Why “Did You Take Your Meds Today?” Hurt Me More than Helped Me
Understanding ADHD medication, identity, and how to offer support with compassion
“Did you take your meds today?”
It was a simple question—neutral tone, honest curiosity. I believe it stemmed from kindness. My husband asked it one morning, probably because I was spinning out or talking a lot about a lot of topics, or unable to decide whether to make breakfast or cry.
But the second he said it, something in my body clenched. Like a shame alarm going off. My chest got tight. My brain sprinted into defense mode.
Because what he didn’t know - what I didn’t even know until that moment - is that this question has history.
Not just with me, but with the people I grew up around. The people who got asked that question when they were struggling. The people who were only asked it when they were “too much.”
I had to pause, breathe, and say:
“Hey. I know you didn’t mean it that way, but I need us to find a different way to ask that. Because this one? Feels like judgment. Like I’m broken unless the meds are doing their job.”
That conversation led me to this post. Because it turns out, a question as small as “Did you take your meds today?” can carry the weight of years of shame, misunderstanding, and masked expectations. Add in all the ideas, misunderstandings and expectations of ADHD meds and ADHDers on meds and we get… a lot to deal with.
Flashback — Growing Up Around Meds
I come from a big, blended, beautifully chaotic family—eight kids, multiple diagnoses, and enough noise to make a therapist break out the whiteboard.
Some of my siblings were diagnosed with ADHD early on. I wasn’t. Instead, I became the helper. The peacemaker. The middle child with the happy face and the big feelings folded quietly into corners.
But even without my own diagnosis, I still noticed how ADHD was treated. Especially when it came to my brother.
He got asked that question a lot.
“Did you take your meds today?”
And it was never just a casual check-in. It was a red flag waved mid-meltdown. A question that came out when things were going sideways—when someone was overwhelmed, or too loud, or too much.
It wasn’t about curiosity. It was about correction.
“You’re too much right now. You need to fix it.”
I don’t remember anyone saying he was bad, but I do remember how quiet the room would get when he was dysregulated.
I remember the tone—the shift from concern to frustration to there it is again.
And I remember how that one question became shorthand for:
If you’re unmedicated, you’re unacceptable.
Even though it wasn’t directed at me, I internalized it. I watched how the room responded to his symptoms, how his meds became the buffer that made him “easier.”
And over time, without anyone saying it out loud, I picked up the lesson:
When you or your brain are “too much,” love gets quieter.
So years later, when I finally got diagnosed and started meds myself, that old wiring kicked in fast. Because suddenly, it wasn’t just something I observed in others. It was something I felt.
And wow—did it stick.
The Question Behind the Question
“Did you take your meds today?”
At face value, it seems harmless. Helpful, even. A simple check-in.
But when you’ve grown up in a world where your struggles were labeled as problems to be medicated away—where your unmedicated self was met with tension, eye-rolls, or silence—that question hits different.
Because it doesn’t just ask about adherence. It implies a whole set of things you might not even realize you’re saying:
“You’re being difficult.”
“You’re hard to love like this.”
“If you’d just taken your meds, we wouldn’t be here.”
“Your brain is the problem, and the pill is the fix.”
It collapses your entire self down to a chemical variable.
It doesn’t ask what’s going on—it assumes it already knows.
And listen, I get it. Most people aren’t trying to be judgmental when they ask. Often, it’s coming from care, concern, or even confusion.
But intention doesn’t erase impact. And the impact of that question—especially when it’s asked during a moment of struggle—can feel like being told,
“We liked you better medicated.”
Even if that’s not what anyone meant.
What ADHD Meds Actually Do (And Don’t)
Here’s where we need to be clear:
ADHD meds—especially stimulants like Adderall, Vyvanse, and Ritalin—do not control behavior. They don’t “fix” you. They don’t implant better values, erase impulsivity forever, or turn you into some optimized robot version of yourself.
What they do is increase dopamine and norepinephrine, especially in the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain responsible for stuff like:
Working memory
Focus
Impulse control
Task initiation
That chemical shift can make things like regulation, task-switching, or remembering what you were just doing way more manageable.
But here’s the key:
“ADHD meds create the conditions for better decision-making — they don’t make the decisions for you.”
— David Giwerc, ADHD Coaching Pioneer
Meds can support your brain. They can open the door to better functioning.
But you still have to walk through it.
They don’t:
Change your personality
Replace your coping skills
Automatically fix burnout, overwhelm, or internalized shame
They’re a tool, not a full solution. And that’s where the gold standard of ADHD care comes in.
The Gold Standard: Meds, Skills, and Community
According to the American Academy of Pediatrics and the CDC, the most effective approach to ADHD isn’t just meds—it’s multimodal.
Here’s what that actually means:
1. Medication
Reduces core symptoms like distractibility or impulsivity
Acts quickly (short-acting, not cumulative)
Doesn’t “cure” ADHD—it helps you function
2. Therapy or Coaching
Builds practical tools for managing emotions, habits, and shame
Helps reframe self-talk (and stop blaming yourself for every hard day)
Coaching focuses on the now and next, not just the why
3. Education + Community Support
Helps partners, parents, coworkers understand the neurology, and the behavior.
Shifts the narrative from “Why can’t you just—” to “Oh… that makes sense”
Reduces shame and helps people feel seen instead of managed
And this matters so much.
Because without that education? People default to assumptions:
“You’re fine when medicated—so it must just be laziness when you’re not.”
That’s how we get stuck in shame cycles. That’s how we lose compassion—for ourselves and for each other.
When the whole system is informed—when meds are paired with tools, therapy, and understanding—we shift from blame to partnership.
From correction to connection.
What If We’d Known Then?
Sometimes I think about how different things could’ve been—
For my brother. For me. For all of us.
If someone had told us that medication was one part of the picture…
If someone had explained what ADHD really was—not just the symptoms, but the brain behind them…
If the adults in our world had been supported too—not just told to manage behavior, but taught how to understand it…
We might have spoken differently.
We might have adjusted our expectations.
We might have had more compassion and less control.
Maybe my brother wouldn’t have felt like he was only acceptable when medicated.
Maybe I wouldn’t have absorbed the idea that my worth was tied to my performance.
Maybe our family wouldn’t have carried so much confusion disguised as correction.
The Gold Standard isn’t just about “better outcomes.”
It’s about more humane ones.
It’s about education that shifts blame off the kid.
Support that reaches the whole system.
Language that says:
“You’re not broken—you just need different tools.”
And that could’ve changed everything.
How to Ask With Compassion Instead
So what do you say instead of “Did you take your meds today?”
The short answer: it depends.
The slightly longer (and more helpful) answer: ask first.
When I told my husband how that question landed for me, we found a new way to check in. But when I asked my sister? She said it didn’t bother her at all. My cousin and his mom? Same thing. For them, it’s just a question—not a trigger.
So the truth is:
The words themselves aren’t always the problem.
The meaning, the delivery, the history—that’s where it gets heavy.
And that’s why the real solution isn’t just swapping one phrase for another. It’s having the conversation.
Ask:
“How would you like me to check in if you’re having a hard time?”
“What’s helpful when you’re overwhelmed—and what’s not?”
“Do you want reminders about meds or supports? And if so, how should I bring it up?”
Because asking how someone wants to be supported is the most supportive thing you can do.
This is especially true in close relationships—partners, roommates, coworkers, even parents. One person might need a gentle nudge. Another might need zero commentary unless they bring it up first.
You don’t have to guess. You just have to ask.
And you’re allowed to say:
“That question feels loaded for me. Can we find a different way to check in?”
You Were Never Too Much
If I could go back in time and talk to my younger self—the one who quietly absorbed the message that unmedicated = unlovable—I’d say this:
You were never bad.
You were never too much.
You were just a kid with a brain that needed support, not shame.
And if I could go back and sit with my family—not to fix the past, but to explain what was really going on—I’d want them to understand this:
It wasn’t disobedience. It wasn’t defiance. It was dysregulation.
What looked like “not trying” was actually a brain struggling to function in a system that didn’t understand it.
I know they did the best they could with the tools they had.
But if we’d had different tools—if we’d known about multimodal treatment, about shame, about regulation and reframing—so much could have gone differently.
That’s the truth I come back to every time I feel myself slipping into old patterns. Every time I start to think I’m only worthy when I’m regulated. Every time that question—“Did you take your meds today?”—echoes in my head like a test I have to pass to be okay.
Here’s what I know now:
ADHD meds can be life-changing. But they don’t define your worth.
You are not more lovable when medicated.
You are not less lovable when you’re struggling.
You are not a machine that needs to be optimized to deserve care.
You are whole. You are human. And you deserve support that honors all of you—not just the version that’s easier to manage.
If this hit home for you—share it with someone who might need to hear it.
Whether it's a partner, a parent, or your past self… sometimes a conversation starts with a story.
