“Everyone has ADHD now,” they say. Open any news site or scroll through a social media feed, and you’ll likely encounter claims that ADHD is suddenly everywhere—overdiagnosed, overhyped, or even fabricated. The narrative suggests we’re witnessing a troubling trend, with diagnoses apparently skyrocketing overnight. Critics question whether ADHD is simply the latest trendy label for typical human behavior. But beneath these dismissive headlines lies a more complex reality about a legitimate neurological difference that millions have struggled with silently for generations—and why its recognition matters now more than ever.
The backlash against a “trendy diagnosis.”
Media outlets increasingly frame ADHD as the diagnosis du jour, something fashionable rather than fundamental. The Guardian recently published pieces questioning the rise in diagnoses, while conservative commentators routinely dismiss ADHD as an excuse for poor behavior or lack of discipline and claim it’s “just a made-up label.”
Such skepticism isn’t new. Since its formal recognition, ADHD has faced waves of public doubt despite decades of scientific validation.
But such arguments miss a fundamental truth: all labels are human constructs, created to help us make sense of our world. The words “diabetes,” “influenza,” and “chair” are also “made-up labels.” They’re the language we’ve developed to identify and address distinct patterns we observe.
Labels provide shared understanding, enabling research, appropriate support, and community among those with similar experiences. When we identify consistent patterns of neurological functioning that differ from the majority, naming this pattern becomes essential for addressing real-life impacts. The label “ADHD” doesn’t create the neurological difference; it simply acknowledges what brain imaging, genetic studies and lived experiences have already confirmed exists.
Research using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) reveals distinct patterns in ADHD brains. Studies have also shown consistent differences in brain regions associated with attention and executive function networks. The structure, function, connectivity, and neurochemistry of these regions differ measurably from neurotypical brains. Then there’s the genetic link with autism. Data shows that around 50-70% of autistic people also present with ADHD. Genetic studies have revealed overlapping hereditary factors between ADHD and autism, with certain gene variations appearing in both. This suggests a shared neurobiological underpinning that further provides hard evidence that these are measurable neurological differences, not just fads or character defects.
Yet despite this wealth of evidence, many still view ADHD through a lens of moral judgment rather than neuroscience.
The male blueprint: how research bias shaped early diagnosis.
Part of the reason we’re seeing so many more people being diagnosed is that more people are coming forward for diagnosis, and historical gender bias plays a huge role in this.
For decades, research predominantly focused on hyperactive boys, creating a diagnostic blueprint that overlooked many who didn’t match this profile. The very foundation of our understanding was built on a skewed sample.
Early ADHD research almost exclusively studied young males displaying obvious hyperactivity and disruptiveness in classroom settings. These boys—fidgeting, interrupting, unable to stay seated—became the archetype against which all ADHD experiences were measured. Diagnostic criteria naturally evolved to reflect the traits most visible in this population.
Dr. Stephen Hinshaw, professor of psychology at UC Berkeley, has documented this bias extensively. His longitudinal studies beginning in the 1990s helped establish that ADHD manifests differently across genders, yet diagnostic tools remained calibrated primarily to male presentations.
The consequences were profound. Generations of individuals, particularly women and those with inattentive-type ADHD, remained undiagnosed or misdiagnosed because they didn’t match the hyperactive male model that dominated clinical understanding. Their struggles remained invisible within a framework not designed to recognize them.
The diagnostic landscape is slowly changing, but we’re still catching up to decades of oversight, which is one reason we’re seeing more people coming forward for assessment now.
The hidden half: uncovering female and inattentive ADHD.
Female ADHD often manifests as inattentiveness rather than hyperactivity, or as internalized hyperactivity. Women and girls typically demonstrate traits through daydreaming, forgetfulness, emotional dysregulation, and internal restlessness rather than physical disruption. Society has traditionally dismissed these traits as character flaws in women—being scatterbrained, overly emotional, or simply not trying hard enough.
The phenomenon of “masking” compounds this invisibility. Society teaches females from an early age that they must be “good girls,” that is, compliant, polite, quiet, and generally well-behaved, whereas boys are allowed more leeway, because apparently “boys will be boys”. Research backs this up. As a result, many ADHD women develop elaborate compensatory strategies to conceal their difficulties. They overwork to meet deadlines, create extensive reminder systems, or suffer anxiety-driven perfectionism—all while appearing outwardly “together.”
Dr. Ellen Littman, co-author of “Understanding Girls with ADHD,” has spent decades studying this phenomenon. Her research reveals how women with ADHD often internalize their struggles, developing secondary anxiety and depression as they blame themselves for executive functioning challenges they don’t recognize as ADHD.
The diagnostic discrepancy speaks volumes: boys are still much more likely to be diagnosed with ADHD than girls, despite growing evidence suggesting similar prevalence rates when accounting for different presentations.
As our understanding expands beyond the external, hyperactive stereotype, countless women are finally naming their lifelong struggles and seeking assessment as a result.
The generational awakening: when your child’s diagnosis becomes your own.
The diagnosis of a child frequently triggers recognition in parents or other relatives who’ve spent decades struggling without understanding why. I have personal experience with this, and I’m certainly not alone. These moments of realization reflect ADHD’s strong genetic component rather than a diagnostic trend.
Research shows ADHD has a heritability rate of approximately 74%, making it one of the most heritable neurological differences. Often adults don’t recognize their own ADHD until their child is diagnosed, and they suddenly have a framework to understand the challenges they’ve faced their entire lives.
These delayed diagnoses don’t represent a trend or fad—they’re discoveries of something that was always present but lacked a name. For many adults, particularly women who didn’t match the external, hyperactive stereotype, this recognition brings profound relief after decades of self-blame.
The subsequent increase in adult diagnoses reflects this generational catching-up rather than overdiagnosis.
The neuroaffirming movement is speaking out: from broken to different.
A fundamental shift is occurring in how we view neurological differences like ADHD, and it’s making the community rather vocal. As a result, we’re hearing more about people’s lived experiences of ADHD.
Decades of shame-based approaches to ADHD taught individuals they were fundamentally flawed. Treatment focused primarily on making neurodivergent people appear more neurotypical rather than helping them thrive with their unique brain wiring.
The neuroaffirming perspective has turned this on its head. Rather than pathologizing diverse brain wiring, the neuroaffirming movement recognizes that different isn’t deficient—it’s just different. ADHD traits like hyperfocus, creativity, and cognitive flexibility are recognized as potential strengths alongside challenges. Evidence supports this approach. Research published by Dr. Jane Ann Sedgwick and colleagues found that many adults with ADHD identify positive aspects of their neurodivergence. This shift doesn’t deny the difficulties experienced by ADHDers but rejects the notion that their brains are “broken” versions of neurotypical ones.
This neurodiversity paradigm, as opposed to the pathology paradigm of disease and disorder, suggests that ADHDers aren’t inherently disordered, but that societal factors can (and do) disable them by forcing them to behave neurotypically.
The result of this paradigm shift is that people are now speaking out. They are tired of being shamed and feeling ashamed. This is contributing not only to more visibility of those living with ADHD, but also more people coming forward for diagnosis as they begin to understand the traits they’ve always had, but never really understood.
The social media effect: visibility, not virality.
Social media hasn’t created more ADHD—it’s simply made existing experiences visible. Platforms like TikTok and Instagram have become spaces where people recognize themselves in others’ stories, often after decades of unexplained struggles.
Content creators sharing authentic ADHD experiences reach audiences who’ve never seen their internal experiences articulated before. Someone describing how they can hyperfocus on interesting tasks yet struggle with seemingly simple responsibilities might trigger recognition in viewers who thought these patterns were simply character flaws.
Dr. Jessica McCabe, author and creator of the educational YouTube channel “How to ADHD,” explains how social media allows people to hear from others with ADHD in their own words, offering descriptions that feel more relatable than clinical language.
Although, of course, some content on social media will be inaccurate or misleading, medical professionals remain the gatekeepers of official diagnosis. While awareness increases through social media, obtaining an actual diagnosis still requires a comprehensive evaluation by qualified clinicians using established criteria. The diagnostic process hasn’t fundamentally changed, even as awareness has grown.
What’s new isn’t the neurological difference itself but its visibility and the language to describe experiences that people previously didn’t have a name for.
The numbers reality: still underdiagnosed.
Despite perceptions of a diagnostic explosion, ADHD remains significantly underdiagnosed globally. In my opinion, the apparent surge represents progress toward identifying those who have always had ADHD, rather than overdiagnosis.
Prevalence studies consistently estimate that 5-7% of children and about 2.5-4% of adults worldwide have ADHD. Experts describe that despite the increase in numbers coming forward for assessment and receiving diagnosis, the actual prevalence of ADHD has remained pretty steady, and will likely continue to do so. They are quite clear that for years we have been underdiagnosing ADHD, and that’s why we are seeing a surge now.
The gradual correction of historical underdiagnosis naturally produces an upward trend in diagnosis rates—not because ADHD is suddenly more common, but because we’re getting better at recognizing it.
Final thoughts: the danger of dismissal.
Dismissing the rise in valid ADHD identification as merely trendy or fictional causes real harm. When legitimate neurological differences are portrayed as invented or overdiagnosed, people are denied access to understanding and support that could transform their lives.
For those with undiagnosed ADHD, each day without recognition means more unnecessary struggle, more self-blame, and more missed potential. The consequences accumulate over lifetimes. Research shows people with ADHD are more likely to have lower educational achievement, higher rates of substance use, increased risk of chronic pain, depression, anxiety, eating disorders and suicide attempts, increased risk of offending, and diminished self-esteem. Neuroaffirming support can improve these outcomes – but not without diagnosis or self-understanding and compassion first.
The science is clear: ADHD is a real neurobiological difference with genetic underpinnings and measurable brain-based characteristics. The increase in diagnoses reflects improved recognition rather than overdiagnosis.
When we trivialize ADHD as a fad, we perpetuate harmful patterns that have left generations struggling without explanation or support. The real epidemic isn’t overdiagnosis but the persistent underrecognition of a neurological difference affecting millions.
True progress isn’t measured by returning to an era when ADHD was invisible and stigmatized, but by continuing to build understanding, support, and acceptance for neurological diversity in all its forms.
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