Missing My Crankshaft: Living 31 Years Without Knowing Why I Couldn't Idle Right

I used to think I was just “too much.” Too loud. Too forgetful. Too impulsive. Too distracted.
But now I know: I was just missing my crankshaft.

At 31, I was diagnosed with ADHD — and everything about my life finally made mechanical sense. For a former mechanic turned software engineer, the metaphor hit home: a crankshaft is what turns linear motion into rotation — it’s the part that keeps the engine going. Without it, the parts still exist… they just can’t move in harmony.

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🛠️ Before the Diagnosis: Driving Without the Manual

I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t broken. But I was stalling out.
Jobs that didn’t fit. Projects half-finished. Relationships strained.
All my life, I had been fighting an invisible current. Every time I’d make momentum, I’d get yanked sideways. I blamed myself. So did others.

I didn’t know that executive dysfunction was real.
That dopamine wasn’t just a buzzword.
That my hyperfocus wasn’t a superpower I could summon on demand, it was a byproduct of a brain wired for sprinting, not pacing.

I kept pushing, but I was misfiring. And I didn’t know why.

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⚙️ The Diagnosis: A Mechanic Looks Under the Hood

I was working through Scrimba’s coding bootcamp, which included 12 projects to help me become a frontend developer. Near the end of the program, I had 3 React projects left to finish when I realized something about myself: I can only focus under perfect conditions. If the A/C isn't set to exactly 69 degrees, the instructor's tone isn't encouraging, or the curriculum doesn't seem interesting, I get easily distracted.

The day I received the diagnosis, I felt a mix of grief and relief.
Grief for the years I thought I was just “undisciplined.”
Relief that there was a reason I was built the way I was.

For the first time, I allowed myself to stop fixing the wrong problems.
I wasn’t broken. I just needed a different kind of maintenance schedule.

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🚀 After the Diagnosis: A New Kind of Propulsion

With understanding came compassion — not just for myself, but for younger me.
The kid who couldn’t sit still.
The teen who always talked back.
The adult who never stayed long in one place.

Now I build systems around the way my brain actually works:

• I don’t chase 9-to-5 productivity cycles. I optimize for flow states.

• I give myself visual boards, time blocks, and audible reminders.

• I tell friends and collaborators: I’m not flakey, I’m divergent. Check in with me.

And I advocate — for myself and others like me.

Because neurodivergent doesn’t mean “deficient.”
It means “differently geared.” And once you learn your engine, you learn how to drive.

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💬 To Anyone Else Missing Their Crankshaft

You’re not late. You’re not lazy. You’re not lost.

You just didn’t have the manual. But guess what? You get to write the new one.

Whether you’re 21 or 41, if something inside you always felt off-beat, maybe it’s time to look under the hood. Maybe you're not broken... just built for a different kind of journey.

And trust me — once you install that crankshaft, that propulsion hits different.