I'm 59, still carrying shame from decades ago, and finally getting pissed off enough to do something about it.
I'm still embarrassed about something I said to my husband's grandmother in 1996.
Yep. Thirty bloody years ago.
Every once in a while, my brain digs up that conversation and decides we should cringe over it again.
What possessed me to say that? What must she have thought?
And there I go, judging myself all over again.
Fear has always been pretty straightforward to me. It's there when things are going badly, and it's there when things are going well.
But shame? That's a different beast altogether.
Recently, I read an article from NDFounders about why running a business can be harder for neurodivergent entrepreneurs.
One part stopped me in my tracks. The author talked about how putting ourselves out there can mean confronting a lifetime of shame and rejection.
Well, shit. That hit home.
Fifty years of wondering what was wrong with me
I was in my 50s before I discovered I had ADHD.
Growing up, I was considered very smart. I was also the problem child.
Weird. Different. An outsider.
Home wasn't exactly a refuge, either.
My mother could fly into terrible rages. I'd spend weekend mornings listening to her rant about everything, including things no child should have been dragged into.
Eventually, she'd retreat into a book, and I'd get the hell out of there.
Living in the country meant there were plenty of places to escape to.
As a teenager, I partied, smoked pot, was sexually active, and made some questionable decisions.
In our small town, I became that girl. The slut. The troublemaker. Someone people felt entitled to judge.
I had my first baby at seventeen, and it felt like people were watching, waiting for me to fail.
I worked my ass off to be a good mother.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was always having to prove I was a decent person.
Doctors told me I was depressed. Nobody seemed to understand what I was struggling to explain.
And neither did I.
I didn't know I had ADHD. I certainly didn't understand how it affected my behaviour, my impulsivity, or the way I experienced the world.
I just knew I didn't fit.
A diagnosis doesn't erase a lifetime of shame
When I finally learned I had ADHD, so many things started making sense.
But understanding why I'd struggled didn't magically undo the years of feeling that something was wrong with me.
And apparently, I'm not alone.
A 2025 study published in Scientific Reports explored the experiences of 28 women diagnosed with ADHD later in life.
The researchers found recurring experiences of criticism, shame, low self-esteem, and grief over the lives participants wondered whether they might have lived if they'd understood themselves sooner.
Reading that was both comforting and heartbreaking.
How many of us have spent decades believing other people's judgments about us?
And how many of us are still carrying those judgments long after we've learned they weren't the whole truth?
I'm not even sure how much of my own shame comes from growing up with undiagnosed ADHD and how much comes from everything else I experienced.
Maybe I'll never completely untangle that.
Now I'm building a business. What the hell am I thinking?
Here I am at 59, building TechAlchemy, a business and community for neurodivergent entrepreneurs.
I know things. I've learned things. I'm creative, resourceful, and pretty damn good at figuring out technology.
But put me in a conversation with other businesspeople or potential clients, and suddenly I'm worried about everything.
Am I talking too much? Do I sound stupid? Did I miss something important? Do they think I'm obnoxious?
And afterward?
Oh, you can bet your ass I'll replay the conversation.
Sometimes for days.
It's not simply that I'm afraid people will think I don't know enough.
I'm afraid they'll decide I'm not worth taking seriously.
That's where shame and imposter syndrome seem to collide for me.
And this business matters. I want to earn a good living. I want my husband to be able to retire. I want us to enjoy the years we have ahead.
But I also want something else.
I'm building TechAlchemy Village because I want people like me to have somewhere they can belong.
Somewhere you can ask a question without feeling stupid. Admit you're overwhelmed without being judged. Get practical help without somebody telling you to just try harder.
A place where we can be honest, call out the bullshit, and hold each other up when we're struggling.
And thanks to Rippily, that Village is becoming something pretty damn amazing.
If you haven't experienced Rippily, it's nothing like your typical online meeting or community platform. Instead of another boring grid of faces, you can create entire interactive spaces where people explore, gather, learn, and actually spend time together.
I've built a little virtual village with a café, library, studios, and places for workshops, coworking, and conversation. There's even a Reset Retreat where you can escape the noise, enjoy a little nature, and paddle a kayak around the lake when you need a break from everything.
And I can keep dreaming up new things to add!
The creative freedom is incredible. But what really gets me is that Rippily lets me build something that feels like an actual place to belong, rather than just another website to visit.
And here's the kicker.
I'm going to have to learn to feel comfortable being myself in the very place I'm creating for other people to do exactly that.
Well, isn't that a bitch?
I'm scared. I'm doing it anyway.
I've decided it's time to start inviting organizations and community groups into my virtual studio for coffee.
I want to show them the Village, hear what their members need, and explore how the space might help them.
And I'm terrified.
What if they think it's a scam because I'm offering space for free? What if I stumble over my words? What if they think I'm a joke?
That familiar shame is already trying to talk me out of it.
But I'm going to find out what happens.
Maybe I'll embarrass myself. Maybe I'll say something awkward. Maybe I'll need to try a few times before I get comfortable.
So bloody what?
I've spent far too much of my life worrying about what other people think of me.
I'm not interested in spending the rest of it doing the same.
I'm not magically cured of shame. I'll probably still be replaying that conversation from 1996 when I'm eighty.
But I'm learning something.
I don't have to stop being afraid before I start living the life I want.
I can learn how my brain works. I can create systems that help me. I can ask for support, make mistakes, and try something different.
And so can you.
Maybe you're fifty, sixty, or seventy and still wondering whether you've got what it takes.
Maybe you've spent your whole life being told you're too much, not enough, or just plain different.
Maybe you've started believing it.
But what if those old judgments don't get to make your decisions anymore?
What if you gave yourself permission to figure things out as you go?
I'm ready to grab life by the balls and say NO MORE!
No more waiting until I'm perfect.
No more expecting my brain to work like everybody else's.
No more letting shame decide what I'm capable of trying.
I'm going to figure this shit out, one step at a time.
And I'd love some company along the way.
We've still got some living to do.
Does shame still show up in your life, even years after discovering your ADHD? I'd love to hear what you're learning about yourself and what you're finally ready to try.
Until next time Friends...