Stories from a Milennial Woman in the Tik Tok Era

It’s January 2025, and it has been one year since I resolved to seek an ADHD diagnosis. I still experience a twinge of shame about having silently diagnosed myself long before the official assessment—a process that was far from quick or simple. I knew better than to ask outright for a diagnosis. Instead, I asked to be assessed—evaluated before I could be validated.
Yet here we are, a full year later—with a diagnosis, a prescription, and a slightly better understanding of my brain and myself, but still a lot of questions. Truthfully, I am feeling better. I feel like I’m more in control, less anxious (most of the time), more productive, and even somewhat organized. But alongside these improvements, I’ve been grappling with immense grief, anger, and unexpected growing pains. Overall, I’d say I’m doing well, though I suspect this is just the beginning.
When I made the resolution to get assessed last year, I had no idea how challenging it would be. It wasn’t just the logistical hurdles of securing an evaluation or a diagnosis—it was also the personal barriers I had to navigate. The emotional ups and downs of each step were compounded by life’s relentlessness, showing no regard for the delicate and unfamiliar terrain I was exploring.
As I often do with big decisions, resolutions, or intense emotions, I turned to writing. Initially, it was a personal journaling practice to help me sort out my thoughts and a half-formed idea for a book documenting the process. What emerged instead is this: a vulnerable exploration of my inner world. I’m not sure where it will lead or what it will become when I eventually run out of things to say.
For now, let me introduce myself. I’m Andrea Troughton, a 35-year-old self-employed personal trainer, independent author, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu athlete. For most of my adult life, I’ve been on a healing journey. It began with caring for my physical body, a step that ultimately shaped my deeply rewarding career. But while this was pivotal, it was only the first step, and my 20s and early 30s were filled with struggles in countless other areas.
Over the last decade, I’ve pursued self-improvement from every angle I could think of: therapy, education, physical activity, mindset work, affirmations, and journaling. I’ve hired coaches, joined mastermind programs, and purchased courses galore. Along the way, I expanded my knowledge as a personal trainer, studying nutrition, intuitive eating, body liberation, trauma and healing, and diverse exercise modalities. I trained in self-defense, kickboxing, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu. Some of these endeavors were transformative and now shape my life or work. Others felt repetitive, unattainable, or simply unhelpful. That’s life, isn’t it? Some things are meant for you; others aren’t, and the only way to find out is to try.
Despite all this growth, certain tasks and habits eluded me. No matter how much sense they made, or how many strategies I tried, I couldn’t make them stick. This is what ultimately led me to seek a diagnosis. This, and the persistent ache in my gut—the one that reared its ugly head every time I failed to follow through on a plan, couldn’t stick to a schedule, struggled to keep my house tidy, or arrived late yet again. The ache that whispered, “Why is this so hard for you? Other people succeed with the same information. What’s wrong with you?”
In the pages that follow, I’ll share my ADHD story: my experience with assessment, diagnosis, and treatment, as well as the steps, stages, and spirals I encountered along the way. Because my brain thrives on providing context, you’ll also find stories and situations from other parts of my life that add meaning or nuance to this journey.
Although my personal journey has influenced my work as a coach, nothing I share here is intended as prescriptive advice. I am not an expert on ADHD or a mental health provider. What worked for me may not work for you. If you are struggling or have questions, please seek guidance from a licensed practitioner like a therapist, psychiatrist, or doctor. I share my story not to instruct but to inspire, entertain, and extend a hand if you’re feeling alone.
Content warning: This blog series includes mentions of death, alcoholism, drug use, and the vulnerable reflections of a human being doing her best under less than ideal circumstances.
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