Genetics, Mental Health, and the Parts of Myself I Didn't Understand

For much of my life, I tried to understand why I experienced certain things the way I did.

Why was it sometimes so difficult for me to focus?

Why could I become completely absorbed in something that interested me but struggle to start something that didn't?

Why could certain environments or situations overwhelm me?

Why did some things seem much harder for me than they appeared to be for other people?

And why did I sometimes feel like I was struggling with several different things at the same time?

For years, I didn't have all the pieces of the puzzle.

Later in life, I was diagnosed with ADHD and recognized that I have autism traits.

Those realizations made me look back at my life differently.

They didn't suddenly explain everything.

But they gave me another perspective.

And they made me wonder how much of what I have experienced may have been influenced by genetics, how much may have been shaped by my environment and experiences, and how much may be the result of those things interacting with each other.

Mental Health Isn't Usually Just One Thing

One of the things I've learned is that mental health is complicated.

There usually isn't one simple explanation for why someone develops a particular set of struggles.

Genetics can influence vulnerability to mental-health and neurodevelopmental conditions, but genes aren't destiny. Researchers increasingly understand many conditions as the result of complicated interactions among genetic factors, brain development, environment, and life experiences.

That matters to me because it means I don't have to find one single explanation for everything I've experienced.

Maybe there are things I was born with.

Maybe there are things I learned.

Maybe there are things that happened to me.

And maybe some of those things interacted with each other in ways I didn't understand at the time.

ADHD May Have Been There Long Before I Had a Name for It

Being diagnosed with ADHD later in life has made me think about my younger self.

ADHD begins in childhood, even though it isn't always recognized until adulthood. In adults, symptoms can look different and may become more noticeable when the demands of life increase.

Looking back, I can recognize certain things differently now.

There were aspects of how my brain worked that I didn't have an explanation for.

I didn't have the language to describe them.

And without an explanation, it can be easy to assume that a struggle is a character flaw.

Maybe I'm lazy.

Maybe I'm irresponsible.

Maybe I'm not trying hard enough.

Maybe everyone else can handle this, so why can't I?

Getting an ADHD diagnosis gave me another possibility:

Maybe some of these things weren't moral failures. Maybe my brain was simply working differently.

That doesn't erase responsibility for my actions.

But understanding why something is difficult can change how you approach it.

ADHD and Other Mental-Health Conditions Can Overlap

Another reason this has been complicated is that ADHD doesn't necessarily exist by itself.

People with ADHD can also experience other conditions, including anxiety, depression, and autism spectrum disorder. Some symptoms can overlap, making it important for professionals to look at the whole picture rather than assuming every difficulty comes from one diagnosis.

That makes sense to me.

When you've spent years experiencing different kinds of struggles, it can be difficult to know which ones come from where.

Is it ADHD?

Is it anxiety?

Is it depression?

Is it a response to something I've experienced?

Could more than one thing be happening at the same time?

Sometimes the answer may be yes.

Genetics May Be Part of the Picture

ADHD has a substantial genetic component, and researchers are also finding genetic overlap between ADHD, autism, and several other psychiatric conditions. That doesn't mean there is one "ADHD gene" or one gene that determines someone's mental health. Instead, many genetic variations can contribute to susceptibility.

That distinction is important.

I don't want to look at genetics and say, "This is why I am the way I am."

It's more complicated than that.

Genetics may create certain vulnerabilities or tendencies.

Life experiences can interact with those vulnerabilities.

And the result can look different from one person to another.

Two people can have similar genetic risks and have completely different experiences.

I Can't Separate Genetics From Life Experience

This is where my own story becomes complicated.

I have experienced things in my life that affected the way I think, feel, react, and relate to other people.

So when I look at my mental health today, I don't think it makes sense to say that everything is genetic.

At the same time, I don't think it makes sense to assume that everything came from what happened to me.

There may be a combination.

Maybe I was born with certain neurological differences.

Maybe those differences affected how I experienced the world.

Maybe the environment I grew up in affected how I learned to cope with those differences.

Maybe later experiences added additional layers.

And maybe some of the symptoms I've struggled with throughout my life have come from several sources at once.

That possibility actually makes more sense to me than trying to find one explanation for everything.

My Autism Traits Add Another Layer

Recognizing autism traits later in life has also caused me to reconsider parts of myself.

There are things about how I process information, social situations, emotions, and my environment that make more sense when I consider the possibility of being neurodivergent.

But again, I don't want to use that as an explanation for everything.

Having autism traits doesn't mean every struggle I've experienced came from autism.

Having ADHD doesn't mean every emotional difficulty came from ADHD.

Having mental-health challenges doesn't mean every reaction I've had can be traced to one diagnosis.

Human beings are much more complicated than labels.

Maybe I Was Trying to Understand Myself Without All the Information

One of the hardest parts about being diagnosed later is realizing that I spent years judging myself without having all the information.

I made assumptions about myself.

I thought certain things were weaknesses.

I compared myself to other people.

I wondered why I couldn't simply do certain things the way everyone else seemed to.

Now I can look back with a little more compassion.

Maybe I wasn't failing as much as I thought I was.

Maybe I was trying to navigate life without understanding how my brain worked.

That doesn't mean I get to excuse every mistake.

It means I can understand myself without automatically attacking myself.

What About My Daughter?

Having ADHD myself has also made me think about my daughter.

She was diagnosed with ADHD as well.

That has made the genetic component especially interesting to me.

ADHD can run in families, and researchers know that genetic factors play an important role in ADHD. But having a family connection doesn't mean a parent caused a child's ADHD or that a child's future is predetermined.

I don't want my daughter to think of her ADHD as something wrong with her.

I don't want her to look at me and think that she inherited a collection of problems.

I want her to understand that brains are different.

Some things may come more easily to her.

Some things may require different strategies.

And she can learn how to understand her own brain rather than spending her life fighting against it.

I Also Have to Be Careful About Blaming Genetics

There is another side to this.

If I start looking at genetics as the explanation for everything, I could end up feeling powerless.

"This is just how I am."

"There's nothing I can do."

I don't want to think that way.

Genes may influence vulnerability, but they don't write every chapter of our lives.

There are still choices.

There are still treatments and supports.

There are still coping strategies.

There are still relationships.

There is still personal growth.

There is still healing.

And there is still the possibility of learning things about ourselves that help us live better.

Understanding Myself Isn't About Finding Someone to Blame

I've spent enough time wondering whose fault things were.

Was it me?

Was it my circumstances?

Was it my childhood?

Was it genetics?

Was it something else?

Maybe those aren't the questions I need to spend the rest of my life answering.

Maybe a better question is:

What can I understand about myself now that I didn't understand before?

That question gives me somewhere to go.

It doesn't erase the past.

It doesn't change what happened.

But it gives me an opportunity to move forward.

Maybe All the Pieces Belong to the Same Puzzle

When I look at my life now, I don't necessarily see one diagnosis explaining everything.

I see pieces.

Genetics may be one piece.

ADHD may be another.

Autism traits may be another.

Mental-health struggles may be another.

Life experiences may be another.

Relationships may be another.

The environment I grew up in may be another.

And perhaps none of those pieces tells the entire story by itself.

But together, they may help me understand the person I've become.

And understanding doesn't have to mean labeling myself.

It can mean developing compassion for myself.

I Wish I Had Known Earlier

Sometimes I wish I had known about ADHD earlier.

I wish I had understood more about neurodivergence.

I wish I had known that struggling with certain things didn't automatically mean I wasn't trying.

I wish I had known that other people experienced the world differently too.

Maybe I would have been kinder to myself.

Maybe I would have asked for help sooner.

Maybe I would have understood some of my daughter's experiences differently because I understood my own.

But I can't go back.

What I can do is use what I know now.

Knowledge Can Become a Form of Healing

Getting answers later in life doesn't erase the years when I didn't have them.

But answers can change the way I look at those years.

Instead of seeing only failures, I can see someone trying to figure things out.

Instead of seeing only weaknesses, I can look for strengths.

Instead of asking why I couldn't simply be like everyone else, I can ask what I needed that I wasn't getting.

And instead of being ashamed that it took me so long to understand myself, I can be grateful that I eventually did.

My Brain Is Part of My Story, Not My Entire Identity

I don't want ADHD to define me.

I don't want autism traits to define me.

I don't want my mental-health struggles to define me.

They are pieces of my story.

Important pieces.

Pieces worth understanding.

But they aren't the whole picture.

I am still a mother.

I am still a writer.

I am still someone who loves, learns, makes mistakes, grows, and starts over.

I am still becoming.

And perhaps that is what I want my daughter to learn from all of this too.

She doesn't have to be ashamed of the way her brain works.

She doesn't have to believe that a diagnosis limits her future.

She doesn't have to understand everything about herself today.

She is allowed to keep learning.

So am I.

Maybe the Goal Isn't to Find One Explanation

Maybe I'll never be able to separate every part of my story into neat categories.

Maybe I'll never know exactly what came from genetics, what came from environment, what came from neurodevelopment, and what came from experiences.

And that's okay.

I don't need one perfect explanation to validate what I've experienced.

I can accept that my story is complicated.

I can accept that more than one thing can be true at the same time.

I can accept that genetics may have played a role while also recognizing the enormous influence of life experiences.

And I can accept that understanding myself is an ongoing process.

I was not born with a roadmap explaining every struggle I would face.

I had to learn as I went.

Now I have more information than I did before.

And I can use that information not to label myself, but to understand myself.

Not to blame myself.

Not to blame my family.

Not to decide that my future is predetermined.

But to recognize the many pieces that helped shape me—and decide what I want to do with them.

Because genetics may influence where our story begins.

Our experiences may shape some of the chapters.

But neither one has to determine how the story ends.

My brain is part of my story.
My struggles are part of my story.
My diagnoses are part of my story.

But they are not the whole story.

My past is a chapter, not the whole story.