Not My Story (Pt. 1)

To be neurodivergent in a world that often celebrates conformity is no easy feat. I have lived with ADHD for as long as memory serves, and while I can’t compare my struggles to those of neurotypical people—having never walked their path—I can speak to the trials that have shaped my own journey. Being a student, an intern, and navigating life with ADHD is like trying to dance in a storm, the ground constantly shifting beneath your feet, leaving you to strive for balance in the midst of chaos.

My time as an intern was nothing short of a tempest. It was during this period that the illusion of constant sunshine and butterflies was shattered. Interning at a multinational corporation—where you are expected to perform with the same precision and dedication as a full-time employee—was both an opportunity and a crucible. It allowed me to apply what I’d learned in the classroom to real-world scenarios, yet it also exposed me to the relentless pressure of corporate life.

As the weeks stretched into months, I began to feel the weight of it all, like an anchor slowly pulling me beneath the surface. Meeting deadlines, juggling responsibilities, and keeping my tasks organized became a battle I couldn’t seem to win. My supervisor, with an eye for detail, pointed out my faltering organizational skills, and that only stoked the flames of my anxiety. Each new assignment became a mountain to scale, particularly the final settlement tasks, which filled me with a near-paralyzing fear of error.

Despite my best efforts—checking, re-checking, and having a senior oversee my work—there was always the lurking dread that I had overlooked some crucial detail. Every time I hit "send" on an email, it felt like the ground beneath me gave way. My stomach would twist into knots, my vision would blur, and the weight of potential failure would bear down on me like an unforgiving sky. I was haunted by the thought that one misstep would confirm my worst fear: that I was an incompetent intern, incapable of carrying even the simplest tasks to completion.

Shame, it seems, has a way of weaving itself into the fabric of our memories. Even now, when I reflect on those days, I feel the sting of self-doubt, a quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering that I had fallen short. I cried myself to sleep more nights than I care to admit, consumed by the thought that I had let everyone—including myself—down. The weight of it all pressed heavily on my chest, suffocating my spirit.

But it is often in our darkest moments that we find the courage to seek light. I took emergency leave and reached out for professional help, a decision that would ultimately lead to my diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder. This marked a turning point—not only in understanding my mental health but in accepting that I needed help, that I could no longer shoulder the burden alone.

And yet, in the midst of all this, I hold no bitterness. I do not blame anyone, nor do I fault the hand that life has dealt me. This is my journey, and I have come to realize that the road I walk is mine alone. The path may be crooked and fraught with challenges, but it is my path. I alone shape it, and I alone decide the direction I will take. It has not been easy to play my part in this world, to show up each day in a life that often feels like an uphill battle. But to be alive—to still be here, breathing, fighting, persevering—is something for which I am deeply grateful.

Learning to make peace with fate is no small task. It requires more than mere acceptance; it demands a surrender of control, a willingness to trust the process. But once you make that peace—when you truly embrace the uncertainty and unpredictability of life—you begin to unearth a resilience you never knew you had. Acceptance, I have learned, is not a sign of defeat. It is the first step toward liberation. It allows you to shift your focus to the things you can control and frees you from the chains of what you cannot.

I am slowly learning to offer myself the same compassion I would offer others. Each step forward, no matter how small, is a triumph. The journey may be long, the road difficult, but I have faith that my hard work will bear fruit in time. Life, in all its complexities and contradictions, has taught me the value of perseverance, and I hold steadfast to the belief that one day, everything I have fought for will come to fruition.