00 Master Script

Scene 1 – Hook

Have you ever walked into a room and immediately forgotten why you went there? Most people have. Now imagine building large parts of your life around moments like that. For years, I thought I was simply disorganised, distracted, too emotional, too impulsive, or not trying hard enough. Then, at the age of 24, I was diagnosed with ADHD. And suddenly, many things started to make sense. But ADHD was only part of the story. And to explain that, I have to start at the very beginning.

Scene 2 – Childhood

Sometimes I ask myself a simple question: How long have I been different? Probably my whole life. My mother once told me that even as a newborn, I was restless. Too many people overwhelmed me. Too much noise and too much movement overwhelmed me. But when we were at home, I was calm. Back then, nobody called it ADHD. It was just me. As a child, I was very quiet and shy. I often lived inside my head. Teachers said I was dreamy, that I forgot things, and that I could do better if I only tried harder. So I tried harder. But it never felt like enough.

Scene 3 – School & Mental Health

I always had the feeling that something about me worked differently. My mother once told me that she had felt that way since my early childhood. She felt that I wasn't like the other children my age. She changed the way she interacted with me. But then she heard from others that I was simply ill-mannered. Concentrating was difficult. Starting tasks was difficult too. And once I started, I couldn't stop. Sometimes I forgot to eat. On the other hand, sometimes I couldn't even get out of bed. In secondary school, I experienced bullying because I was quiet and shy. It was exclusion and whispers behind my back. And slowly, I began to believe that something was wrong with me, but only because of the way my classmates and society made me feel. Shortly before my Abitur, I was diagnosed with depression and an impulse-control disorder. I went to therapy. But something still felt missing. We talked a lot about my past. But I still didn't understand myself in the present. My only thought was that I couldn't change the past or the things I had experienced. Deep down, I felt confused and broken.

Scene 4 – Documentary

Then my mother watched a documentary about ADHD in adults. She told me: “I saw you in this!” At first, I didn't believe it. I wasn't loud. My hyperactivity was never visible. It happened inside my head. But when I watched the documentary, something clicked. For the first time, I thought: Maybe I'm not broken. Maybe my brain just works differently. Suddenly, many things started to connect. My concentration problems. My emotional reactions. My tendency to either do everything at once or nothing at all. For the first time, there seemed to be a pattern.

Scene 5 – ADHD Diagnosis

I made an appointment. I was scared. But I was also hopeful. When the doctor told me that I had ADHD, I felt two things at once: Relief and confusion. Relief because I finally had an explanation. Confusion because I had to rethink many parts of my life. I started asking myself questions like: How much of my personality is ADHD? And: Who would I have been if I had known this earlier? I never found complete answers. But I finally understood that I wasn't failing because I was lazy. My brain simply worked differently.

Scene 6 – Medication

Shortly after my diagnosis, I started taking medication. It isn't magic. It doesn't cure ADHD. But it makes my thoughts quieter and my life easier. Before medication, my head felt like a hundred radio stations playing at the same time. Now, there is still noise. But it's manageable. And something surprising happened: My depression disappeared. Not because life suddenly became easy, but because an important part of the underlying problem was finally being addressed. Medication didn't solve everything. I still have to build routines. I still struggle with time management. But now I have better tools to deal with those challenges. My everyday life is still not perfect. Time management is still one of my biggest challenges. I make plans. I make lists. And sometimes I forget the lists. And the plans. I still work best under pressure. And that changes how I treat myself. I often describe my life as beautifully structured chaos, both inside my head and outside in my apartment. The chaos is still there. But now I understand it better.

Scene 7 – Autism

For a while, I thought ADHD explained everything. And to be honest, it explained a lot. But not all of it. Even after my ADHD diagnosis, there were situations that were still difficult to understand. Thankfully, I had a very good doctor. She listened carefully and noticed things that I had never fully understood about myself. Over time, she suggested that there might be another explanation as well. Later, I was also diagnosed with autism. Looking back, that diagnosis answered many questions that ADHD alone couldn't answer. Years ago, my mother had already had the feeling that I might be autistic, but no one listened to her. ADHD and autism often pull me in different directions. My ADHD likes spontaneity and new ideas. My autism prefers routines, structure, and predictability. One part of me wants change. The other part wants stability. For example, when I already have a plan in my head and that plan suddenly changes, it can throw me off balance very quickly. The rest of the day can then feel very difficult. Honestly, having both ADHD and autism can be exhausting. Sometimes I feel caught between two completely different needs. But understanding both diagnoses helped me understand myself more fully. For the first time, the picture felt whole.

Scene 8 – Relationships & Work

Today, I have a partner who knows me as I am, with ADHD and autism. He reminds me to take my medication. He notices when I am overwhelmed. Sometimes he recognises it before I do. He makes me feel safe. I still sometimes worry that I'm too much. But he never makes me feel that way. My family situation is more complicated. My mother knows about my diagnoses. But she sometimes believes that medication should fix everything. It doesn't. On the other hand, she sometimes thinks that it is her fault that I have these struggles today. My father doesn't know about my diagnoses. And he probably never will. He wouldn't understand them. And that can hurt. But I am learning that understanding myself is more important. Today, I'm already working as a substitute teacher in a primary school. And this is where something surprised me. In the classroom, I can focus. The noise doesn't overwhelm me. The movement doesn't distract me. I can react quickly. I can improvise. And I stay structured.

Scene 9 – Meaning & Conclusion

Interestingly, the classroom is one of the few places where ADHD and autism seem to work together rather than against each other. My ADHD helps me react to unexpected situations. My autism helps me maintain structure and routines. Children are curious, spontaneous, and sometimes unpredictable. And instead of stressing me out, that energy often keeps me engaged. I also think my own experiences help me understand children who struggle with concentration, emotions, or feeling different. Because in many ways, I recognise parts of myself in them. ADHD and autism make some parts of my life more difficult. But they also give me strengths: Creativity. Flexibility. Empathy. Quick thinking. Attention to detail. As a future teacher, these qualities matter. For a long time, I only saw the challenges. Today, I also try to recognise the strengths behind both. And I think both perspectives are important. If I could speak to my younger self, I would say: You aren't lazy. You're not broken. You're not too much. You are different. And different isn't wrong. I don't have all the answers yet. But one day, things will make more sense to me. I wish universities offered more support for neurodivergent students. Not as special treatment. But as fair opportunities. Many students are intelligent and motivated, but they learn differently. Sometimes they need flexibility rather than pressure. Sometimes they need understanding rather than judgement. Supporting neurodivergent students doesn't lower standards. It helps people reach their potential. Getting my diagnoses didn't give me a perfect life. But they gave me understanding. For my struggles. For my strengths. And for myself. I no longer ask: “What is wrong with me?” Now I ask: “How can I build a life that fits my brain?” And for the first time, that feels possible. Thank you for listening!