Figure skater Amber Glenn was the only woman in Milan that day to attempt a triple axel, and despite a slightly imperfect landing, you could feel the room exhale with relief when she stuck it. “It did not go as planned,” the commentator said. “But much like her career, she did not give up. She did not give in.” Glenn got off the ice, and despite coming up short individually, she earned Team USA the points needed to bring home gold.
“One of the most resilient figure skaters in the world,” he continued. “She says her superpower is her heart,” though in the context of Amber Glenn, there’s a direct line from her heart to her mind.
She’s been very open with her ADHD, her pansexuality, and the struggles she’s faced regarding both — rising from them as living proof that difference is not disability. In fact, she’s defined by her elite-level success, which makes me wonder: What if the traits we try to sand down are part of what makes greatness possible?
At first glance, Olympic sports — built on repetition, routine and precision — might seem incompatible with ADHD. Yet the ability to lock in on a single task for hours, to feel music viscerally, to channel intensity rather than mute it, is hardly a disadvantage.
What if the traits we try to sand down are part of what makes greatness possible?
To channel the best of her neurodiversity, Glenn turned to neurofeedback, which she calls “like going to the gym but for your brain,” and says helps teach her to control her brain through breath. By, in a sense, joining forces with her ADHD rather than shutting it down, she’s learned to trust her training, herself and stick to her mantra of “Believe and Breathe.”
For years, Glenn has been regarded for her unique ability to master complex routines, but she wouldn’t be the first ADHDer to hyperfocus a single task to perfection. Commentators praise her ability to connect emotionally with audiences, a depth of feeling she has described as part of her heightened emotional range. Growing up, she remembers regularly “skating to more intense music.” “I would make things so big, and I’d go so fast. But over time, I’ve learned faster isn’t always better. I was like, ‘go, go, go!’ Because if I ever took a moment to do something, I felt like, ‘Oh, my God, I’m being still.’ I can’t be still. And that’s something even now I struggle with.”
In her adolescence, Glenn took an 8-month break to give herself some tender love and care, deciding it was time to address an eating disorder stemming from overlooked ADHD, anxiety, and depression. She described her week at an inpatient facility as “shock.” “Growing up in Texas, there wasn’t mental health,” Glenn said. “It just wasn’t a thing. It was ‘Stop crying, get up and do your job.” At the facility, she found relief, because, as she put it, “[she] was finally seen.”
Glenn never “overcame” her ADHD. She got to know it. And now, as one of the greatest women’s figure skaters alive, she’s learned to stay — not mute — herself under pressure. Glenn’s gold isn’t just a win for Team USA. It’s a visible example that difference doesn’t need to be disguised to be extraordinary. Glenn’s a different kind of brilliance, and on the rink, it shows.
