On Being Asian and Having ADHD

The first time I had heard of Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, also known as ADHD, was when I was introduced to the Logan Touch.

I was in fourth grade walking to lunch with a couple of my friends from class. While we were chatting about whatever problems 9-year-olds face, I felt a fingertip jab the back of my arm and a kid from another class exclaimed, “You have the Logan touch!” He ran across the courtyard into the cafeteria, giggling triumphantly.

Confused and somewhat afraid, I turned to my friends with concern.

“What did he say?” I asked in disbelief.

“He said that you have the Logan touch,” one of them responded dryly, starting to pick up her pace again. “You know the Cheese Touch from ‘Diary of a Wimpy Kid’? It’s the same rules as that but Logan is the cheese. Anyone who touches him, even if it’s a total accident, is treated like Logan until you touch someone else to get rid of it.”

Logan was notoriously known as the most annoying kid at my elementary school. While he was undoubtedly intelligent and was even enrolled in the Gifted program, it could be said that “he didn’t apply himself.” He couldn’t sit still for his life, letting his arms sloppily flop around and he’d always try to talk to the kids around him in the middle of a lesson. We knew that he had ADHD, but we never were given a proper explanation as to what that meant. On top of the other issues he was dealing with, we were making his life even more difficult.

Up until my diagnosis in the eighth grade, I always thought of ADHD as something only chaotic white boys could have. The Logan Disorder. So, you could imagine my shock when the psychologist who did my testing sat me down at the beginning of my debrief and told me—an organized, generally quiet girl—that I had the same diagnosis as Logan. Of course, being fairly older and slightly more educated about ADHD as a concept, I could definitely empathize more with kids like him. Their restlessness was just a part of who they were. It is pretty miserable to be glued to your seat all day long and feeling like you’re going to implode if you don’t move. In all honesty, I felt the same way myself. I just could never imagine myself being able to act in the way those kids did. If any of my relatives saw me behaving in that way, they’d be calling the local odaisan to purge me of any curses that could have been placed upon my family and I.

I know I’m not the only person who feels like this. Why is ADHD known as the rowdy white boy disorder? Why do we never think of Asians or Pacific Islanders?

Asians and Pacific Islanders are often under researched in psychological studies and as a result have been severely underdiagnosed compared to other racial groups. According to a recent chart by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, ADHD is more than twice as likely to be diagnosed in boys rather than girls–and that’s without race in the equation. For every 11 white kids that are diagnosed with ADHD, only 3 Asian kids are diagnosed. Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders aren’t even included on the chart; only asterisks and dashes appear across their rows, indicating that for this group, there is no significant data being collected. Even when Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders are included in ADHD research, they are lumped together with Asians so for both parties there aren’t any separate sets of data, causing unnecessary confusion.

This is all thanks to good ol’ systemic racism served with a side of cultural bias. Asian Americans are commonly referred to as the “model minority,” the racial minority group in the United States that seemingly has it all, despite how they were treated throughout the nation’s history. They are often stereotyped in a seemingly positive light and are described as orderly, motivated, smart and obedient. It has been statistically proven that Asians tend to have higher levels of income and academic achievement compared to other groups in the U.S., but this success equally has a cost. This monolithic conception of an entire race is harmful because it fails to consider the tremendous amount of pressure being put on Asians to perform well, no matter what their background is. Asians who aren’t considered to be “exceptional” by society’s standards–people who get average to poor grades, aren’t a part of all of their schools honor societies and/or have career interests or hobbies that their parents or community don’t approve of–may feel like who they are at the core is inherently wrong. Self-esteem is hindered and confidence becomes dependent on purely external factors.

It further excludes the fact that most Southeast Asian groups are largely left behind in this so-called Asian American Dream. The U.S. Census revealed in 2019 that Burmese American households make a little over $40,000 in annual income while Indian American households bring in over $120,000.

Also, I cannot emphasize this enough, but there are barely any studies conducted on learning disability symptomatology among Pacific Islanders.

In an article by Liu & Alameda, the researchers point out that even though Native Hawaiians are significantly more likely to have a diagnosis compared to non-Hawaiians, there is still a large gap in mental illness research about them. These weren’t even official diagnoses; this statistic was a result of a survey sent out to Natives that only asked them diagnostic questions. Most school authorities, psychologists and psychiatrists fail to grasp the weight of context and permit unconscious bias seep into their decision making. A predominantly white workforce failing to question their own biases and stereotypes makes Asian kids silently suffer.

“Don’t bring shame onto the family” is a phrase that was gradually chiseled on the surface of my amygdala throughout my childhood. The traits of poise, tact, and modesty were some of the most important traits to have in my family. Gender didn’t make a difference in how this was upheld; boys and girls were equally expected to act in a respectful way. My grandmother was the primary enforcer of this concept. She taught my mom and her siblings that they shouldn’t eat or drink at the same time they were walking; nobody was allowed to go out with unironed clothes; public displays of affection were inconceivable as well as talking about politics, religion or money. This all boils down to one point: you cannot act out of line. Being disruptive, impulsive and ill-mannered were looked down upon the most, especially if you were in public.

A lot of other Asians can probably relate to this. I was raised in Hawai’i for most of my early childhood, swimming in a melting pot of Polynesian and Asian cultures who all upheld collectivist ideals and mores.

Collectivist cultures are characteristically known to emphasize the needs of the group–specifically the family–over the needs of the individual.

Elders are held to the highest level of respect and their word is the final say-so. When the family elders are happy, the individual can be happy. When the family elders are upset by something you do, something about you needs to change; or, if you did something beyond forgiveness, you may even have to leave the group entirely. This loyalty to the family is known as filial piety and causes the people within the group to repress their emotions and individual wishes. Confucianism additionally plays a foundational role in many East Asian cultures, which emphasize keeping social harmony, respecting elders and embracing education to the fullest extent.

There is a tendency for Asians to avoid seeking out mental healthcare services. A 2007 study conducted by the University of Maryland School of Public Health’s research team investigated the major stressors of Asian American students. One of the top reasons as to why Asians strayed away from mental health services was because discussing topics related to mental health was considered to be taboo, leading many people to dismiss or deny their symptoms. My mom can attest to this: in Hawai’i, it was considered highly taboo to go to a psychiatrist when she was growing up. “We were brought up to think that only crazy people went there,” she explained.

“That’s just it. If you go to a psychiatrist, you’re a crazy person. It’s something we just didn’t talk about. And it never came up in our family where someone said ‘I want to talk to someone.’ My mom would say that ‘Crazy people only see a psychiatrist.’”

It wasn’t until later on in her life that my mom would talk to a psychologist, which she attributes to my dad who was already seeing one. It took her a while to finally get her there, but to her relief her psychologist was also a local Japanese man who fully understood her cultural background. In another study titled “Cultural perspectives on attention deficit hyperactivity disorder: A comparison between Korea and the U.S.,” researcher SeokYoung Moon discovered that Korean children having a disability or mental disorder reflects negatively on parents and other authority figures, which in turn causes their parents to blame themselves for their child’s perceived “deficiency.” This belief further exemplifies how filial piety and Confucian ideals hinder people from seeking help even if they desperately need it.

After my family and I moved to the mainland when I was seven, it seemed like every other week my parents received comments on how “well-behaved” their children were. I remember how pleased my mom would look passing this information on to my little brother and I, giving us a little speech about how lucky her and my dad were and that we were so mature for our ages.

As I got older and made increasingly more decisions that jeopardized this high standing with my mom or other authority figures, I became hyper aware of my behaviors and attempted to limit the amount of offenses I could potentially make. A majority of my friends had neurodivergent traits as well (and in the future were coincidentally diagnosed with ADHD) so thankfully I had them to relate to, but with my other peers, I didn’t feel like I was taken seriously. Learning to mask behaviors that felt normal to me, like getting overly emotional around others or gushing over my new favorite topic of fixation, felt like my only key to success. I abused my medication and turned myself into a productivity machine, watched countless YouTube tutorials on how to “properly” conduct myself in social situations (whatever that means) and would stay quiet about my political beliefs and morals even when I felt strongly about something.

This method of trying to blend in worked for a while up until my sophomore year of college when I finally burnt out. I felt like I lost countless parts of myself by this time; I had no hobbies, my friendships and relationships felt faulty because I wasn’t showing up as my true self and when I looked in the mirror all I could see was a total, complete fraud.

I would compare myself to my other friends with ADHD who I perceived as more successful, hilarious and creative; they seemed to know how to make their diagnosis work for them rather than let their diagnosis control them. I felt like I couldn’t fit the stereotypical Asian definition of success or the cool, witty and girlboss ADHDer that those neurodivergent TikTok accounts love. Discounting all of my unique traits and accomplishments by contrasting myself with the people I love, the people I found community in, made me feel unworthy of their presence in my life. Furthermore, it minimized my loved one’s own struggles and insecurities when I put them on that pedestal.

Today I can finally say that I am starting to pick up the pieces of my identity that I thought I had lost and fit them together in a way that is empowering and uplifting. It’s taken lots of introspection, difficult but honest conversations with others and practicing radical self-compassion even on days where I feel like a formless blob. Letting go of generational shame is no easy feat and is a slow process. Dismantling racial stereotypes is even more difficult, especially when we are surrounded by people who still buy into them everyday. Collective healing is only possible when we take it upon ourselves to question what we’ve been conditioned into. It also means that we need to redefine a new normal for what ADHD looks like (so our first introduction to it isn’t something that resembles the Cheese Touch) and what it means to be Asian American. We can maintain our cultures and identities without the presence of shame within it. And for my neurodivergent Asians reading this who are still figuring it all out: take your time. Give yourself hugs and let yourself cry and allow yourself to feel everything you were holding in for so long wash through your body–immerse yourself in it. Talk to others who you feel comfortable with about your feelings when it’s appropriate. Teach yourself what your needs are and ask for accommodations when you feel ready; you aren’t any weaker for knowing what you want and need to thrive.

You are enough and always have been enough.