Growing up in an African country, I was two things at once: brilliant but unfocused, and lazy. Teachers and parents and extended family said it like a tired prayer.
Nobody stopped to ask: why would a brilliant child choose to waste it?
I didn’t ask either. I just assumed the problem was my character.
By university I had a whole system of workarounds I didn’t know were workarounds. All-nighters not from irresponsibility but because 11pm was the only time my brain cooperated. Re-reading paragraphs six times. Losing things. Missing things. Forgetting things. Apologizing for things I couldn’t explain.
When I finally sought help, I got a diagnosis that finally changed my entire life.
It didn’t just explain now. It went back. It touched every “lazy”, disappointed look and “you could do better if you tried.”
I was trying. I was always trying.
I’m still sitting with that.