This blog post is adapted from Episode 112 of the Grandma Has ADHD podcast with Rachel Wills, LPC
When I asked Rachel Wills to tell me how she got here, she started with a ballet class.
She was three years old. Her mom watched her next to the other little girls and could tell something was different. Rachel was uncoordinated, a beat behind. Rachel didn't notice a thing. But that moment started a long road of testing, special education classes, and labels. Back then, what we now call ADHD was called "minimal brain dysfunction."
Rachel and I met in an online group for people heading to this December's ADHD conference in Baltimore. (If you've ever wanted to be surrounded by your people in a way you never have before, go.) She said something in that group that made me reach out right away: "You have to be on my podcast." Once you hear her story, you'll understand why.
"Ditzy," "spacey," and the girl nobody figured out
Rachel was the kid who daydreamed. She was called ditzy. When Back to the Future came out, kids called her "McFly." A psychologist told her she'd never go to college.
She went to college anyway. Then grad school. Then she completed a Montessori teacher training program, and that's where things fell apart. She couldn't keep track of homework assignments for a classroom full of kids. She couldn't remember the spelling tests. And because she felt so powerless, she went out and drank almost every night.
Why can't I keep it together? Everyone else can.
At 27, she went back for testing, thinking her learning disabilities might be the whole story. After three days of neuropsychological testing, the psychologist told her: "I'm not a specialist in ADHD, but I'm 99.9% sure that's what you've been dealing with."
She'd had it all along. She just thought ADHD was about hyperactive little boys.
If you've read my story, you know I said almost the exact same thing. My ex-husband told me I had ADHD, and I told him that was impossible. Hyperactive little boy? Not me. So many of us late-diagnosed women started from the same place.
Not a disorder. Not a superpower, either.
This is where Rachel and I had a friendly disagreement, and I loved it.
Rachel gets frustrated when people call ADHD a superpower. "We didn't choose to have ADHD," she told me, "and it has severely impacted my life." It has cost her client relationships. It has made her marriage and family dynamics harder. ADHD is a neurocognitive disability, she said, not a trend.
I pushed back a little. Superheroes don't get to choose their powers either. They just learn to make the best of them.
But then I asked her the question I ask every guest: If you could push a button and not have ADHD, would you?
"No," she said. "It makes me who I am. It seeps into every nook and cranny of my life, and I really like myself as someone who has ADHD. I'm quirky. I'm creative. I'm good in an emergency."
So that's where we landed. ADHD is a set of traits. Some of them are a gift and some of them are hard. Rachel calls it a double-edged sword, and I think that's exactly right. I also love the way a friend of mine put it: what if we just said we have circle brains, square brains, and triangle brains, without making it mean anything?
The conversation I'd been waiting to have
This was the part of the conversation I'd been waiting for. I've touched on substance use in my book, This Explains So Much, but I'd never really unpacked it on the podcast.
Years before I understood my own ADHD, I was in a relationship with someone who struggled with alcohol, and I found my way to Al-Anon. Now I know what I didn't know then. Estimates suggest somewhere between 30 and 50 percent of people with ADHD will struggle with substance use at some point, and most adults with ADHD have never been diagnosed. So I had to ask Rachel: how many of the families sitting in those Al-Anon rooms are actually living with someone's undiagnosed ADHD?
Rachel didn't give me a number ("I've never been good at percentages," she laughed, "my brain doesn't work that way"). But in her experience? A lot.
Then I asked her something more personal. Once she understood her ADHD, did the drinking get better?
Her answer was honest. Not right away. Understanding her ADHD helped her accept herself, but acceptance took a while. Eventually she got tired of the same results. And she realized that truly giving herself grace meant two things together. She could embrace her ADHD, and she could experience her life with ADHD sober.
"If I'm drinking, I'm still self-medicating my ADHD," she told me. "And I chose to no longer do that."
Rachel is now in long-term 12-step recovery and works as a counselor with adults who have ADHD, people in recovery or exploring sobriety, and people working through trauma and anxiety.
And here's something I share with my guests all the time: substance use isn't only alcohol. Nicotine is a stimulant, and it can quiet an ADHD brain. When a guest tells me neither parent had ADHD, I'll often ask, "Did anybody smoke?" The answer is usually, "Oh, yeah."
If this is you, where do you start?
I asked Rachel what she'd say to someone reading this who's struggling with substance use and is just now wondering whether ADHD might be part of the picture.
"Start by talking to someone," she said. "Be honest about where you are, because there's no shame in struggling. A lot of it is self-medicating and coping skills that aren't serving you. There's a genetic piece too. But there is hope."
We both agreed on one big caveat: find someone who understands ADHD. I've been in therapy, and I've learned I can't work with a therapist who doesn't understand how my brain works. They miss too much.
Rachel sees it too. She's often a client's third or fourth therapist, after earlier ones suggested they just "try harder." In her words: "If they could work harder, they would work harder."
She also said that therapy and coaching work best together. A therapist helps you work through the feelings and what's blocking you. An ADHD coach helps you build the systems that get you from point A to point B. Rachel sends her own clients to coaches for exactly that reason, because executive function is where she struggles too.
Explanation, not excuse
One thing I loved about this conversation was how much Rachel and I laughed. When you're with someone whose brain works like yours, you don't have to explain yourself. It's just easy.
That ease is something I'm learning to give myself out in the world too. I've started asking for small accommodations. In a noisy restaurant, I'll ask to be moved because I have a processing issue. Nobody has ever minded. At conferences, I tell people up front that I'm terrible with names, so please don't take it personally. Rachel does the same thing, and she's found what I have: most people are relieved. They say, "Oh, I can't remember names either, and I don't have ADHD!"
We put such high expectations on ourselves to be perfect, because we assume everyone else is. They're not. As Rachel put it, "They're no more perfect. They just don't have ADHD."
Rachel and her husband have a system I want to steal. Whenever they're getting ready to leave the house, they ask, "Whose 10 minutes are we talking about, yours or mine?" He gives her a "five-minute warning" that's really closer to ten, and they both get out the door on time and happy. That's not an excuse. It's an explanation, plus a little scaffolding, plus a lot of love.
Why this matters for the work we do
You might wonder why a move management company is writing about ADHD and recovery. Here's why.
Moving is a giant pile of executive functioning. It means sorting, deciding, scheduling, remembering, and starting tasks you've been avoiding, all while grieving the home you're leaving. For someone with ADHD, especially someone who's never been diagnosed, it can feel overwhelming. I've seen it in client homes for years. That's why at Silver Linings Transitions, we don't treat downsizing as a test of willpower. We design the process around the brain you actually have.
Find Rachel
Counseling: Rachel works with clients online through ADDvantage Counseling (that's "ADD" in "advantage," a play on words I love) at addvantagecounseling.com.
Her book: Soundtrack of a Misfit: The Remix is the 2025 second edition of her coming-of-age memoir about growing up with learning differences and undiagnosed ADHD. Think adult Amelia Bedelia, with a little punk rock and a little raciness. It includes a glossary of terms like masking and trauma bonding. Available on her website and Amazon.
Community: Rachel facilitates a Meetup group called Nurturing Neurodivergence Through Nature. In her words, "you will find your people."
Ready for support?
If you saw yourself, or someone you love, in Rachel's story:
Listen to the full episode of Grandma Has ADHD wherever you get your podcasts. If you enjoy it, please like and share it so it reaches more people who need it.
Read my book, This Explains So Much, available on Amazon in print and audio.
Talk to me. I offer a free 15-minute discovery call for ADHD and clutter coaching.
Planning a move in San Diego or the Coachella Valley? Silver Linings Transitions is here to help, and we understand executive function.
And if you're struggling with substance use, please reach out to a professional, ideally one who understands ADHD. You deserve support from someone who gets how your brain works.
It is never too late to make the rest of your life the best of your life.
— Jami Shapiro, CSMM, CSA, Founder of Silver Linings Transitions, ADHD Coach, and host of the
