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I always knew my brain was a little…different.
I found my old, yellow agenda last year. It was in some old drawer that was highly unorganized.
I always leave my drawers in the messiest state ever, but never my room. It’s as if two different people coexist in that same room—one of them who’s incredibly unorganized, and the other who knows how to hide it well.
Back to the old notebook…I probably picked it up when I was around 10, and apparently, I filled it with the most random, chaotic, and oddly funny notes.
There were emails scribbled in the margins, phone numbers I don’t remember saving, and lame jokes that made me laugh as a kid. But there were also parts that hit harder—little reminders of how lonely I felt back then.
In one section, there were lines like, “Why does society want to limit who we truly are?” There were also answers to how the world would be a better place like,”If everyone was less of a hypocrite, the world would be a better place.” Okay, dramatic much? I mean, why did this 13-year-old girl, barely exposed to society, seem like she’d just finished a philosophy seminar on how society works?
Finding that agenda made me smile, awkwardly. Those small thoughts in lousy handwriting might be the reason I’ve spent years writing blogs, diving into activism, and working on human rights content. At 28, I realized I owed these innocent thoughts a lot.
A huge part of me also wanted to hug that young writer. To tell her she was cute for thinking she had it all figured out, even though she didn’t. To let her know that those scribbles would grow into something meaningful—with time, therapy, and more discoveries.
What I Wrote Next
I kept writing and learning. Particularly about what it means to grow up as a woman in Lebanon—a country that doesn’t exactly prioritize mental health, especially with all the chaos and conflict constantly growing around us and our parents. It’s also a place that doesn’t always make space for women to easily build an independent life.
But somehow, I found my way back to these writings. I wrote about the labels society slaps on women, where they come from, and how we can untangle the mess of not understanding ourselves because of all the stigmas that surround us.
I knew I was on some path of healing, I just didn’t know that the path would keep growing deeper.
In my part of the world, women are naturally expected to do it all. Breathe, take care of themselves, their kids, their jobs, their husbands, their independence—all while trying to escape the narrow path society tries to draw for them.
I always knew I wanted to be more balanced, not because I owed society anything, but because I didn’t want to fail myself. It became a life-long purpose: being a great partner, friend, daughter, and role model for an unaccomplished part of me. And, somehow, I’ve worked my way toward that life. I’ve traveled, created opportunities for myself, and even managed to secure a modest, independent living space in Lebanon—not an easy task, trust me.
It’s been hard, but I’ve unpacked so much of my trauma and anxiety, and learned slowly how to actually “make that plan.” But somehow, I always made it back to bed with a deep sense of feeling stuck between two versions of me, and I never understood why. Not even my therapists could point out why.
Plot Twist: Balance Isn’t Enough
At 28, I thought I’d be closer to that elusive “balanced life.” But instead, I felt like I was always abandoning the little creative girl inside of me. I had no time to wander in my thoughts, to dream up creative ideas, or even to write silly notes on my Instagram poetry blog. Showers became brainstorming sessions for my to-do list and calendars became my best friends—even though I hated them.
I hated how hard it was to create this balance. I hated how much effort it took just to keep up with the life I’d built. And I hated that no matter how much I meditated, breathed, or tried to be kinder to myself, it still felt like an impossible paradox. Of course, I blamed it on capitalism, but something still felt painful as I blamed myself continuously for not finding a balanced version of myself.
If I abandoned the playful, creative part of me, I’d end up unhappy. But if I let go of even a little bit of the disciplined, dedicated part, my dreams would stay just that—dreams. I’d forget to text people back, miss deadlines, and become the kind of person I really don’t intend to be.
So it was time to seek help…again.
The little taskmaster in me decided it was time to figure this one out too. Social media, of all things, helped me see that even though I’m highly organized, I have many symptoms of ADHD. I love the internet, but I’ve learned that trusting it can be tricky, so it was better to seek professional help.
“Probable” Makes More Sense
The psychiatrist and I talked about everything—my fear of being a fraud, my drive to accomplish so much, and how I constantly forget tasks. We talked about how university was a nightmare for me and how I never quite fit into highly regulated spaces. She tested my skills, and let’s just say I made a lot of errors. I do hate tests.
By the end of it, she said something that stuck with me: “All test results show that you have ADHD.” For a few minutes, my whole life made sense. For a few minutes, I felt that all my previously diagnosed anxiety, fears, and sense of forgetfulness (particularly with dates and numbers) were given a warm hug and a tap on the back.
But I still couldn’t make sense of my highly functional self. Usually, people with ADHD struggle to accomplish things, and I have been annoyingly organized! My overly stimulated brain had so many questions in just a few minutes.
“However, I can’t write that, instead, I will write that it’s a ‘Probable ADHD.'” My brain froze for a while, as she continued explaining that these tests were made initially for young boys, and do not always portray how women’s symptoms show up differently.
The obsessive and functional parts of me actually tricked the tests! They made the attention deficit part definitive, but not the hyperactive one. Once again, my sense of validation was brushed away.
I left the room with a huge sense of acknowledgement, and another that simply didn’t get it.
Believe or not, I went back to the internet.
Women and ADHD: It Doesn’t Exist for You
Once again, I learned a lot about myself and all other women in the process. Many women’s ADHD is often overlooked.
Often, women tend to exhibit more internalized symptoms (e.g., inattentiveness, daydreaming, or emotional dysregulation) rather than the hyperactive or impulsive behaviors more commonly seen in men, which leads to underdiagnosis.
Apparently, my own need to regulate my impulsivity created a need for continuous planning, organizing, and forcing the self to “behave.” Apparently, ADHD and obsessive behavior can coexist, but they just make things a bit more challenging. It’s like having two people in one brain, constantly pulling each other apart.
While ADHD is characterized by impulsivity and difficulty focusing, obsessive behaviors can manifest as a coping mechanism to manage ADHD symptoms, leading to internal tension and indecisiveness.
Finally, my need to hyper-organize my room while living with a messy drawer made sense.
But here’s what I know now: that little girl with the yellow agenda was not that different. She got something right, and it was the need to write her way out of the things that didn’t make sense, and here I am today, trying to write again.
There is nothing different about who I am, and that’s good to know. In fact, the fights in my brain are more common than I thought.
Frankly, “probable” ended up telling me just enough about many women. It helped me understand that a brain full of contradictions—both scattered and obsessive, chaotic and focused—can create beautiful things. It also reminded me that it’s okay to leave the dishes in the sink tonight if it means I get to sit down and write this blog.
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