keep pace with work.
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When I struggled to complete my workload, I saw it as further proof I was woefully lazy, unmotivated and incompetent. My self-worth was tied to my performance. Eventually, the image my maladaptive strategies constructed came crashing down. By the time I completed university, I had been hospitalised for major depressive disorder and generalised anxiety disorder.
It took several years of therapy and unlearning caustic thought patterns to return to stable health. However, when I began a new job last year, I felt myself threatening to unravel again. What started out as a dream quickly eroded into another nightmare. Every day, I struggled to complete work on time or finish more than a handful of tasks in a day. I froze. I now know it was task paralysis brought on by opening my to-do board, clicking through dozens of corresponding tabs and seeing the same dozen tasks I had yet to do that month. During meetings, I strained to sustain my focus. I viewed these struggles as a sign that, deep down, I didn’t want to work here and didn’t deserve to.
When I finally obtained my diagnosis and treatment, it felt like my original story was getting a sequel – an expansion. The knowledge that my behaviour and actions were not a reflection of my values and character lifted a massive burden. Having the tools to complete my responsibilities without harming my health gave me a renewed sense of fulfilment. Before diagnosis, I often stressed over the real fear of not being able to complete my responsibilities in time and burned out from the constant pressure. At the end of a project or workday, I’d breathe a sigh of relief. Now I have the energy to celebrate. Now that I know I have ADHD and am receiving treatment, I’m thriving and not just surviving.
This journey has been short but I’ve already learned so much. My ADHD has taught me that no ‘normal’ or single picture encompasses a complex experience. That’s why storytelling can be so powerful. Reading stories from people of different communities and backgrounds has expanded my knowledge of what ADHD is.
In many Asian communities, disabilities are stigmatised, misunderstood and considered a hush-hush topic. Slowly, I’ve begun to discuss my diagnosis with family members. While it’s a difficult and unfamiliar conversation, it’s so important.
I’m slowly learning to advocate for myself to receive accommodations. While ADHD doesn’t holistically define me, it does supplement who I am. It is difficult to manage, but I’ve learned there are many wonderful things about ADHD. Empathy, resilience and hyperfocus are just a few.
While I often celebrate my diagnosis as a turning point, I sometimes fall into cycles of grief and conflict when I think about how things could have been different. Could I have performed better in school if I had known I had ADHD earlier? How different would my personality be? Would I have chosen a different career path? Would I still be in touch with certain people?
And I still have moments of self-doubt. I ask if I’m sure I’m not just lazy. Have I tried harder?
As I ask these questions, I jump between anger, sadness, embarrassment, bafflement, graciousness and a whole host of emotions. I allow myself to feel all of them and accept that while I can’t change the past, there’s so much to look forward to in the future.
Frame Of Mind is Stylist’s home for all things mental health and the mind. From expert advice on the small changes you can make to improve your wellbeing to first-person essays and features on topics ranging from autism to antidepressants, we’ll be exploring mental health in all its forms. You can check out the series home page to get started.
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