ADHD has long been misrepresented as a condition that primarily affects hyperactive boys. Traditionally, it is diagnosed based on behavioural symptoms of inattention, hyperactivity, and/or impulsivity. However, emerging research suggests that ADHD symptoms and prevalence differ by sex, yet these differences remain poorly understood by both scientists and the public.
What happens when the symptoms don’t fit that stereotype: when they appear in a Black girl quietly daydreaming in class or struggling to meet deadlines? The consequence is years of academic, personal, and mental health struggles — many of which could have been prevented with proper diagnosis and support.
This erasure of experience with ADHD leads to dysfunctions in development with social, emotional, personal, or occupational hindrances and years of silent struggles that an early diagnosis and support could have helped manage.
Is this a widespread failure of awareness? Or a system’s inability to see Black women in the first place?
The strong Black woman myth
Black individuals and women are often overlooked, misdiagnosed, or dismissed by medical and academic professionals when it comes to ADHD diagnosis and awareness. Black women with ADHD thus face a double layer of invisibility. Not only are Black women with ADHD frequently dismissed by the same professionals because their symptoms don’t align with the dominant, men-centric hyperactive stereotype, but they also experience an added layer of racial bias — where struggles with focus, organization, and emotional regulation are seen as personal failings rather than signs of a neurodevelopmental disorder.
A 2024 analysis of 849,281 ADHD patients revealed that Black women were less likely to be diagnosed with the disorder, making up 1.62 per cent of the study.
The “strong Black woman” stereotype paints Black women as resilient, self-sacrificing, and emotionally unbreakable. While often seen as empowering, it discourages vulnerability. This makes it harder for Black women to acknowledge their struggles or seek help in an environment already hostile to racialized individuals.
Growing up, whenever I struggled to focus, missed a deadline, or felt overwhelmed, I told myself to work harder. I didn’t allow myself excuses — only the belief that I needed to be stronger, more disciplined, and in control. Even as I struggled through my first year at university, overwhelmed by unfinished tasks and mental exhaustion, I hesitated to seek help. Asking for support felt like admitting a weakness — something I had been taught we weren’t supposed to do. I had internalized the “strong Black Woman” stereotype.
The stereotype demands resilience, leaving little room for the realities of neurodivergence. For example, ADHD paralysis is one of the most draining yet overlooked symptoms — a neurological shutdown that can leave people unable to start, prioritize, or complete tasks. For Black women, however, ADHD paralysis isn’t just about struggling with tasks; it’s also about the struggle of being dismissed by doctors, teachers, and family.
The gifted kid to failed adult pipeline
A widely known phenomenon among those with ADHD is the ‘gifted kid-to-failed adult pipeline,’ which describes the challenges faced by individuals labelled ‘gifted’ in childhood, but who struggle significantly in adulthood when the structured support of school disappears.
In elementary school, gifted students are recognized for intelligence, curiosity, and quick learning, masking their ADHD symptoms and excelling in subjects that interest them. The major shift occurs in college or adulthood when external structures fade, workloads increase, and the need for self-discipline becomes more pronounced. Individuals with ADHD then often struggle with chronic disorganization, maintaining routines, and executive function, making daily life and career stability challenging.
Childhood coping mechanisms — such as fidgeting to maintain focus or heavily relying on structured routines imposed by caregivers — become insufficient over time. Many individuals with ADHD spiral into self-doubt, burnout, and the crushing realization that something is no longer working.
I was recognized for my academic abilities from a younger age, and I continued to do well through high school. But structure was everything for me. Until high school, strict rules and parental oversight kept me in check: assignments were due, attendance was mandatory, and consequences were immediate.
Then university came, and everything was on me. Living away from home made it harder. No one cared if I skipped class, forgot an assignment, or missed a deadline. No phone calls home, no enforced structure — just me, struggling to keep up in a system that assumed I knew what to do.
When Segi Oduwole — a fifth-year student studying environmental studies and human geography, diagnosed with ADHD — started struggling in university, people around her insisted it was just a rough transition, not a sign of something deeper.
“It was hard to be taken seriously when I’d already gotten into U of T. I hadn’t really needed help for most of my life. So it was just everyone saying, ‘well, this is a new experience. Of course, it’s going to be hard. That doesn’t mean you have a different type of brain, it just means this is a new environment, you’re new to the city,’” Oduwole explained in an interview with The Varsity.
It’s worth mentioning that as per a 2018 article in the Canadian Journal of Disability Studies, Black gifted kids only make up three per cent of Toronto District School Board’s (TDSB) gifted student population, despite 11 per cent of TDSB students being Black. It’s possible that Black students are not accurately recognized for their abilities, due to the same biases that keep so many Black individuals from proper diagnoses.
Black U of T students on navigating ADHD
Getting diagnosed with ADHD later in life often brings relief, but also grief.
Many people mourn the life they could have had: years of self-doubt and burnout that could have been avoided with the right support. For Black women, this grief is compounded by the reality that the system was never built to see us.
Proper care goes beyond just a diagnosis; it means having healthcare providers who are equipped to identify ADHD in women, particularly in Black women, beyond the stereotypical hyperactive presentation.
It includes accessible, affordable diagnostic services, therapy that acknowledges cultural factors, and academic and workplace accommodations that consider ADHD-related differences in learning, memory, and attention. It means creating environments where we don’t have to constantly prove our struggles just to be believed.
Students with ADHD continue to face challenges in self-advocacy within a system that fails to recognize their needs. Sammy Onikoyi — a third-year student studying information technology at the Faculty of Information and recently diagnosed with ADHD — and Oduwole both faced numerous obstacles in navigating this system.
Onikoyi spent months battling internalized shame before seeking a diagnosis, only to pay $2,000 for an assessment which wasn’t even required for accommodations. Oduwole pushed past family and cultural expectations that dismissed her struggles as mere adjustment to a new environment.
Both faced unclear guidance, inaccessible resources, and the burden of self-advocacy in an institution that often failed to meet them halfway.
U of T has long faced criticism for its limited mental health resources, leaving many students struggling to find adequate support. However, when it comes to ADHD accommodations, Accessibility Services is one area U of T gets right.
After obtaining the required documentation from a licensed healthcare practitioner, students can access support such as extended deadlines and scheduled breaks during tests, among other accommodations.
The staff at Accessibility Services are welcoming, and for many students, these aids greatly ease the challenge of navigating academics with ADHD. Doctors at the Health & Wellness Centre can also provide disability documentation when appropriate. However, the wait times can stretch for weeks, even months — just one example of the broader challenges within U of T’s mental health system.
For students from immigrant families and racialized backgrounds, mental health conversations are often met with skepticism, further complicating access to support. Despite these barriers, Oduwole and Onikoyi have one message for others with ADHD: you are not alone.
Finding the right support can be the difference between just surviving and truly thriving. However, for many, that support remains out of reach — not because they don’t need it but because the system makes it so difficult to obtain.
