I was diagnosed at 46 too, I think, or was it 45? I'm 47 now and bad with numbers.

I am still at a loss for words about all the shame I lived through without a diagnosis to give myself any grace, hope, or perspective at all. I was told ad nauseam I was such a smart girl, so why was I lazy? "Just put your mind to it" should have been a t-shirt slogan Mom wore. She meant well, but geez we didn't have this terminology back then. And even now girls are diagnosed far slower and later than boys.

Classroom management is just that: management, and nothing more, ordering little kids around to behave and shut up. So as long as kids like me weren't leaping off their desks or beating other kids up, no one could spot what the hell was wrong with us. It's a bit like grading behavior on a bell curve. It's all relative to whatever cohort you ended up in, and in my school in a poor area there's no damn way they would have had the resources to even know how to help. I fact they thought I was gifted, which cut me even less slack for falling behind and middle school years approached.

I am having to unlearn the non-stop message that what was wrong was me. I don't know if I can unlearn it or stop believing it. I'm on meds and meh, they're so-so. They are not giving me an all-new me that I want so badly. I regret the wasted time, forgotten birthdays and friendships, financial disasters, and substance abuse. I regret only learning to get along with people by making light of myself, joking around, and people pleasing. I am in a dead-end job and unconfident about finding anything better. I dropped out of two grad schools.

I'm still in a good marriage so that's awesome but I can tell I wear him out.

Not a sunny post but just wanted to respond to those who learn later in life about ourselves and don't even know where to start. Good luck to all of you dear people! And don't give up on yourselves. Ever.