Posted on: 22nd January 2026

Recently, I received an ADHD diagnosis that felt like a long-awaited translation of my life. Suddenly, so many moments made sense—the overwhelm, the intensity, the exhaustion from trying to keep up, the deep joy and creativity that lived right alongside the struggle. It was revelatory, clarifying, and a little heartbreaking. And as I sat with it, Psalm 139 kept whispering to my heart.

“O Lord, you have searched me and you know me."

The defining understanding wasn’t just that God knows me, but that He always has. Long before I had language for my brain, before doctors’ appointments and assessments, before I even questioned why life felt harder for me than it seemed for others—God saw me. Fully. Kindly. Without confusion or disappointment.

For so many years, I tried to develop and adjust myself. I thought spiritual maturity meant becoming calmer, more organised, more consistent—less distracted, less emotional, less me. I didn’t realize how much energy I spent managing myself, quietly believing that if I could just try harder, I would finally arrive at a better version of who I was supposed to be. My diagnosis gently interrupted that story.
“You knit me together in my mother’s womb.”

Not accidentally. Not as a mistake to be corrected. Knit—intentionally, thoughtfully, intricately. Including the parts of me that move quickly, feel deeply, and notice everything all at once. Including a brain that can hyper focus for hours, neglecting food and sleep; but struggle with focus on a single task, but also see beauty and connections others miss.

The external assumptions and judgements of othering me have taken their toll on my heart, my confidence, and free spiritedness. I have been wounded by those I loved, and wanted to serve, in ways that pierced the heart of me. In a moment of reflection, I saw, Jesus never called me to meet other people’s norms, but to follow him. 

In a journey of learning self-compassion: I don’t want to keep rushing past myself anymore. I don’t want to be at odds with the way God made me. I want to fully see and know this life around me—and within me—without shame. I want to stay present instead of constantly correcting, fixing, or apologising for who I am. 

“Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain.”

And maybe that’s the point. I don’t have to attain it. I get to receive it.

Understanding my ADHD hasn’t pulled me away from God; it has drawn me closer. It has softened my prayers, made me more honest, less performative. It has helped me recognise that grace isn’t just about forgiveness—it’s about permission. Permission to rest. To need help. To live gently inside the body and brain God entrusted to me.

I am learning something new and holy: being fully known by God invites me to fully know myself. To look around at my life, my relationships, my limits, and my gifts with compassion instead of criticism. To believe that nothing about me has ever been hidden from Him.

I am known. I am seen. And now, I am learning to stay with myself in that truth. So, today, take a moment to have compassion on yourself. You are known. You are seen. Rest in who God designed you to be.