When Treatment Feels Like Judgment: Medication Stigma and ADHD Awareness

This ADHD Awareness Month, I’m sharing my experience around ADHD medication, not for sympathy, but for awareness. We can, and must, do better. 

I work in the ADHD space every day – coaching, educating, and advocating – and it still happened to me.

This morning, I had an experience that deeply affected me and reminded me just how much work we still have to do when it comes to societal ADHD awareness and compassion.

After moving across the country, I had to establish care with a new provider to continue my ADHD treatment. I’ve taken Vyvanse for years, responsibly and consistently, and I’ve never once been asked to take a urine drug test for it. But the new system/insurance required one before prescribing.

No big deal, I thought. 

Until it became one.

The week before the test, I’d had a five-day migraine that triggered the kind of panic attacks that leave you nearly non-functional. For the first time in years, I took a small, as-needed dose of a benzodiazepine that had been prescribed by my previous practitioner. It wasn’t even on my radar when I listed my medications for the new provider. It was just something that had been tucked away in my cabinet that I’ve used only when absolutely necessary. 

I have no history of substance abuse.

When the new office called to say the medication had shown up in my drug test, my heart dropped. I went into over-explaining mode, as many ADHDers do. I’m such a goody two-shoes that I hadn’t even realized something like this would register; I’ve never had to do a drug screen before!

I sent a long message to the provider, included a photo of the prescription bottle, and even offered to redo the test. I wanted to be seen as honest and responsible, not someone to be distrusted.

The follow-up call broke me.

The medical assistant’s tone was cold and judgmental as she responded to my over-explaining and concerns:

“Well, you’re on a controlled substance (Vyvanse), and you didn’t tell us about the [benzo] prescription. You broke your contract when you didn’t tell us about it. Now it’s up to the provider if she’ll continue prescribing or not.”

She softened her tone once she heard my voice quivering, but the damage was done.

I got off the call and sobbed. 

Not because I’d done something wrong, but because I felt shamed for existing within a system that too often treats ADHDers as suspects – liars or drug seekers – instead of patients.

I understand that this new provider’s office doesn’t know me yet. They haven’t seen the relationships I’ve built with previous providers, or the care I take in following every medical guideline. They haven’t earned my trust, and I haven’t had the chance to earn theirs.

But this is exactly how trust gets lost before it can ever begin.

One cold conversation.

One assumption.

One moment where care becomes compliance.

It's what makes me want to walk away, to find someone new, or to avoid going back altogether.

Because for those of us with ADHD, who already carry the weight of stigma, even one experience like this can reinforce a lifelong fear: that we’ll never be fully believed or understood.

No one should be made to feel like a criminal for managing their health responsibly.

No one should be shamed for taking prescribed medication.

No one should have to over-explain, defend, or prove their worthiness to be treated with respect.

ADHD is already misunderstood enough. The stigma around medication, even within medical offices, only deepens that pain and isolates the people who need care the most.

If you work in healthcare, please remember: your words matter. 

The tone of a five-minute phone call can reinforce stigma or build trust. For patients like me, it can make all the difference between feeling safe and feeling small.

This is why I do the work I do, and why we keep fighting the good fight toward understanding and intentionality in every office, every system, every conversation.