When the World Got Weird (And What It Did to ADHD Brains)

Sometimes I wonder if I’d even have an ADHD diagnosis if I’d been born 300 years ago.
Not because I wouldn’t have had it — but because the world hadn’t yet made it a problem.

The more I look around, the more I find myself asking: When did the world get so weird?
So rigid, so fast, so image-obsessed. So completely incompatible with how so many of us, especially those with ADHD — are wired to live.

And if you’re neurodivergent, you’ve probably felt it too.
That sense of not just being out of step, but being treated like your rhythm is wrong. Like your brain is a broken version of the world’s expectations.

But what if the expectations changed first?

Let’s rewind a little.

The First Red Flag: The Industrial Revolution (c. 1760–1840s)

Before factories, most people worked in natural rhythms — seasonal work, family trades, practical needs. Then came the machines. The whistles. The clocks. Time became money. Output became everything.

And suddenly, if you couldn’t do the same task, every day, without deviation or delay — you weren’t just quirky. You were inefficient. And in a productivity-based world, inefficient meant disposable.

The moment timecards replaced sunrises, we were already behind.

School Becomes the Standard (Late 1800s)

Formal education exploded during the Victorian era. Classrooms were designed to prepare children for obedient adult lives: Sit still. Face forward. Memorise. Don’t speak unless asked.

Great if your brain thrives in neat rows and rote learning. Disastrous if your brain was built for questions, movement, wonder, or pattern-jumping.

Curiosity went from being a gift to being a disciplinary issue.

It wasn’t just kids getting left behind. It was entire cognitive styles — boxed out before they ever got a chance to show their value.

The Corporate Ladder (1950s–1970s)

After World War II, modern careers emerged. Business suits. Hierarchies. Quiet ambition.
You worked hard, moved up slowly, and if you coloured outside the lines — even slightly — it was career suicide.

ADHD adults (especially undiagnosed women) either flamed out, dropped out, or learned to mask so well they forgot what their own energy felt like.

We stopped asking what people could do — and started asking if they looked the part.

Reliability, calmness, sameness — all became more valuable than creativity, speed, or instinct.

ADHD Gets a Name — Sort Of (1980s–1990s)

This is when ADHD entered the mainstream — but narrowly. It was seen as a “boys’ problem.” Mostly hyperactivity, mostly school-based and mostly loud.

If you were dreamy, emotionally intense, inconsistent, avoidant, or burnt out — you didn’t get support. You got labelled disorganised. Moody. Lazy. Overwhelming.

They caught the loud ones. The rest of us just thought we were broken.

And so, a generation grew up internalising shame — not knowing their brains weren’t failing. Just misread.

👉 For more on how labels like “neurotypical” and “neuro-spicy” shape how we’re seen (and misunderstood), I’ve written about the language of difference here.

The Weird Hits Its Peak (2000s–Now)

This is the part we all feel:

• Productivity culture — where value is measured in how many tabs you keep open without collapsing.
• Social media — where life isn’t lived, it’s curated.
• Always-on communication — where if you don’t reply instantly, you’re unreliable.
• Work as identity — where if you’re not posting about your job, are you even working?

For ADHDers, this era has been punishing.

We were already trying to keep up with the pace. Now we’re expected to look good doing it, narrate it in real time, and never break down from the constant alerts.

We tried to play the game. The game kept changing. And we kept thinking it was our fault.

So What Does This Mean for Us?

It means the world didn’t just get hard. It got hostile to anyone who can’t function like a machine.

A brain wired for insight, energy, movement, or depth is often treated like a flaw.

It also means we’ve spent decades trying to function in systems that were never designed for humanity — let alone neurodivergence.

And it means that ADHD is not the disorder. The world is.

Why I’m Writing This

Because if you’ve ever felt like you were failing — you’re not.

If you’ve ever wondered why you can’t “just get organised” or “just push through,”
consider this: You’re trying to survive in a world that rewards speed over thought, image over truth, and compliance over care.

And if you’ve questioned all of it? Congratulations.

You’re not malfunctioning.
You’re noticing.
You’re still human.

And that’s not weird. That’s wise.