ADHD and Superpowers

“ADHD is a superpower.” But I don’t feel very super.

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It was Neurodiversity Celebration Week a few weeks ago, and I kept hearing professionals describe ADHD as a “superpower”.

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I don’t disagree that ADHD can come with benefits. I’m a hugely driven person, and I don’t think I’d be as passionate as I am today without it. I mean, would I have quit my job to learn as much as I could about web accessibility? Probably not. And yes, I can spin plates like hell, and I’ll get things done super fast when I’m interested, with laser-sharp focus.

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But here’s the thing. I am not a superhero.

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This blog post isn’t me trying to put myself or anyone else with ADHD down. However, I can’t ignore the detriment caused to people who feel the same way I do when it comes to the word “superpower”. 

If you happily identify with this term and it brings you joy and strength, then this post isn’t for you. I’m not here to tear people down.

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When I was diagnosed with ADHD at the age of 22, I finally understood why I had struggled my whole life. I was that girl who revised for her GCSEs 10 hours a day and copied out entire CGP textbooks (drawings included) just to try and make something stick. 

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The woman who took three days to pick an essay question at uni, started writing the introduction, decided it didn’t “feel right”, and then spent the next few days choosing another one. And eventually, the woman who started a corporate job and felt like she was tuned into the wrong radio channel.

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A superpower is usually described as a capability that goes beyond human nature. Something impossible. Fantastical. And most importantly, something you can learn to harness and control.

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If Spider-Man Had ADHD

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Spider-Man had trouble with his webs at first, sure. But it didn’t take him long to figure things out and go on to defeat the Green Goblin.

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But let’s imagine his powers were ADHD instead.

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Spider-Man is finally diagnosed and discovers his “superpowers”. His webs have laser-sharp focus. He notices everything. His “Spidey senses” are tingling. He’s about to go and defeat the Green Goblin.

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But then, all of a sudden, Aunt May has a problem with the internet.

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He knows he needs to defeat the Green Goblin. He knows he can do it. In fact, it would be easy. But Aunt May has tried everything, and Spider-Man knows he can fix it in less than 10 minutes.

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He starts the task.

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While trying to fix the WiFi, he notices there might be an issue with the cable behind the router. He thinks, “Oh, I know exactly where a spare cable is. It’s finally time to use it.”

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He goes to find it. It’s not there.

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While searching, he comes across his old middle school yearbook. He realises he’d completely forgotten about his favourite childhood friend and starts wondering how they’re doing now.

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Twenty minutes later, he’s found out that Justin from middle school has been arrested twice, has a tattoo of an elephant on his chest, and now lives in Oklahoma.

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Aunt May reminds him about the cable.

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He jumps back into action and checks the next place he thinks it might be.

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After 1 hour and 25 minutes, the cable is finally found. Aunt May can now watch the next episode of The Real Housewives of Queens.

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Spider-Man pauses.

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“Oh crap. The Green Goblin.”

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Unfortunately, it’s too late. The attack has already begun.

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If ADHD were truly a superpower, Spider-Man would have been able to control his focus. He would have found the cable without getting distracted. He would have remembered exactly where it was.

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Maybe he would have been able to generate dopamine on demand, instead of running around the house like a headless chicken for nearly two hours.

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I am proud to be neurodivergent. I’m an autistic ADHDer. And I don’t think I’d want to be any other way. I’m driven, sensitive, and resilient.

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But that doesn’t come without effort. I have to make a conscious decision every single day just to function.

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During periods of hyperfocus, I can get a huge amount done. But by the end of it, I realise I haven’t drunk any water, I’ve got a splitting headache, and I feel completely dysregulated.

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It’s taken years of coaching and practice just to recognise when I’m actively seeking dopamine. To tell myself to pause.

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Because when I’m sat on the floor, surrounded by piles of old school reports, childhood teddies, a photo album, and a random printer box from 10 years ago, all because I decided to “quickly” clean my room…

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I don’t feel very super.

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I’m not trying to put anyone down. If the idea of ADHD as a superpower genuinely helps you, I understand why. 

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But this piece is for people like me.

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People who feel like the term can downplay their struggles, and imply a level of control that simply doesn’t exist.

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