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A Love Letter from the Other Side of the Chaos

At home with ADHD
A LOVE LETTER FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CHAOS

By: Lannette Guerra | June 3, 2025

It’s been a minute since I’ve written you a note, but trust me—you’ve been on my mind. I see you, even from afar. I see the exhausted sparkle in your eyes, the superhuman juggling act, the snack crumbs in your purse, and the mental to-do list that stretches longer than a CVS receipt. You’re in the thick of it—the glorious, sticky, loud, soul-testing years of early motherhood.

And oh, how I remember them.

I’m a few chapters ahead in the story. The diapers are gone. The playdates are now group texts about rideshares and science projects. But when I see moms like you, still navigating the early storm, I want to gently place my hands on your shoulders and whisper: “You’ve got this”.

The Plot Twist: ADHD Enters the Chat

Now, let’s talk about something unexpected—something that might’ve dropped into your life like a toddler on a sugar high: a late ADHD diagnosis.

Maybe you’re wondering why your brain feels like it’s running 37 tabs and playing music you don’t remember hitting “play” on. Maybe you’re tired of misplacing the car keys and your train of thought. Maybe, just maybe, you’ve realized this isn’t just motherhood brain. It’s something deeper.

And you, dear heart, might be entering what I lovingly call: The Untangle Process.

Welcome to the Soulwork (Spoiler: It’s a Bit Messy)

The untangle process isn’t in any diagnostic manual, but every late-diagnosed woman I know goes through it. It’s a deeply personal, soul-shifting journey—equal parts grief, revelation, and rebirth.

Let me walk you through it.

The Stages of Untangling:

Grief — for the little girl who didn’t get the support she needed. You may cry for her. That’s okay.
Body Weirdness — headaches, fatigue, or immune crashes as your nervous system finally exhales.
Conflict Flashbacks — “Wait… was that me or was that the ADHD?”
Research Mania — cue late-night rabbit holes and a new addiction to podcasts with titles like “Your Brain Isn’t Broken.”
Second Grief Wave — because wow, this is a lot.
Surrender — joining communities, changing careers, quitting PTA groups that drain your soul.
Healing Tools — exercise, breathwork, meditation… tools that actually help calm the brain without caffeine or sheer willpower.
Doing the Things — without panic, procrastination, or drama.
Self-Pride — “Look at me! I did a thing and remembered the thing!”
Advocacy — protecting little neurodivergent hearts and minds everywhere.
Kindred Recognition — spotting your tribe instantly in a crowd.
Found Family — forming bonds with creative, loving, like-minded souls who just get it.

Sound familiar? Or maybe totally foreign? Either way, it's real. It’s valid. And it’s survivable. (Even with kids yelling at you from the bathroom.)

You Are Not Broken. You Are Becoming.

So here’s the real heart of it: to be at home with your ADHD doesn’t mean you’ve “fixed” it. It means you’ve accepted it. It means the diagnosis no longer stings—it simply is. You begin to see your brain as a wonderland of creativity, insight, and energy. It’s not a disorder; it’s a different operating system, you’re Mac OS, while the others may be Windows.

You’ll still be you, but lighter. More loving. A touch more organized. And way more forgiving with yourself.

And eventually, you might not even use the letters A-D-H-D anymore. They’ll just be background music in your life story. Because the bigger story is about your strength, your growth, and your wildly compassionate heart.

A Note from the Other Side

Seven years into my own diagnosis, I can say this: the fog lifts. The guilt lessens. The magic returns. I’ve learned to stop apologizing for how my brain works. I’ve learned that my sensitivity, creativity, and endless curiosity are gifts, not glitches.

And most importantly, I’ve learned that after every storm—yes, even the mental health hurricanes—comes a rainbow. You just have to hold on long enough to see it.

So, next time the house is a mess, your thoughts are racing, and the cereal is in the fridge, I want you to breathe. Then pull this letter out, and remember:

You are not alone. You are not failing. You are a neurodivergent warrior raising tiny humans. That’s superhero stuff.

You’re doing better than you think.
And soon, my love, you’ll be at home with your ADHD, too.

With admiration, humor, and solidarity,
A Fellow Mama from the Other Side of the Storm

Lannette Guerra has a decade of experience working for large and small high-end residential firms, throughout Northern California. She holds a Bachelor of Architecture, a Bachelor of Arts, and is a LEED accredited professional. Before moving to California, she spent 4 years as an Exhibit Designer in Kansas City, MO.

She resides and virtually works for her current employer, from her home in San Rafael, CA. When she is not hyperfocused on work she enjoys hikes in the Marin headlands and couch cuddles with her family and furry friend. She is currently staying away from engaging in any new hobbies except for being a mentor & advocate of mental and physical well-being.

She is also a strong believer that the only way to build yourself to personal fulfillment and reach your true potential is to quiet the mind, eliminate distraction, and listen to what your heart has been telling you all along. Only then will you be able to see your authentic self reflected within your home, your soul, and in the workplace.