No, We're Not All a Little ADHD
Recently, someone said something to me that I've been thinking about ever since.
“Aren't we all a little ADHD?”
I don't think they meant anything by it. And I'm not someone who gets offended easily.
But it made me sad.
Not because they said the wrong thing. Because of everything that little sentence doesn't see.
We throw around phrases like “I'm so OCD about that” or “I must have ADHD” when we mean we're particular about something or got distracted. Usually, there's no harm intended. But words have power, even the casual ones.
I say this with affection for everyone who's ever walked into a room and forgotten why: forgetting your keys doesn't automatically mean you have ADHD.
And before anyone calls ADHD a superpower, can we talk about that, too?
Some days, my brain makes connections at lightning speed. Other days, I'd just like to finish one thought before three more arrive.
I'm Gen X. Which means I'm voluntarily revealing my age bracket and a disability in the same LinkedIn post. As an HR professional, I recognize this is a fascinating personal-branding decision. Somewhere, my inner risk manager just requested a meeting.
Here's something else: I don't think I'm all that different from the girl I was in grade school.
Back then, I talked too much and spent entirely too much time paying attention to everyone else's work instead of my own.
Now I talk to people and pay attention to what's happening at work.
The difference? Now I get paid for it.
When I was growing up, girls who talked too much, lost track of things, or seemed scattered weren't always given much help understanding why.
I received my ADHD diagnosis as an adult. And I'm far from alone.
CDC research using 2023 data estimated that 15.5 million American adults had a current ADHD diagnosis, and 55.9% of them were first diagnosed in adulthood. In a separate CDC survey of adults ever diagnosed with ADHD, 31.3% of women were diagnosed between ages 25 and 44, compared with 20.9% of men.
Think about how many years of life can happen before someone finally has an explanation.
By the time I received mine, I'd spent decades building my own operating manual: systems, workarounds, and little negotiations with myself to get things done.
I'd become very good at adapting. So good, in fact, that I didn't always recognize how much effort it took.
Here's the part that surprised even me.
I've worked in HR for years, helping employees navigate workplace challenges and accommodations. Yet it never occurred to me that accommodations might help me, too.
I'd spent so long adapting that I thought of those strategies as just being me.
And that brings me to something we should be talking about at work.
In a 2026 survey conducted by The Harris Poll for Understood.org, 70% of neurodivergent employees surveyed said they didn't know what workplace accommodations they were entitled to. That's a broader group than people with ADHD alone, but it tells us there's a gap between saying we value inclusion and making support understandable.
Someone sitting beside you at work may be putting enormous effort into things you cannot see.
They may be successful and struggling at the same time. They might be the person everyone turns to for ideas, solutions, encouragement, or a different perspective—and go home exhausted from the effort of holding everything together.
Their diagnosis tells you very little about their talent, judgment, or potential.
As colleagues and leaders, we don't need to diagnose one another. We need to listen, communicate expectations clearly, and make room for different ways of working.
And remember that being successful doesn't necessarily mean something is easy.
So when someone says, “Aren't we all a little ADHD?” I don't want them to feel embarrassed or afraid to ask questions.
I'd rather start a conversation.
Yes, we all get distracted. We all forget things. We all have days when our brains have seventeen tabs open and we can't figure out which one is playing music.
But experiencing a familiar moment isn't the same as living with a condition that affects everyday life.
ADHD isn't a punchline. It isn't a personality, either. It's one part of a whole person.
Maybe the question isn't “Why don't they work the way I do?” but “What would help this person do their best work?”
A friendly HR reminder: words have power. Even casual ones. If we're going to talk about inclusion at work, let's make sure our language leaves room for people's full experiences—including the parts we don't see.
Colleen
Reflections
- Have you ever used a diagnosis as shorthand for an everyday habit without thinking about what it means to someone living with it?
- Who at work might be succeeding while quietly using enormous energy to keep up?
- What might change if we asked what helps someone work well instead of assuming everyone should work the same way?
Toolbox
- Choose the words you mean. Try “I got distracted” instead of “I'm so ADHD,” or “I like things organized” instead of “I'm so OCD.”
- Ask, don't assume. Try “What helps you do your best work?” and listen without needing someone to disclose a diagnosis.
- Make support easier to find. Leaders and HR teams can explain how employees request accommodations, give clear expectations, and follow through without making people prove their worth first.
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