ADHD is not a superpower, but a condition often misunderstood — and the relentless push to frame it as one is doing more harm than good. On social media, the narrative is everywhere: scroll through TikTok after a diagnosis and you will find creators urging you to see your neurodivergence as a gift, a secret strength, a Marvel-style origin story. For a fleeting moment, the idea is seductive. But for many, the reality of living with ADHD is far less glossy, and the rhetoric of toxic positivity risks silencing the very people who need understanding most.
The Superpower Myth
The “superpower” framing has been amplified by a wave of social media content that promises a more empowering take on ADHD. Studies suggest, however, that this version of events is often misleading. One analysis found that 52% of ADHD-related videos on TikTok contained inaccurate information, contributing to a distorted public perception. The label may sound upbeat, but critics argue it minimises the genuine, daily struggles that come with the condition — struggles that don’t fit neatly into a 60-second clip.
Among the critiques is the concern that the “superpower” narrative creates a form of toxic positivity, insisting that individuals should focus exclusively on their strengths while ignoring how debilitating a world built for neurotypical people can be. It suggests that with enough effort, the difficulties of ADHD can be turned into assets. This mindset can also discourage people from seeking necessary accommodations or treatment, framing medication as a failure rather than a tool. Some have even described it as “entrepreneurial neurodivergence” — turning ADHD into a brand associated with hustle culture, while overlooking the need for consistent support.
Personal Experience: Beyond the Highlight Reel
For one woman, Ellie, who was diagnosed with combined ADHD at 23 in November 2021, the superpower promise was short-lived. “TikTok told me that my ADHD was a superpower,” she recalls. “And I believed it – but only for about five minutes.”
Ellie had spent more than 20 years not understanding her own brain. Doctors had previously attributed her struggles to anxiety and depression, prescribing SSRIs, beta blockers, and therapy — none of which addressed the root cause. The diagnosis was a relief: “It taught me that I wasn’t broken – my brain was just a little bit different.” Yet the condition brings real, persistent difficulties. She describes running perpetually late — her friends coined the term “Ellie time” — tripping over her own feet, leaving every task to the last minute, and struggling with mental health. “I vividly recall telling my mum at 15 that if a doctor were to look at my brain, the scan would light up in bright, colourful hues,” she says.
She acknowledges the strengths ADHD can bring: creativity, passion, hyperfixation on special interests, the ability to jump into action in a crisis. “But when I’m crying on my bedroom floor because my room’s a mess and I physically can’t tidy it up; I’ve forgotten to pay a bill, or my mind has been racing so much that sleep has been replaced by insomnia, these positives don’t always come to me.” Those low moments do not trend online, she points out. “All I can feel is frustration. It’s dark, and it can be lonely.”
The Weight of Stigma
Beyond the personal toll, societal stigma remains a formidable barrier for the estimated three million Britons living with ADHD. A 2024 study from pharmaceutical company Takeda found that 96% of people with ADHD said they were hesitant to disclose their diagnosis to their employer. Almost three-quarters attributed this to a fear of judgment, while around half worried it could be used against them. The research briefing notes that the Equality Act 2010 provides legal protection and a right to “reasonable adjustments,” but awareness and implementation in workplaces are often patchy.
Media portrayals have not helped. In 2023, the BBC sent a reporter to private ADHD clinics to see if he could obtain a diagnosis despite not having the condition. In the aftermath, charity ADHD UK polled 2,203 people living with the condition and found that 90% believed stigma had increased as a result of the programme, while 88% thought its representation was unfair. Beyond the superpower trope, negative stereotypes — lazy, unintelligent, unreliable — persist, creating a distorted public view.
The scale of the challenge in the UK is stark. While around 2.5 million people in England are estimated to have ADHD (including those undiagnosed), only a small fraction receive a formal diagnosis. A study of nine million GP records showed just 0.32% had a recorded ADHD diagnosis — roughly one in nine. As of December 2025, there were more than 562,000 open referrals for a possible ADHD diagnosis in England, with some NHS providers reporting wait times exceeding five years for adults. The average wait is around eight years, with some areas seeing waits of 10 to 15 years. New diagnoses and prescriptions are highest in the most deprived areas, highlighting socioeconomic inequalities. Meanwhile, the UK has faced significant shortages of ADHD medication, with Takeda anticipating intermittent disruption until at least April 2024.
The superpower narrative, Ellie argues, glosses over this bleak reality. “To suggest that it’s not a completely disabling condition that so many continue to misjudge is, for me, a complete falsehood.” She calls for an end to the “superhero” framing. “I wouldn’t change my diagnosis for the world; understanding who I am and how my brain works has forever changed my life. But ADHD doesn’t need a motivational spin or a cape; it just needs understanding. Society owes us more than that.”