For most of my life, I thought something was wrong with me. Teachers called me “distracted,” friends said I was “too much,” and relationships felt like puzzles I couldn’t solve. It wasn’t until I was 26 that I finally learned I have ADHD.
Suddenly, everything made sense — the racing thoughts, the hyperfixations, the forgotten appointments. But with the diagnosis came relief and grief. Relief that I wasn’t lazy. Grief that I spent years believing I was.
Coming out as queer had already taught me what it means to reclaim your story — to stop apologizing for who you are. Learning I’m neurodivergent felt similar. Both journeys have been about unlearning shame and finding pride in my wiring.
Now, I see my brain as a kaleidoscope: colorful, chaotic, but always creating something beautiful. NeuroPride reminds me that I don’t have to fit the world’s mold — I can build my own and paint it with every color that feels like home.