Writing with ADHD: My Story of Struggle, Growth & Self-Belief
As someone with ADHD, I often find it hard to drop into a writing flow. But sometimes, you just need to start where you are—and right now, that’s exactly what I’m doing.
This is my story of living with ADHD and how it shaped my relationship with learning, writing, and self-worth.
School Days, Scattered Years
Growing up, I moved around a lot. My dad was in the army, so by the time I was in my early teens, I’d attended eight different schools across Victoria, Singapore, New South Wales, and the Geelong region. That constant upheaval made it really difficult to find academic consistency—or confidence.
By the time I hit Year 10, I genuinely believed I wasn’t cut out for school. I would have failed English if I hadn’t left early to start work. At the time, I didn’t know I was neurodivergent. I was just “the kid who wasn’t good at school stuff”—except for maths, where I thrived.
Looking back now, I can clearly see how my ADHD went unnoticed. I wasn’t hyperactive in the classic sense, back then, ADHD was still considered a “boy’s issue” and often misunderstood. If you were loud, fidgety or disruptive, you were the class clown or a troublemaker. If you were combination or inattentive, like me, you were lazy, distracted, or not trying hard enough.
Even though I was able to read, I struggled to retain what I read, I also found it difficult to take my thoughts and put it on paper, kind of like trying to catch fish with my bare hands.
The Long Road to Self-Belief
It took decades for me to challenge the belief that I “wasn’t academic.” After leaving school at 15, I didn’t step into any formal education. But I was always learning in my own way—exploring spirituality, personal growth, and the big questions about life and meaning.
Still, I carried the internal narrative that I couldn’t write, couldn’t study, and couldn’t succeed academically.
That finally began to shift in my early 40s, when I decided to study fitness. I completed a Cert III, then Cert IV, and eventually a diploma. It was through that journey that I realised: I have an unusual mind—but not a broken one. I can grasp big concepts that others find tricky. I just had to find my way of learning.
Burnout, Business & the ADHD Realisation
IN 2012 I purchased a gym running a business taught me a lot—but it also led to burnout. The stress of managing a growing business, a surge in local competition, and an unhealthy partnership pushed me to the edge.
It was during this burnout phase that I reached out to a psychologist. Through that process, I came to understand I had ADHD. It explained alot, so many pieces of my life began to make sense—the way I analyse deeply, feel intensely, and often experience things before I can name them.
I could see how ADHD had helped me in some areas, like connecting with people, and how it negatively impacted the challenges, like finishing non-urgent tasks and how I had developed a fierce independence affecting my ability to ask for help, as asking made me feel not good enough.
Back to Study—with a Different Mindset
One of the boldest decisions I’ve made was enrolling in a Bachelor of Counselling and Coaching—something I never would’ve imagined possible when I was younger.
Through that process, I started to embrace my neurodivergence. I began to understand how I process information, what supports I need in place, and— more importantly—that I can write. I just need to do it my way.
What My Writing Process Looks Like (ADHD Edition)
Here’s the real, messy, beautiful truth: writing for me isn’t linear. It doesn’t start with a clear outline and end with a tidy conclusion. Sometimes, it looks like this:
Cleaning the house or workspace first
Going for a walk to move stuck energy
Seeking intelligent conversations to access dopamine flow
Writing something unrelated just to get the words flowing
Outwardly “procrastinating” while mentally percolating
Waiting until the urgency hits
Dot-pointing my ideas first, especially for longer pieces
Talking it out with someone before I write
Setting time boundaries—and space ones too
Allowing 30% of writing time to just getting into the right headspace
Trusting that not writing is still part of the writing process
And knowing when to stop trying to force the words
If you’re neurodivergent or just wired a bit differently, if this resonates. You’ve got stories and insights inside you too—ones you think or were told you’d never be able to put into words.
Trust me: you can.
You just need to do it your way.
Be you, everyone else is taken.
Love, Tracey
