Why conventional advice never worked for me (ADHD & trying harder)
Or: I’m not slow, I’m buffering.
This is part 2 of a short series about ADHD and the invisible struggles behind being “kind of slow”. If you haven’t read part 1 yet, you can find it here:
Seeming kind of slow - ADHD from the Outside vs. the Chaos Within
Even as a child, my mom would ask: “Why are you so slow?”
If you’ve lived with ADHD undiagnosed for a long time, chances are you’ve been told some version of this:
“Just try harder.”
Which sounds fair enough. Effort is good, right?
Well — yes. But also, very much no.
Because “trying harder” doesn’t always make things better.
Sometimes it just makes them worse, but with more tension.
The overachiever trap: now with extra self-doubt!
For a long time, I took that advice seriously.
I tried harder. A lot harder.
I was organized. Reliable. Quiet. Careful. Focused.
From the outside, it probably looked great.
Inside, it was like keeping a balloon underwater while juggling another one and smiling politely at a professor.
I suppressed my impulsivity, enthusiasm, and spontaneity so well I nearly forgot I had any.
Every idea went through airport-style security
My creativity? Also got stuck in traffic.
Growing up, my mother was a firm realist — a practical voice of reason who could spot a questionable idea a mile away and shut it down with precision.
Combined with a dad who likely had undiagnosed ADHD and a soft spot for impulse buys, the family message was clear: “Excitement is suspicious. Calm down.”
So I did.
I questioned every idea to death. Every spark of enthusiasm had to pass a 20-point checklist just to stay alive in my brain.
The result? My inner hyperfocus showed up with snacks and nowhere to go.
Dead end. Again.
I once tried to take perfect notes. It was… not perfect.
In my first semesters at university, I desperately wanted to do things right.
So I did what you’re “supposed” to do: take detailed notes. Capture every word. Don’t miss a thing.
The problem? My brain can either write or listen — but not both at the same time.
When I focused on writing, I missed the meaning of the sentence.
When I tried to understand, my notes fell apart.
So I ended up with word-for-word records of things I didn’t understand, which I then never used. A+ for effort, F for function.
It wasn’t until much later that I realized:
I actually understood things better when I just listened and only noted down a few key terms to revisit later.
If there was a script? Even better. No notes needed, just highlights and a good Google search habit.
Was it “by the book”? Nope.
Did it work? Shockingly, yes.
Trying harder turned into survival mode
Over time, “trying harder” became my default — not to grow, but just to cope.
I checked things twice, reread emails five times, rehearsed simple conversations in my head like they were TED Talks.
Every mistake felt catastrophic. Every forgotten detail was a moral failure. I wasn’t just working — I was attempting life on hard mode with no cheat codes.
And despite all that, I still felt behind. Lazy. Inadequate.
Eventually, the tension and self-censorship took their toll.
The spark dimmed. The energy ran out.
And somewhere along the way, I found myself in a quiet, creeping depression.
So… what now?
The tricky thing with ADHD is that the “normal” solutions often make things worse.
Conventional advice isn’t made for neurodivergent brains — especially not advice like “just be more disciplined” or “you just need a better routine.”
We don’t need more shame.
We need systems that work for us — and permission to stop pretending we’re just messy neurotypicals who need a productivity app and a good planner.
Because trying harder didn’t get me there.
It got me stuck.
And tired.
And a little resentful of motivational posters.
In my next post, I’ll share what actually started helping me break the cycle — and why success with ADHD often looks very different than we’re taught to expect.
Spoiler: It starts with kindness. And sometimes naps.