I was thirty when a psychiatrist told me I had ADHD. By then, I had spent more than ten years working as a designer and had come up with dozens of explanations for why so many things seemed harder for me than they did for other people. I thought I wasn’t disciplined enough, organized enough, focused enough. I was too anxious, too lazy, too distracted. Sometimes all of those things at once. The diagnosis didn’t solve any of these problems. But for the first time, it gave them a clear explanation.