Embracing the Challenges of ADHD Students: A Journey Toward Resilience
September 7, 2025 | Prompted and Edited by Isabel Luna | 8 min. readI've had the privilege of mentoring design students for 4 years now, students transitioning from diverse industries—ranging from design and engineering to healthcare and the arts, from every corner of the world. These individuals are often at pivotal stages in their lives: young professionals seeking a creative pivot, mid-career parents juggling family responsibilities, and a few retirees chasing long-held passions.
I've encountered incredibly productive and energized learners who, despite the intense workload and tight deadlines of our intensive courses, find ways to thrive. They push through late nights of wireframing and user research, emerging with innovative prototypes that surprise even me. But not every journey is straightforward. The true heart of this article though lies in my experiences with students diagnosed with ADHD—a group whose unique challenges have profoundly shaped my approach to mentoring and reminded me of the power of patience in design education.
Understanding ADHD Challenges
When I first started working with these students, it was eye-opening to witness how ADHD manifests in the high-stakes environment of product design. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder affects millions of university students and adults worldwide, often leading to significant struggles with focus, organization, and executive functioning. For ADHD university students, the transition to structured yet creative coursework can feel overwhelming: lectures and readings blur into a haze of distractions, deadlines slip through the cracks amid hyperfocus on unrelated tasks, and the constant need to switch between ideation, research, and iteration drains mental energy faster than for neurotypical peers.
These aren't just "laziness" or "disorganization," as stereotypes might suggest; they're rooted in neurological differences that make sustaining attention feel like swimming upstream.
Adults with ADHD face compounded pressures—balancing full-time jobs, family obligations, or even undiagnosed symptoms from years past. Simple tasks like maintaining a consistent study schedule or prioritizing feedback on a design brief can trigger frustration, leading to procrastination or abandonment of projects altogether. These aren't just "laziness" or "disorganization," as stereotypes might suggest; they're rooted in neurological differences that make sustaining attention feel like swimming upstream. In my mentoring role, I've seen how these challenges play out in real time, turning what should be an exciting creative process into a battle for consistency and self-confidence.
Diving deeper into my experiences, mentoring students with ADHD has been a masterclass in flexibility and emotional intelligence. One of the most common hurdles has been their struggle to keep up with our scheduled mentoring sessions. For many of my ADHD students, showing up consistently was a Herculean effort. Distractions from daily life—be it a sudden influx of emails, an impulsive dive into a new hobby, or simply the mental fog of executive dysfunction—often led to no-shows or last-minute cancellations. It wasn't uncommon for a student to miss sessions in a row, then return apologetic and overwhelmed, explaining how time slipped away despite their best intentions. In these moments, I'd gently remind them that design, like life, is iterative; we could always pivot back.
Her submissions were creative but fragmented, reflecting the ADHD tendency toward detail-oriented rabbit holes at the expense of the big picture.
Homework and assignments presented another layer of difficulty, where fallback patterns emerged vividly. These courses demand hands-on deliverables—sketches, mood boards, and full-fledged wireframes—submitted on tight timelines to simulate real-world agency pressures. My ADHD students often started strong, fueled by initial hyperfocus that produced bursts of brilliant ideas. But as the due date loomed, the sustaining effort faltered. They'd fallback on incomplete submissions, sometimes turning in rough drafts riddled with half-baked concepts, or worse, nothing at all. One student would hyperfocus on perfecting a single colour palette for hours, only to neglect the overall user flow. Her submissions were creative but fragmented, reflecting the ADHD tendency toward detail-oriented rabbit holes at the expense of the big picture. To help, I'd break assignments into micro-tasks during sessions: "Today, just outline three user personas—no more, no less." Yet, even this scaffolding sometimes wasn't enough, leading to cycles of guilt and demotivation.
The frustration of ADHD-fueled indecision had turned a simple app redesign into an insurmountable wall, amplifying feelings of inadequacy from a lifetime of masking symptoms.
Balancing Emotional Support and Independence
There were times when the emotional toll became too heavy, and I found myself stepping in to complete parts of their work. The frustration of ADHD-fueled indecision had turned a simple app redesign into an insurmountable wall, amplifying feelings of inadequacy from a lifetime of masking symptoms. In that moment, the best help I could offer was to roll up my sleeves and co-create: I'd sketch a basic framework while they watched, explaining each step to rebuild their confidence. It was a band-aid for the immediate crisis, providing relief and a tangible deliverable to submit. But reflecting later, I realized this wasn't sustainable or empowering in the long run. Hand-holding risked fostering dependency rather than independence, undermining the very skills we were building. It taught me that while empathy demands action in the heat of the moment, true mentorship involves gradually weaning students toward self-reliance—perhaps by co-designing accountability tools like shared digital checklists or timed Pomodoro sessions tailored to their needs.
These individuals demand more than the standard toolkit of feedback and resources; they require profound understanding, unwavering patience, and heightened attention to navigate their unique hurdles.
Harnessing Creative Pivots
Perhaps the most transformative aspect of these journeys was witnessing how ADHD students could upend the entire product idea midway through a project. This isn't always a flaw; in fact, it's often a strength. Their brains, wired for novelty and divergent thinking, excel at spotting overlooked opportunities or pivoting to more innovative solutions. I mentored a student from the UK, whose initial project—a straightforward productivity tracking app for fellow students—evolved dramatically after a session where we unpacked her hyperfocus on accessibility. Midway through, she scrapped the core concept and redesigned it as an ADHD-friendly mental health companion app, incorporating features like gamified reminders and emotion-tracking journals. This shift, born from her lived experience, resulted in a portfolio piece that stood out for its authenticity and user-centered depth. Of course, these mid-course changes came with chaos: extended timelines, scrapped assets, and the need for emergency extensions. But they also highlighted ADHD's creative upside—unconventional ideas that challenge the status quo and enrich the design process for everyone involved.
ADHD students thrive when we show up consistently, even on off days. Sometimes, that means dedicating an entire session not to wireframes or critiques, but to validating their feelings—discussing burnout, celebrating small wins, or simply listening without judgment.
My time with these remarkable students has solidified a core belief: mentors lacking empathy and patience shouldn't be paired with ADHD learners. These individuals demand more than the standard toolkit of feedback and resources; they require profound understanding, unwavering patience, and heightened attention to navigate their unique hurdles. Average students might breeze through with occasional check-ins, but ADHD students thrive when we show up consistently, even on off days. Sometimes, that means dedicating an entire session not to wireframes or critiques, but to validating their feelings—discussing burnout, celebrating small wins, or simply listening without judgment. In product design, where empathy is the foundation of great work, extending that same compassion to our mentees isn't just helpful; it's essential. By doing so, we not only help them complete the course but empower them to redesign their careers—and perhaps even the world—one adaptive iteration at a time.
