ADHD is not a problem (unless it’s a problem)
When I sit down with adults exploring ADHD for the first time, one of the biggest hurdles we face isn’t distractibility, impulsivity, or forgetfulness — it’s stigma. The world has given us a story that ADHD means you’re disordered, deficient, or defective. Even the official name — Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder — starts with the word “deficit.” That tiny label carries such heavy baggage, as if it sums up the whole experience of having an ADHD brain. But it doesn’t.
The truth is that ADHD is not a broken brain. It is not a faulty operating system. It is not even always a problem. If you are a client of mine you have most likely heard me say “Nothing’s a problem unless it’s a problem”. It’s a phrase I use to bring both objectivity (usually mine) and subjectivity (usually my client’s) into the room. It’s a way of asking about my client’s personal experience. When it comes to ADHD my clients have sometimes seen a list of symptoms on social media that they recognise in themselves and come to me in a panic because they “think they have ADHD”. But while one person can find their distractibility and impulsiveness highly disruptive and distressing, another person may be less bothered by these same characteristics. Allow me to explain.
ADHD is, first and foremost, a difference — one of the many ways the human mind can work. To receive an ADHD diagnosis, a person needs to meet a cluster of criteria set out in the DSM-5 (the diagnostic manual most clinicians use). These criteria are often framed as “symptoms”: difficulty sustaining attention, fidgeting, interrupting, losing things, restlessness, hyperfocus, distractibility. But here’s the important part: these criteria are not inherently pathological (i.e., indicative of or being caused by a disease or in this context a mental health disorder). They become relevant only if they are causing distress or impairment in someone’s life. Or put another way - it’s only a problem if it’s a problem.
If your ADHD traits are not causing you any distress and are not stopping you from living a rich, fulfilling, and meaningful life, then do you really need to change them?
Distress or impairment in clinical terms usually means things like struggling to keep a job, maintain relationships, pay bills, or meet obligations in a way that causes significant stress or disruption. But many people with ADHD find ways to live in alignment with their values, to pursue goals, to create meaningful relationships, and to feel content with life — even if they occasionally misplace their keys or lose track of time. ADHD is simply a way of being. I like to say these people have learned to drive their formula one car of a brain and are winning most races (or at least the ones they want to).
It’s easy for me to forget how much the “ADHD as a disorder” mindset is still dominant in the world. Because I live and work in neuroaffirming spaces, surrounded by colleagues and clients who embrace the neurodiversity paradigm, I sometimes find myself surprised when I hear someone describe ADHD in a way that conceptualises it as a ‘disorder’. I don’t know why I am surprised, I mean it’s in the name for goodness sake. But in my world view, and thankfully in the majority of my day-to-day environment ADHD is as ordinary as different hair colours or heights — simply one of the many natural variations in human wiring.
But for many people, the older medical model still reigns supreme. The model that says ADHD is a sign of dysfunction, that it must be “treated” or “fixed,” and that if you or your child has ADHD, something has gone wrong. That stigma weighs heavily, particularly for adults who grew up hearing they were lazy, careless, or “not living up to their potential.” These narratives stick, and they cause harm. Parents often ask me if it was something they did wrong during pregnancy, in parenting during their early childhood, or is it somehow related to trauma? Clients frequently ask if it was to do with the drugs they took as a teenager.
As psychologist and researcher Thomas Armstrong has written, reframing neurodivergence as a natural expression of human diversity rather than as pathology can be life-changing. The neurodiversity movement, first emerging from the autistic community and now widely applied to ADHD, dyslexia, and more, encourages us to see brains not as better or worse, but as varied. Diversity in brains, like diversity in ecosystems, strengthens us.
One of the most fascinating lenses on ADHD comes from evolutionary psychology. If ADHD traits were truly maladaptive, they would likely have disappeared across generations. Instead, ADHD persists at relatively high rates. Recent large-scale reviews suggest that approximately 3 % of adults globally meet criteria for ADHD with confirmed childhood onset, and if we include adults with symptomatic ADHD without confirmed childhood onset, that number climbs closer to 7 % (Song et al., 2022). In Australia, the rates are similar: about 8 % of children are diagnosed, and around 2.5 % of adults meet the diagnostic threshold (APS, 2023). While it can sometimes feel like “everyone is being diagnosed with ADHD these days” — often said with an eye-roll or a hint of disdain — the numbers actually tell a different story. With only 2.5% of Australian adults formally diagnosed the evidence suggests that ADHD is more likely to be under-diagnosed than over-diagnosed in our country, particularly in adults who were missed as children.
This brings me to discuss one of the most widely discussed evolutionary theories of ADHD - the “hunter versus farmer” hypothesis. First described by Thom Hartmann (1993; 2003), it suggests that what we now label as ADHD symptoms may once have been highly advantageous. In early human societies, some people took on the role of hunters — scanning their environment for threats, shifting focus rapidly, acting on impulse, and thriving on novelty and movement. These traits align closely with what we today describe as hyperactivity or distractibility. By contrast, farmers benefited from sustained attention, patience, and consistency — qualities suited to planting, harvesting, and long-term planning. Both sets of traits were vital for group survival. Later research (e.g., Jensen et al., 1997; Nigg, 2001) has highlighted that ADHD traits persist across modern populations at relatively stable rates worldwide. This consistency supports the idea that these traits once offered evolutionary advantages and were selected for their survival value — helping communities adapt, stay safe, and thrive in changing environments. In many ways, this still holds true today: ADHD traits such as quick thinking, creativity, and high energy can be invaluable in modern roles like entrepreneurship, emergency response, performing arts, and other fast-paced or innovative fields. Seen through this lens, ADHD is not a flaw but part of the natural diversity of human brains, with different strengths emerging in different environments. In creative industries, in high-pressure jobs, and in roles that reward quick problem-solving, ADHD brains often shine.
I often use the metaphor of the ADHD brain as a Formula One car. It is fast, powerful, and exciting to drive. But like any high-performance vehicle, it requires a different set of skills to handle. You wouldn’t take a Formula One car to drive on the sand dunes and expect it to perform at its best. You’d put it on a racetrack, give it the right fuel and maintenance, and let it do what it was designed to do.
The same goes for ADHD. When we try to make ADHD brains perform in environments that are not designed for them — rigid classrooms, open-plan offices, bureaucratic systems — it can feel clunky, chaotic, and overwhelming. But when people with ADHD are supported to structure their lives, workplaces, and relationships in ways that fit their wiring, the results can be extraordinary.
I’ve worked with adults who have learned to “drive their Formula One car” beautifully without medication. They’ve curated environments that reduce friction — choosing careers that allow creativity, building support systems that help with organisation, and using technology in clever ways. They’ve learned to accept that sometimes their car will skid or spin, but also that it can take corners faster than most and leave others in the dust. And importantly, when their car does skid or spin, it’s typically not because they’re not an amazing car but because they weren’t designed to drive well on the sand dunes.
Others choose medication, and for them it can be transformative — like giving the car better tyres or a smoother track. Medication can support focus, regulation, and emotional balance. But it’s never the only option, and not everyone needs it.
Treatment as choice, not correction
This brings us to treatment. One of the most important things I emphasise to my clients is that just because you have an ADHD brain does not mean you need medication. Treatment is about choice, not correction.
Some people do choose stimulant or non-stimulant medication, and research shows these can be very effective in reducing core ADHD symptoms (Faraone & Buitelaar, 2010). For others, therapy, coaching, workplace accommodations, or lifestyle changes make a bigger impact. Many people use a combination. The “right” treatment is the one that helps someone live according to their values and feel that their life is meaningful — not the one that most closely mimics what society deems “normal.”
Therapy can be especially powerful here. For many adults, the work is not just about strategies and routines — it’s about rewriting the story they’ve carried for years. Therapy can help people see that their struggles are not moral failings, but reflections of a brain wired differently. It can help them grieve the years lost to shame and self-blame, while building pride in their differences. It can help them strengthen executive functioning skills, regulate emotions, and create systems that support them. And perhaps most importantly, it can help them embrace their ADHD as part of who they are, not something they need to get rid of.
When we stop seeing ADHD as a disorder and start seeing it as a difference, everything changes.
Instead of asking, “How do we fix this?” we should be asking, “How do we support this?”
Instead of focusing only on deficits, we recognise strengths. Instead of assuming ADHD equals suffering, we remember that suffering only happens when traits cause distress or impairment — and for many, that isn’t the case. This doesn’t mean minimising the very real challenges that ADHD can bring. For some people, those challenges are significant and deserve support. But it does mean shifting away from a deficit mindset toward one that honours human diversity.
For me, the most rewarding part of this work is seeing people reclaim their self-worth, reimagine their futures, and finally feel at home in their own minds. ADHD is not a broken brain. It is a different brain — one that, in the right context, can be remarkable.
If you are curious about whether you might have ADHD, or if you already know you do and want to explore what support looks like for you, therapy can be a wonderful space to begin. Together we can unpack not just the challenges, but the strengths of your ADHD brain, and find ways to help you live a life that feels rich, meaningful, and aligned with who you are.
If you’d like to book an appointment with a psychologist to start that journey, you can find help here.
References:
Australian Psychological Society. (2023). ADHD diagnoses on the rise as awareness grows. Retrieved from https://psychology.org.au/insights/adhd-diagnoses-on-the-rise-as-awareness-grows
Armstrong, T. (2010). Neurodiversity: Discovering the extraordinary gifts of autism, ADHD, dyslexia, and other brain differences. Da Capo Lifelong Books.
Faraone, S. V., & Buitelaar, J. K. (2010). Comparing the efficacy of stimulants for ADHD in children and adolescents using meta-analysis. European Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 19(4), 353–364. https://doi.org/10.1007/s00787-009-0054-3
Faraone, S. V., Biederman, J., & Mick, E. (2006). The age-dependent decline of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: A meta-analysis of follow-up studies. Psychological Medicine, 36(2), 159–165. https://doi.org/10.1017/S003329170500471X
Hartmann, T. (1993). Attention deficit disorder: A different perception. Underwood Books.
Hartmann, T. (2003). The Edison gene: ADHD and the gift of the hunter child. Park Street Press.
Jensen, P. S., Mrazek, D., Knapp, P. K., Steinberg, L., Pfeffer, C., Schowalter, J., & Shapiro, T. (1997). Evolutionary perspectives on attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder: Findings in children and adolescents. Journal of the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry, 36(12), 1672–1679. https://doi.org/10.1097/00004583-199712000-00014
Kessler, R. C., Adler, L., Barkley, R., Biederman, J., Conners, C. K., Demler, O., ... & Zaslavsky, A. M. (2006). The prevalence and correlates of adult ADHD in the United States: Results from the National Comorbidity Survey Replication. American Journal of Psychiatry, 163(4), 716–723. https://doi.org/10.1176/ajp.2006.163.4.716
Nigg, J. T. (2001). Is ADHD a disinhibitory disorder? Psychological Bulletin, 127(5), 571–598. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-2909.127.5.571
Singer, J. (1999). ’Why can’t you be normal for once in your life?’: From a “problem with no name” to the emergence of a new category of difference. In M. Corker & S. French (Eds.), Disability discourse (pp. 59–67). Open University Press.
Song, P., Zha, M., Yang, Q., Zhang, Y., Li, X., Rudan, I., & Chan, K. Y. (2022). The prevalence of adult attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder: A global systematic review and meta-analysis. Journal of Global Health, 12, 03024. https://doi.org/10.7189/jogh.12.03024
Sterne, J., & Faraone, S. V. (2023). New global estimate of adult ADHD prevalence: A comprehensive review. ADHD Evidence Project. Retrieved from https://www.adhdevidence.org/blog/new-global-estimate-of-adult-adhd-prevalence-a-comprehensive-review
