3 Things I Didn’t Know About Loving Someone with ADHD & Dyslexia
ADHD and dyslexia don’t mean someone isn’t trying—they often mean they’re trying twice as hard just to stay afloat. But without awareness, it’s easy to mistake coping mechanisms for carelessness
— Calla Hart
The Weight of Loving Deeply
When we first met, I thought I knew what love required: patience, communication, honesty. But nothing prepared me for the complexity of being in a relationship where our brains processed the world so differently. Loving someone with ADHD and dyslexia was humbling. It taught me things I didn’t expect—and revealed truths I didn’t yet have language for.
Here are three of the biggest lessons I learned:
1. It wasn’t about effort—it was about wiring.
There were times I felt ignored or dismissed—like the things I said didn’t land or just floated past him. Early on, I assumed it was about effort or focus. What I’ve since learned is that executive function challenges (like working memory, task switching, or emotional regulation) are real. They’re neurological, not behavioral. And when I personalized those moments, it created distance neither of us wanted.
ADHD and dyslexia don’t mean someone isn’t trying—they often mean they’re trying twice as hard just to stay afloat. But without awareness, it’s easy to mistake coping mechanisms for carelessness. That misunderstanding eroded more than I realized.
2. Masking is real—and it’s exhausting.
What I saw in the beginning was beautiful: attentiveness, deep listening, charm, focus. But over time, I noticed inconsistencies. Promises made, but not followed through. Conversations forgotten. Emotional responses that didn’t quite match the moment. I began to wonder: was it real?
The answer? Yes. But it was also masking. Many neurodivergent people learn to mirror expectations in social and romantic settings—not to deceive, but to feel safe. To belong. To connect. The early attentiveness wasn’t fake. It just wasn’t always sustainable.
3. Love doesn’t fix communication gaps—tools do.
I thought love would carry us through. But love, while essential, didn’t give us a shared language. It didn’t teach us how to de-escalate misunderstandings or how to navigate overstimulation. That took tools, therapy, trial and error, and a willingness to keep showing up even when it felt impossible.
We had to learn to translate—not just words, but intentions. To slow down. To name what wasn’t working. And to stop expecting the other person to read our mind.
I share these not as solutions, but as signposts—if you’re walking a similar path, you’re not imagining it, and you’re not alone.
