Smart but Scattered: A Profile of ADHD
Photos by Addie Schonwald ‘25
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Izzy Cadena ‘25
On a Tuesday morning, I sat in Bev 113 with my CASA coach Meggie, brainstorming ideas for my independent Lamplighter project. As she scribbled off ideas onto the whiteboard, nothing seemed to stand out to me, until the word ‘ADHD’ appeared in bold purple expo marker. Although it was the only topic I was interested in writing about, I hesitated. As someone with ADHD, the media coverage I'd seen had almost always been things my friends and I would laugh at. Facebook articles like “ADHD: a superpower” forwarded from well-intentioned family members; or viral TikToks that would diagnose you with ADHD based on complex symptomatology like “getting distracted.” It managed to be cringy, out of touch, and either patronize or trivialize ADHD. So, how could I approach ADHD in a fresh way? The answer, or the start of more questions, was right down the hallway.
“As a kid, I was always a straight-A student, did very well in school”, says Kyle Kretzer, director of the Center for Academic Strategies and Achievement, more commonly known as CASA. “There weren’t really outward signs of me struggling,” says Kyle. However, they had a difficult experience staying on top of their work, and often fell into that oh-so-familiar spiral of procrastination. “Sometimes I pushed it too far,” Kyle explains. “I realized ‘oh, now I’m on the verge of not passing this class’. So, my hyperfocus kicked in. I faked sick–don't put that in– and memorized the entire review book in one day. I got a 99 on my final”.
“ADHD isn’t a lack of attention like people might think,” says Kyle. “It's just an inability to focus that attention.” A conventional understanding of ADHD often exists solely through the lens of pathology: a “deficit disorder,” which indicates shortcomings academically, socially, and professionally. But experiences like Kyle’s, who was mentally scattered one moment and hyper-focused another, highlight the complex nature of ADHD.
Kyle provided me with a strong sense of relatability as they described their experience with ADHD. “You’ll often see a kid who is amazingly bright, who also cannot keep track of time, or their assignments, and their rooms are always a mess,” says Kyle. “They’re smart, but scattered.” I came to understand the importance of Kyle’s role as head of CASA. Providing me with personal anecdotes, a fleshed-out adhd resource page, and even a graphic novel skit about procrastination, Kyle is a beacon of understanding for learning differences. Kyle and other CASA coaches possess the unique ability to help parents, teachers, and deans understand students, but more importantly, they help these students understand themselves, and grant them the support and resources necessary to succeed.
“Smart but scattered” echoed through my mind as I sought out my next subject. Seeking to expand on Kyle's thoughts, I interviewed a student who seemed to fit the description. “If I wasn’t on Adderall, I wouldn’t be able to do anything,” says Max Landrey ‘25. “Like laundry, making my bed, homework,” Max explains that these seemingly small things have a way of building up. “People think it's just not wanting to do something”, “Like, yeah, I hate doing my homework, but it's different, it's more like a physical and mental block.”
Max’s struggles with executive functioning, the cognitive skills responsible for carrying out everyday tasks, reflect a core aspect of the ADHD experience. Understanding these executive functioning skills can allow individuals like Max to remove shame and judgment from their experiences, and work to build sustainable routines and solutions.
Prior to being diagnosed and medicated, Max described a similar experience to Kyle’s—disengaging from his academics, and falling behind on his work—but possessing a skilled capacity for hyperfocus that masked his struggles. Max is a standout STEM student, having completed rigorous courses such as Multivariable Calculus, Linear Algebra, and Molecular Biology. His relatively flat tone spikes, becoming noticeably more eager when I ask him to talk about his experience with STEM. “I like math, because it's rhythmic, in a way,” he gestures. “It’s like solving a problem, in a way that I can't do with a subject like English”.
Given Max’s academic success, I was curious about his experience as an ADHD student in regards to resources, accommodations, and faculty support. However, Max answered that ADHD hadn’t really affected his academic experience. “I’ve never had accommodations, because my teachers at my old school didn’t think I needed them based on my grades”, “It was like, ‘yeah you have a learning disability, but you're not actually disabled’”, he laughed.
Max’s experience provides valuable insight into the seemingly contradictory nature of societal attitudes towards ADHD. Is a student only considered “truly” ADHD if they are struggling or falling behind? Does a student with ADHD have to excel to compensate for certain stereotypes?
To gain more insight into these questions, I talked to Callie Harrison ‘26, who was recently diagnosed with ADHD. “I had no motivation to do anything in class. I couldn't pay attention, at all. I wouldn't do anything till the last minute.”
Callie’s struggles extended far beyond the academic setting, encompassing a broad range of executive functioning difficulties. “My room was always messy,” she said. She also explained her struggles with emotional regulation, frequently having mood swings. “I’d get into fights with my friends. Like, petty arguments. And during sports, I was ridiculously aggressive.”
After Callie was diagnosed and started medication, her mood swings died down, and she could clean her room, feeling more settled all around. “Everything's kind of just easier,” she commented.
Callie’s recent diagnosis and medication have also allowed her to find more focus in her academics. “Before I got diagnosed, I thought I wasn’t smart in any subject. But now that I can sit down and focus on things, I think I lean more towards writing and history.” But Callie maintains that she doesn't see herself excelling in a singular aspect of school. “I think that, especially with starting the college process, there's pressure to have like, one thing you’re good at,” says Callie, “But it can be really hard, when your brain is all like, scrambled.”
Many students feel like they have to be exceptional in one way or another, especially in a rigorous environment like NMH. But the adverse impact of this sentiment, especially on students who have exceptional struggles with ADHD, is worth considering. Seeking out the exceptional qualities of students with ADHD may often obscure the desire of many of these students to simply feel normal. Maybe exceptionality is really a stifling force, hindering personal growth and improvement.
Callie also reflected on how her ADHD diagnosis provided her with a sense of community. “I don't feel singled out here,” she explained. “There's so many people that have it.” Smiling, she added, “My friend and I both have accommodations”. The two gravitate towards each other, sharing laughter rather than discomfort as they were corralled down the hallway to a separate testing environment.
`Grace Sokolow, being undiagnosed for much of her life, has years of perspective on what it means to try and be “normal”. “I was labeled as strange and weird,” said Grace. During her childhood, she was someone who interrupted frequently, had a tendency to make unannounced exits from rooms at any given time, and became fixated on topics like space or dinosaurs. Reflecting on an IQ test she took in her youth, Grace focused on the wall behind me, as if she was reciting a mental document. It said something like she’s in the exceptional range, 99-100th percentile, except for the fact that she can’t pay attention. But there’s no accounting for that, so we’ll just discount that from the score.”
So, Grace began to suppress the parts of her that were unexplained, and strived to conform and excel to compensate for the ways she felt abnormal. Grace described this behavior as “masking”. “There was no explanation for how strange I was,” she said. “I just had to be better, and do better.” For Grace, a diagnosis would make all the difference.
In her early 20s, without the structure of school and soccer, her ADHD symptoms began to emerge from her attempts to suppress it. “[For a while] I thought that I was just distracted and forgetting things because of concussions from soccer”. That was until she sat across from her general practitioner and realization washed upon her in a wave of relief. “I’m not rude, I’m not absent-minded, I’m not crazy, I just have ADHD.”
Having the insight of an ADHD diagnosis allowed puzzle pieces to come together, providing Grace with the ability to zoom out and understand herself in a new way. She has also applied this understanding to young people, describing being able to look past the “masks” of others: “It’s like, I can see exactly what's going on in your brain.”
Grace's experience in social work, coaching, and educating seem to be interconnected. Across all of these fields, Grace described her practice of zooming out and understanding the bigger picture. She challenges the idea of “normal” and resists the pressure to default to negative labels in place of more nuanced explanations. “It’s understanding when someone acts in a way that doesn’t seem normal”, says Grace. “That’s where the compassion comes in: maybe it’s not normal—or maybe that’s their normal.”
Grace concludes with a sentiment she’s retained from her time at NMH: “Even if you don’t know how to get it right, you can recognize moments where we’re definitely getting it wrong, and we need to try and find a way to do better.”
Looking back on my CASA session with Meggie, I realize that my search to understand ADHD isn't about finding simple answers. Instead, it’s important to embrace the complexity of lived experiences of ADHD, and the many ways it can shape a person's identity and worldview. As Grace said, the answer isn’t always clear, but the questions, the path to improvement– is where the real conversation begins.
