#126🎭 Coming to Terms with “Disability” as an Adult

It’s not a superpower. It’s not a death sentence. It’s both harder and okay.

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I am an ADHD and product management coach, helping you change one belief and take one action each week.

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Part 5 of the Things I Wished I Knew Sooner Series

🦋 The Takeaways

Belief: I don’t have a disability—ADHD is basically a superpower.

Reality: “Superpower” language marginalizes those most severely affected.

Action: Decide how you identify, but understand what that choice means for others.

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⭐️ Introduction

Welcome back to Things I Wished I Knew Sooner, a series about being diagnosed with ADHD late in life.

I identify as someone with a disability.

I also mark “yes” on job applications when they ask about disability status. I’m open about my diagnosis. I say the words out loud: I have ADHD, which is a non-apparent disability.

There’s a lot unpacked in that statement. But today, I just want to talk about one piece: coming to terms with the word “disability.”

I know I'm on the more privileged end of this disability. Many others aren't so lucky — and I write for them.

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😵‍💫 The Belief - I Don’t Have a Disability

Like many people, when I thought of disability, I thought of physical disabilities. Someone in a wheelchair. Someone unable to grasp an object. Someone who needed visible accommodations.

If I looked at myself, the old me would say: I’m normal with a side broken self-worth.

The popular narrative reinforced this. ADHD is a superpower. It’s what helps me learn five different things at once. It’s what drives me to pick up different hobbies, come up with creative ideas, and hyperfocus on problems until they’re solved.

And yes, that’s true. ADHD probably plays a large part in why I do the things I do. I owe many of my skills and accomplishments to ADHD.

So if ADHD gives me these abilities, how could it be a disability? The word “disability” felt like I deserved help, but I didn’t think I deserved it. I’m just a weak human, not disabled.

I didn’t want to be disabled. I wanted not hate myself so much.

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🤝 The Reality - Superpower Language Marginalizes Those Most Affected

Under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), a disability is defined as a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more major life activities.

In my head, I read that as: I’m broken.

That’s the legal definition. It doesn’t feel good to accept. But after taking the time to learn how ADHD impacts my life, I came to realize it’s true. And it’s why I’ve become a staunch opposer of using the word “superpower” when talking about ADHD. I learned this through my personal journey, but also as a former clinical researcher.

When we say ADHD is a superpower, we overlook those most affected by it.

When someone says “ADHD is a superpower” and points to me as an example, they’re unknowingly overlooking the people who are suffering.

The person who hasn’t been able to keep a steady job. The person who thinks about suicide every day. The person who committed suicide. The person who can’t lead a normal life because of their disability.

I recognize my privilege. I was lucky to get diagnosed. I can access medication, coaching, and therapy. With these supports, I can function like other successful humans. But it’s still harder for me.

I worked at UC Davis MIND Institute, one of the world’s foremost centers for autism and attention research. I saw patients with a level of autism, ADHD, and other developmental disorders that most people will never see. I saw patients with disorders I hope you never hear of or touch your life.

How do you tell someone who is non-verbal and unable to perform basic self-care tasks because of autism that autism is a superpower? How do you tell a parent that their 200-pound child, who just bit me and has hit them in the past, has a superpower?

I’m not trying to scare or shame you. I’m trying to tell you there’s a whole other side of the spectrum—people whose lives are far different than yours or mine. When we call what we have a superpower, we hide their struggles.

Here’s something I didn’t know was an ADHD symptom:

I used to think it was normal to think about killing yourself every day. Then I got diagnosed and learned that suicidal ideation is common with ADHD.

That’s not a superpower. That’s a disability.

I miss academia. I left because I couldn’t afford to live off what it paid. I think about going back all the time, but I scratch that itch as a coach now.

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🛠️ The Action - Hold Both Truths at Once

You don’t have to choose between “disability” and “gift.” They can both be true at the same time.

It IS a disability.

Having ADHD means it’s harder for me to do certain things than it is for other people.

I have dyslexia. Reading is harder. I have dyscalculia. Working with numbers is harder. My executive function is impaired. Starting tasks, finishing tasks, remembering things—all harder.

I need accommodations to function: AI writing tools for grammar. Recording tools and transcripts for initial writing. AI to create data tables and visualizations because I hate working with spreadsheets.

My brain operates differently. And accepting that I have a disability isn’t a death sentence. It’s just recognizing reality so I can get the support I need.

It IS a gift.

ADHD allows me to write, to coach, to learn constantly, to connect ideas others don’t see. It gives me energy, curiosity, and the ability to hyperfocus when something captures my attention.

A gift is what you make of it. And I’ve made something from mine.

Living with both truths.

Here’s what I hold at the same time:

My ADHD is a gift that has shaped my career and my creativity. My ADHD is also a disability that makes me believe I’m broken and stupid 99% of the time. That I’m not worthy of love.

I can recognize that’s how I feel—and I don’t have to live defined by it.

I can recognize I have a disability without letting it define who I am or how I approach life.

It is my reality. And I have to recognize it to find the best way to cope with it and work with it.

You get to decide what language works for you.

But understand what that choice means—not just for you, but for the people who don’t have the privilege to call their struggles a superpower.

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✨ Conclusion

If someone says, “I don’t have a disability, I have a superpower. ADHD is great”—cool. That doesn’t happen to be my lived experience.

I’ve had to come to terms with having a disability so I can get the support I need. So I can do work like this newsletter. So I can be honest about what I’m dealing with.

Every week I write this, I’m declaring: I have a disability.

And that’s okay.

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⏭️ Next Week

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⏭️ Next Week

I talk to a psychiatrist.

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