The Impossible Benchmark: Who Does Not Have ADHD?

With the growing number of individuals diagnosed with ADHD, and even more who have some degree of attentional or executive functioning difficulty, an important question emerges: Who does not have ADHD? When attentional difficulties are pervasive rather than exceptional, what is neurotypical, anyway?

It’s possible that what we currently define as an individual pathology may reflect a broader neuropsychological shift. Sustained attention, working memory, and cognitive organization are increasingly difficult to maintain, not solely because of individual vulnerability, but because the modern environment itself continuously competes for mental resources.

Human attention is under constant assault by digital stimuli. Notifications, emails, texts, and workplace messaging systems intrude relentlessly into cognitive space. At the same time, individuals often must manage the psychological burden of being perceived, evaluated, liked, or rejected in digital arenas. These pressures generate an ongoing stream of internally and externally generated distraction, further diminishing the capacity for present-mindedness.

In addition, the widespread availability of external guidance for nearly every task (think of GPS directions and step-by-step YouTube tutorials) has altered how we develop internal sequencing and problem-solving skills. When individuals rely heavily on external cognitive scaffolding, their ability to construct and sustain logical chains of thought may weaken. This phenomenon can resemble a core symptom of ADHD: difficulty organizing and sustaining goal-directed thinking.

Today’s sensory environment compounds this problem. Visual and auditory stimuli are engineered to trigger primitive attentional systems that evolved to detect threats and opportunities. What once helped humans survive now renders them exquisitely vulnerable to technological capture. Even when individuals perceive themselves to be focused, their attention is frequently pulled away by stimuli that are bright, novel, emotionally charged, or socially relevant.

Executive functioning, which includes planning, sequencing, prioritizing, and anticipating consequences, depends on uninterrupted cognitive space. It requires the ability to hold multiple pieces of information in mind while resisting interference.

Yet modern life rarely provides such conditions. People are asked to manage numerous streams of information simultaneously, often under time pressure, with minimal opportunity for reflection or processing. As information accumulates, many individuals experience “analysis paralysis,” becoming unable to initiate action because there are simply too many variables to consider.

The Counterfactual Human

These conditions invite a deeper and essential question: What would a “counterfactual” human look like—that is, the person whose attention remains stable in this environment?

This individual would, in theory, be capable of putting their phone away while working, experiencing no emotional pull when notifications arrive. They would be able to inhibit curiosity without strain, return to tasks without friction, and preserve internal representations of goals over time. Their inner dialogue would be deliberate and structured, oriented toward sequencing and prioritization rather than reactivity.

Such a person would be able to plan methodically before acting, tolerate delay, filter irrelevant stimuli, and maintain emotional neutrality in the face of interruption. Because they would rarely miss details or lose track of intentions, they might experience less self-criticism, less shame, and less frustration with their own performance. Their attentional system would reliably identify what matters and exclude what does not.

ADHD is suspected when symptoms impair functioning, and can be diagnosed even when those symptoms occur intermittently. No matter how frequent, lapses in attention can disrupt learning, decision-making, or emotional regulation. When such lapses are environmentally driven, the distinction between pathology and adaptation becomes blurred.

This leads to a reframing of ADHD not solely as a disorder of the individual brain, but as a mismatch between evolved cognitive architecture and an attention-grabbing environment in hyperdrive. The baseline of normality has shifted due to technological and cultural forces.

Is There Anyone Not Affected?

It is increasingly difficult to identify a person whose attentional faculties and executive functions remain untouched by information overload, digital interruption, social hypervigilance, and constant cognitive outsourcing. That counterfactual human may be just a theoretical construct, based on assumptions that no longer reflect contemporary life.

This becomes especially important in the context of how we view children, who are increasingly observed through the narrow lens of diagnostic frameworks. Implicit in any diagnosis is a comparison group: a child who does not display these attentional “pathologies,” and who is presumed to represent normative functioning.

Does a Counterfactual Child Even Exist?

Parents, clinicians, and educators must therefore ask who this counterfactual child is. What environment shaped them? What demands are placed upon them? And does such a child meaningfully exist within the same technological, social, and cognitive conditions as those being evaluated?

Without this inquiry, there is a risk of over-pathologizing children whose nervous systems may be responding predictably to an environment that is itself dysregulating. Thoughtful engagement with the counterfactual helps preserve a more compassionate and developmentally informed view of children, one that recognizes vulnerability not as a defect but as a context-sensitive adaptation.

If this is true, then the rising prevalence of ADHD diagnoses may reflect not only individual neurobiological vulnerability, but also a civilization that has surpassed the limits of the neurological-based attentional systems of the human brain.

Don’t Hold Children to a Fictional Standard

Thus, as a clinician, I ask that we reconsider the way we use and internalize these diagnostic categories. Too often, this imagined counterfactual human—someone untouched by distraction, effortlessly regulated, and optimally organized—can quietly shape how parents and children come to view themselves.

When we hold our children up against this fictional ideal, we risk transforming difference into deficiency. We risk fostering shame and anxiety where there should be realistic hope and faith in neurodevelopmental processes. Parents may begin to fear that a diagnosis defines the limits of their child’s future, rather than describing a current pattern of functioning within a particular environment.

If we instead recognize that attention and executive functioning exist on a continuum, and that modern life strains even the most resilient nervous systems, we can use diagnosis as a tool for support rather than a source of stigma. In doing so, we preserve space for children to be seen not as flawed versions of an impossible standard, but as developing humans whose capacities will continue to evolve.