The Bakers Adventures

Hi my friend,

Take a breath. A big one.

Because what just happened.. hearing the words “you have ADHD” as a grown woman.. is not small.

It’s the kind of sentence that lands in your chest like a quiet earthquake. Nothing looks different on the outside, but inside, everything’s shifted. A hundred puzzle pieces just clicked into place.. some from childhood, some from last week. You might feel relief. Or rage. Or grief. Probably all three, tangled together like old fairy lights.

Let me just say this first: I see you.

Because I’ve been you.

You’re not overreacting. You’re not being dramatic. You are waking up to the fact that your entire life.. every forgotten appointment, every “Why can’t I just do the thing?”, every time you were told you were lazy, moody, inconsistent, messy, careless.. was not a character flaw. It was your brain doing what it could in a world that had no idea how to support it.

Let’s be honest: you’ve probably spent years apologising. For running late. For talking too much. For zoning out mid-conversation even though you care so much. For leaving unread messages for weeks because replying felt like climbing a mountain in flip-flops. For starting things with full-body excitement and abandoning them just as quickly.

You’ve probably sat on the edge of your bed in the morning trying to get dressed, but the idea of choosing clothes felt paralysing, and suddenly it’s been 40 minutes and you’re crying in yesterday’s hoodie.

You’ve likely spent nights lying awake replaying every conversation, every misstep, every time you were “too much” or “not enough” the emotional hangover of masking all day is real, and exhausting.

Maybe school felt like a battlefield. Not because you didn’t care.. you cared so much it hurt, but because remembering homework, following instructions, sitting still, not blurting, not daydreaming… it felt impossible. And no one thought to ask why. They just labelled you “bright but inconsistent,” “disruptive,” “needs to focus.”

And now, here you are. Thirty-something. With a diagnosis.

And it’s complicated, isn’t it?

Because it explains everything. But it also makes you want to scream into a pillow when you think of how long you’ve been misunderstood.. even by yourself.

There’s a grief here that no one talks about.
Grieving the version of you who could’ve thrived if someone had seen you sooner.
Grieving the years you spent thinking you were broken.

Grieving the support you didn’t get, the compassion you didn’t receive, the self-love you never learned.

It’s okay to feel that. All of it. It’s not self-pity. It’s self-recognition.

And now, maybe you’re wondering what comes next.

Maybe you’re thinking about medication and maybe that’s scary. Or maybe you’re not, and you just want to learn how to work with your brain instead of against it. Either way, your journey is valid. There’s no “right way” to manage ADHD.. only the way that feels right to you.

But here’s a truth that took me a long time to swallow: Not everyone will understand you more now that you have answers.

Some will. And they will blow you away with their kindness, their curiosity, their ability to see you and meet you there. These people are rare and precious. Keep them close.
But others… won’t.

Some won’t believe in ADHD.
Some will act like it’s trendy, or overdiagnosed.
Some will think it’s just an excuse.
Some will hear you.. facts, feelings, all of it and still choose not to understand.

And that? That hurts more than being misunderstood before you had a diagnosis.
Because now you’ve handed them the map… and they still choose not to come find you.

It’s okay to feel devastated by that. It’s okay to not make peace with it right away (or ever). But try, gently.. not to let it stop you from believing in yourself. You don’t need their permission to treat yourself with compassion.

And here’s the light in that truth: Once you stop waiting for certain people to understand you, you start creating space for you to understand you.. with honesty, humour, and a tenderness you didn’t even know you deserved. And that is where the healing begins. Because the right people (and there are so many of them, trust me) will get you in a way that doesn’t need explaining. You won’t have to shrink, translate, or apologise. You’ll just be, and they’ll meet you there.. laughing, crying, maybe showing up late too, but always with love.

What matters most is this is you are not alone anymore.

There is a whole world of women like you.
Women who’ve survived decades of masking.

Women who’ve forgotten pans on the hob and cried in the car after social events.
Women who’ve turned their pain into humour, their overwhelm into hyper-productivity, their shame into silence.
Women who are now learning to rest. To slow down. To forgive.

I’m one of them.

I’ve met so many more. We talk in shorthand now. We laugh before the punchline because we already know. We call each other mid-meltdown and say, “I get it,” and mean it with our whole hearts.

You’ll find those people too.

And when you do, the world won’t feel so sharp anymore. It’ll feel like someone finally turned off the buzzing.

You are not broken.
You were just unseen.

And now, you are starting to see yourself.
That is brave. That is beautiful. That is the beginning.

Love,

Someone who gets it.
And is rooting for you. Always.

P.S. If all you’ve done today is read this letter and maybe cry a little… you’ve already done enough.