The Real Reason I Became an Art Therapist: A story of ADHD, learning differences, and finding my own path

Come hang out inside an ADHD brain for a minute. It’s quite choppy, but we’ll get somewhere. Welcome to the real story of why I became an art therapist.

Before we begin, lower your expectations. This isn’t inspiring or exciting, but maybe at least one person will relate.

My Early 20s

When I was in undergrad, I was studying art education to become an art teacher, and for the most part, I genuinely enjoyed my classes. I liked being in creative spaces, working with materials, and feeling like I was where I was supposed to be.

What I didn’t enjoy was my biggest enemy… the Praxis.

A standardized test of math, reading, and writing that decided whether or not I could move forward in the program.

Whenever these tests came up, I was usually the last person to take them. From the outside, it probably looked like I wasn’t making an effort. On the inside, it was anxiety, the kind that only responds once the deadline is breathing down your neck.

Meanwhile, I’d overhear classmates casually say things like:

“It was so easy.”

“I already passed.”

And every time someone said easy, my stomach dropped, because my brain immediately translated that to:

Shit… I’m going to fail.

Fast forward to TEST DAY

Join my inner dialogue of short-term positivity and random wandering thoughts:

You got this.

Don’t overthink.

Just do your best.

Be casual.

I sit down in front of the computer.

Immediately, words. So many words.

None of them making sense.

Okay. Restart.

Breathe.

Why does it already feel like I’ve been here for hours?

One leg starts bouncing, then the other joins in.

I’m grinding my teeth, trying to look like a calm, emotionally regulated adult.

Focus.

Wait… I’m only on question four?

Why am I only on question four?

What time is it?

Why do I suddenly need to go to the bathroom?

This room sucks.

I have no idea how I made it to the end, but clicking the submit button brought a rush of relief, mixed with the shame that I probably failed.

A few days later, the results come in.

My inner critic confirms what I feared:

I didn’t pass.

Join my inner dialogue again as it coaches me that everything will be okay:

It’s fine, though.

Totally fine.

I’ll get a tutor.

Try again.

No big deal.

TUTOR SESSION

So I meet with a tutor at the library. She’s kind, patient, and genuinely trying to help.

Awesome, this is going to be good.

We start… and unfortunately, my brain does not show up.

I’m distracted by everything: the lights, people walking by, pages turning.

And underneath all of it sits a familiar thought:

Maybe I’m just… dumb?

That sinking feeling that I’m not doing it right, that this is all too hard.

But I keep trying.

SECOND ROUND of Test Day

Same test.

Different fear.

Because now my brain has added a rule, and yes, this is dramatic because anxiety is a very convincing storyteller:

If I have a tutor and still fail, then that must mean I’m actually stupid, and no one can help me.

Test done.

Results back.

I pass the writing section.

I don’t pass reading or math.

Even though I passed something, it’s hard to notice the positive, because in my mind, I still failed the curriculum:

The semester keeps going.

My classmates keep moving.

And I feel stuck, like I’m twenty steps behind.

So of course, my brain jumps straight to a comical but very real future:

I’m 40 years old, still living on campus, known as that student, the one who can’t pass the Praxis, the one the staff knows by name and cheers on with, “Next semester is the one.”

But the real fear underneath this:

I’m not going to make it.

School isn’t meant for me.

I can’t do it the way they want me to.

What am I supposed to do with my life?

After some breathing room (a very nice way of saying this), and leaning hard on my support system, someone reminds me of something I’ve mentioned before.

Art therapy.

A thought bubble that’s always been there, floating quietly in the background.

So I look it up.

Immediate panic.

Grad school???

I can’t pass these standardized tests and now I’m supposed to go to grad school??

That’s really funny.

Wait… I just remembered my close friend is going to school for art therapy.

I shift gears and ask her the most important question of my academic career:

“Do you have to take a test to get into grad school?”

She says, “No.”

And just like that, everything changes.

Not excitement.

Relief.

I’m going to be an art therapist.

Fast Forward to Now

So yes, I semi-impulsively changed my entire career path because of a standardized test I couldn’t pass, and because I learned I didn’t need one to enter the program.

Not very exciting, I know.

But for people living with ADHD or learning differences, this is often what life looks like behind the scenes, working so hard to fit into a system just to feel good enough, worthy, and seen, no matter how hard it was to get there.

Do I regret it?

Not at all.

I had to go through this to learn what actually works for me. And a little side note, I did have to take an exam after receiving my Master’s degree for my licensure, and I passed on my first try (This can be a sequel blog on how that went...).

And even though the path felt accidental, becoming an art therapist helped me understand exactly what I was meant to do, helping others with beautifully chaotic ADHD brains explore themselves and carve out their own path that works for them.

So if you’re reading this and feeling behind, stuck, or convinced you’re doing life “wrong,”

you’re not.

It’s okay not to know how to get there, or even how long it will take.

It’s a practice, not a perfect.