Shulamit’s Journey: Finding Balance with ADHD

I was born the second daughter in a family of three girls. As a young child, I was lively, curious, friendly, and full of spirit. I had many talents and a happy, playful childhood. I felt just like the other girls my age and enjoyed close friendships.

But everything began to shift when I entered first grade. School was a challenge from the very start and it only got harder. I found it difficult to sit still for long periods. Listening to the teacher for a full lesson felt almost impossible. It was as if her words just floated past me. Reading was hard, and writing was even harder. I constantly felt like I had to move, to speak, to do something different. I often lost my books or couldn’t find the right notebook for the lesson. Day after day, I came home feeling sad. The other girls slowly stopped playing with me. They called me lazy.

At home, my parents didn’t quite understand what I was going through. They knew me as the cheerful, talented, warm Shulamit. They encouraged me, telling me it would get better. “All beginnings are hard,” they would say. “You’ll adjust soon.” And for a moment, I would believe them. Their love, patience, and belief in me gave me strength. I’d go to bed feeling more hopeful, ready to try again.

But each new school day brought back the same frustration. The same struggles. The same sadness. Still, at home, my parents were there for me, listening, supporting, strengthening me. This cycle continued for years. Through their encouragement and the deep connection we shared, I found the strength to keep going.

Together with my parents, we tried many strategies. Slowly, step by step, I made it through elementary school. And then through high school.

After graduation, I wanted to continue to seminary, a place for young Jewish women to deepen their Torah learning and values. I took the entrance exams and, to my disappointment, I didn’t pass. A teacher called me in to discuss the results. She was surprised I had failed. As we spoke, she started asking questions about my learning experience. She asked if I ever struggled to concentrate. If reading and writing were hard. If I had been treated for attention issues. I told her no, no, and again no.

She asked if I took medication. I didn’t. Was I ever diagnosed? No. Did my parents know how to deal with these struggles? I told her they must have, because somehow I had made it through all those years. I told her about the talks at home. The encouragement. The way my parents believed in me. How they always reminded me that I was strong and that I could overcome anything. That support carried me through.

The teacher gently suggested that I go for an evaluation. I listened to her advice, and sure enough, I was diagnosed with attention and focus challenges, what we now know as ADHD. The doctor recommended medication, and I started taking it.

With that extra support, I went on to complete my seminary studies successfully.

Looking back, I feel I was given two powerful forms of healing: the emotional support that came from home, and the help I later received through professional guidance and treatment.

Both were necessary. Both were gifts.