Who do you become when the world tells you you're different? When the barriers you face daily feel like chains to an indifferent society or another unachievable standard?

These are questions I had to ask to let go of the person the world told me to be and step into the person I am.

I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder (ADHD) and Anxiety when I was 19 years old. Like many women in my generation, we are the Lost Girls (Faulkner, 2020). The ones who weren't loud enough to raise the alarm bells or maybe too loud, making others uncomfortable. I was told to focus on extracurriculars and let go of the notion I could excel in school. Further, I was warned to accept my fate; that if I was lucky I would live an ‘average life’. Before I can even remember, the world told me to concentrate on surviving, no one ever really asked me what I would need to thrive.

I watched those around me complete small tasks with ease, tasks that would overwhelm me. My friends viewed my life as chaotic and unruly and I remember spending too much precious time trying to prove them wrong. Despite my best efforts though, year after year, I watched every academic or school-related milestone slip away.

Despite the gnawing feelings of inadequacy, I would show up to support my friends as they claimed their elevated place in those halls, just smaller, and more doubtful of myself each time.

I knew my brain worked differently. When faced with these challenges I would express a tsunami of frustration that I couldn’t manage things that should be commonplace. I wondered why I couldn’t sit at my desk for 8 hours a day, why I struggled to regulate my emotions, why I couldn’t control my impulsivity. 

When I look back now I can see how unattainable my academic goals were given the circumstances. But perseverance is central to who I am and so instead of heeding the calls to give up, I tried harder to be the  ‘perfect student’, I was left drained, defeated and demoralized.

"I think you should let go of making the honour roll, Alexandra. It's unlikely you'll ever be that bright.” This was the advice of those closest to me, to let go. But it felt like they didn’t understand, or worse, they thought I was making excuses for bad behaviour. Tutors, guidance counsellors, after-school study hall, office hours, I did it all, and was left screaming into a void wondering what could possibly be done? It wasn't until my brother was encouraged to get assessed that anyone clued into the tornado that had been living in my head over those 19 years.

A diagnosis isn't everything, but for me it was. Despite the difficult process, it was where my real becoming began.

Unbecoming

To get to the journey of becoming, I had to first undergo the process of unbecoming; what I called my unravelling. I had to rid myself of all the ways society conditioned me to fit their template.

I love the word unbecoming because it has so many different meanings. It is the opposite of conformity, it means improper, indecorous, not fitting, conflicting with accepted standards of good conduct, or my favourite iteration, not becoming. I was afraid I’d be too much for the world around me that I actually stifled my becoming.

If 19 years of trying to fit into a society that didn’t seem to want me taught me anything, it was that fitting in wasn’t enough. I wanted to belong. It also taught me that real belonging meant being “improper”, disrupting the idea that me, or people like me, weren’t enough the way we are. 

I love working in the human rights space now, especially for those with disabilities. And this space can also be fundamentally unbecoming because it demands we challenge the status quo. Disability rights advocates ask us to envision a different, divergent society, a more inclusive and just one. Advocacy, too, requires an unravelling of the way we’ve been taught to view those with learning disabilities-- that we’re given handouts, we get special attention, or my most common, that ADHD isn’t real. All of that rhetoric has to be disrupted before we can create safe spaces to succeed.

After months of grappling with my diagnosis, navigating the archaic disability services in my university, convincing myself I was worthy of support, and gaining the confidence I needed to show up exactly as I am, I flourished. I achieved things my younger self would’ve never thought possible.

My first semester with accommodations landed me on the university's Dean’s List.

The email read, “The Dean’s List is awarded to those for academic excellence. Congratulations, Alexandra”. I sat in disbelief, reading and re-reading every word of that email until I could recite it by heart.

The path of unbelonging was often relentless, consuming and heartbreaking, but the path of unbecoming was powerful, righteous and justified.

Becoming

I lived so long worried that who I would become might be unwelcomed by the world but the years following my diagnosis changed everything.

The change didn’t come just from a piece of paper though, it was the confidence naturally blossoming from finally understanding who I was. It was the ability to understand and learn about how my brain functioned, and it felt like an awakening. 

I sought out people like me, scholars, CEOs, artists and poets, those who openly shared stories of their success. Almost all of them were disruptors. They made me feel seen and they were people I couldn’t help but aspire to be. I found a deep love and passion for the field of social work-- not simply the study of people but how they act and react to their environments. I was also consumed by the bigger picture, the structures that create division and then more broadly, the need for societal change. This new awareness and appreciation of neurodivergence allowed me to invest my energy into the beautiful ways my brain worked instead of loathing the ways it didn’t.

And still, to this day, I believe learning and unlearning behaviour is a natural part of life. It is a continuous process and an agreement we make with ourselves in order to grow. Learning how to disrupt a faulty system for myself inevitably led to a career where I advocate for a wide array of human rights, and on a national scale. I am grateful every day that I get to wake up and fight for a more vibrant, rich and inclusive country. 

So far, I’ve worked alongside policymakers, politicians, humanitarians, and global figures. I have the privilege of working alongside Canada’s social workers, so many of whom are doing some of the most ground-breaking anti-oppressive, world-healing work I have ever seen. And there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t witness firsthand the beauty and pain this world has to offer.

I embraced my creativity and fast-paced nature. I took risks and I got really loud for causes that matter. I got clear on what I needed to succeed, and I was unapologetic in my endeavour to step up or step back when fighting for social change. And in the six short years since my diagnosis, I have worked with amazing people to advance lifesaving legislation, while pushing for larger adoption of human rights frameworks. It’s a mouthful, but each win we celebrate makes me more honoured and humbled by our work to make Canada the best place in the world for everyone.

I could have gone down a different path. Individuals with ADHD are at a higher risk for eating disorders, problematic substance use, incarceration and suicide. Outcomes are worse for those who are undiagnosed with comorbidities or those without access to vital supports. Government assistance for folks with disabilities is often meagre and social supports are systemically viewed as charity instead of the constitutional rights they are. We have a long way still to go but I am encouraged and hopeful by what I have seen as of late. It is empowering to be surrounded by people dismantling systems meant to encourage conformity over creativity.

For so long, I was told that fitting in would be my best shot at a decent life. Now I want to be as unapologetic and disruptive as possible.

So I hope you join me in the process of becoming. I hope you are unbecoming in your pursuit of social justice. I hope you stand up for one another or for yourself when you are in the arena alone. I hope you celebrate diversity and hold space for those who walk, talk or think differently than you do. I hope you know that you matter, and so do your stories of success or of strife. 

I know we are capable of finding beauty over alarm when confronted with different ways of knowing and being. And I know we need to do much better in creating spaces to honour and celebrate diversity in every form. 

I will end by saying that the brilliance and determination I have seen firsthand from the disability community is awe-inspiring, remarkable and visionary. I am proud to be a part of it, and I hope there comes a day when young women like me don’t ever think they don’t belong.

About the Author

Alexandra Maine is a social worker living on Unceded Algonquin territory known as Ottawa. After studying social work in the nation's capital, Alexandra decided to stay and pursue a career working in federal policy, aiming to ensure everyone in Canada has access to basic human rights. When not reading or writing, Alexandra enjoys spending time in nature with friends and family. 

Explore Possible

This blog post is part of Explore Possible, an initiative by Manitoba Possible to amplify stories, perspectives about disability, accessibility, and inclusion.

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