There’s a special kind of pain that comes from living with both PTSD and ADHD, a pain that’s invisible to most but all-consuming for those who carry it. For years, I did what I thought I was supposed to do: I masked my struggles, tried to blend in, worked all week, and forced myself into nights out on weekends just to appear “normal.” On the outside, I looked like everyone else. On the inside, I was falling apart.
The Cost of Masking
Masking is the daily, relentless act of hiding your true self—suppressing the chaos of ADHD and the wounds of trauma—just to meet the world’s expectations. It’s not coping; it’s surviving. Every smile, every “I’m fine,” every perfectly timed joke or nod in a meeting is a calculated move to avoid being seen as “too much,” “too lazy,” or “too emotional.”
But masking comes at a brutal cost: exhaustion, anxiety, depression, and a loss of identity so profound you forget who you are beneath the act. The emotional toll builds up until it becomes a syndrome of its own, a relentless stress that can even mimic PTSD itself. You spend all your energy pretending to be neurotypical, and there’s nothing left for yourself.
Before my diagnosis, I didn’t know much about ADHD—and honestly, I never bothered to read about it because I was convinced I didn’t have it. The irony is staggering: I put so much effort into masking my struggles, into performing “normal” so convincingly, that I even fooled myself. I genuinely believed I couldn’t possibly have ADHD.
Can you even imagine the sheer magnitude of energy required to not only conceal your authentic self from the world, but to suppress it so completely that you lose touch with your own truth? This was my reality of masking. I wasn't merely performing for others—I was deceiving myself. Every symptom, every challenge, every instance of internal turmoil was reframed as a character flaw, never acknowledged as evidence of something legitimate and meaningful.
Yet beneath the surface, questions stirred—persistent, nagging doubts that I now realize were my authentic self trying to break through. There were so many moments of wondering, so many fleeting thoughts I pushed aside because I was too consumed with the exhausting performance of appearing "normal." I was too busy studying others, mimicking their responses, and maintaining the facade to listen to my own inner voice asking the questions that mattered most.
The tragedy wasn't just the masking itself—it was the silencing of my own intuition, the dismissal of my own experiences, all in service of a performance that was slowly destroying me from within.
This is the insidious nature of masking: it’s not just about protecting yourself from external judgment—it’s about internalizing that judgment so completely that you erase your own needs, your own pain, your own truth. And when the diagnosis finally comes, it’s not just a revelation; it’s a reckoning with all the years you spent denying your own reality just to survive in a world that never made space for you.
The Double Burden: PTSD and ADHD
When you live with both PTSD and ADHD, the world becomes a minefield. PTSD brings flashbacks, hypervigilance, and a constant sense of danger. ADHD brings distraction, impulsivity, and executive dysfunction—the inability to organize, plan, or follow through, no matter how hard you try. Together, they amplify each other, making daily life a battle on two fronts.
People think ADHD is just about being forgetful or hyper, but it’s a neurological disorder—a difference in how the brain is wired, not something you can “just control” with willpower. Executive dysfunction means the connection between knowing and doing is broken. Telling someone with ADHD to “just try harder” is like telling them to grow taller, change their eye color, or swap out their organs. It’s impossible.
The Workplace and the Weekend
I tried to do it all: hold down a 9-to-5 job, provide for my kids, keep up with social expectations. I’d push through the week, then force myself into social situations on weekends, thinking maybe this time I’d feel like I belonged. But every Monday, I’d crash—burned out, ashamed, and even more convinced I was failing at life. The cycle never stopped.
Misunderstood and Misjudged
The worst pain isn’t the struggle itself—it’s the misunderstanding. The judgment. The words that cut the deepest:
“You were better before you knew your diagnosis.”
“Stop justifying your actions.”
“You’re just making excuses.”
Better for who? For everyone else, maybe. For me? No. Before my diagnosis, I was “better” at hiding my pain, better at destroying myself to make others comfortable. Every time I crashed, it hurt like hell. Every time I got up, I knew I was one step closer to breaking for good.
The Truth
If I seemed better before, it was because I was masking harder, not living better. The truth is, I was never okay. I was just better at pretending. And pretending almost killed me.
If you see someone struggling, don’t assume their diagnosis is an excuse. Don’t tell them they were better off before they understood themselves. Imagine demanding someone change their height, their race or the law of physics on command. That’s what it’s like to ask someone with ADHD to “just be normal.”
For Those Who Don’t Understand
If you think I’m justifying, I wish you could feel the pain of crashing over and over, of working twice as hard for half the results, of being judged for things you can’t control. I wish you could know how much it hurts to be misunderstood, how lonely it is to mask your true self for years.
But I’m done pretending. I’m done masking. I’m learning to live for myself, not for the comfort of others. And that’s not an excuse—it’s survival.
Major References for Further Reading:
- ADDitude Magazine: ADHD Masking and Emotional Distress
- Verywell Mind: ADHD Masking
- CHADD: Succeeding in the Workplace
- Neurodivergent Insights: ADHD and Trauma
- Myndlift: ADHD and PTSD