ForGE2025, we take a step back from the antics and theatrics to explore the bigger picture: What kind of Singapore are we building beyond this election? Through these conversations, we uncover the aspirations and concerns shaping the nation in the next five years and beyond.
The views in ‘After the Vote’ are those of the interviewees and based on their experiences; they do not reflect the publication’s stance.
All images courtesy of Moonlake Lee
When Moonlake Lee’s teenage daughter was diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) in 2018, it sparked a question in her own mind: could she have it too? The disorder often runs in families, after all.
Two years later, Moonlake confirmed her own diagnosis at the age of 50. It came as a surprise—she had always been organised, and with four degrees to her name. As someone who had objectively achieved plenty as a lawyer, marketer, and investor, it was hard to reconcile the idea of having a disorder known for affecting attention and academic performance.
But the revelation helped her make sense of long-standing tensions within herself and with others. What once felt like personal shortcomings now had a name—and, more importantly, a path forward.
Determined to turn her journey into impact, Moonlake founded Unlocking ADHD, a social service agency dedicated to raising awareness, running peer-led support groups, and offering accessible, curated resources for individuals with ADHD and their families. At the core of her work is a simple conviction: that everyone deserves to be seen, supported, and valued—not despite their differences, but because of them.
For GE2025, RICE is taking a longer-term view towards the Singapore we’re collectively building. And Moonlake has plenty to say about how the country can better support individuals who are wired differently, especially those with ADHD.
What is one change you hope to see in Singapore by 2030 that would make life meaningfully better for people like you?
By 2030, I hope to see a Singapore where neurodivergent youths and adults—especially those with ADHD—have equitable access to meaningful work opportunities, supported by systems that empower them to thrive, not just survive, in the workplace.
One key enabler for this change could be the official recognition of ADHD as a disability. This would allow ADHDers to access the same support structures currently extended to other individuals with disabilities, such as accommodations at work, access to job coaches, and inclusion initiatives.
Right now, I see many talented individuals with ADHD caught in transition, moving between jobs or struggling to find their footing after school. They often question if they’re in the right field or if they’re simply not ‘cut out’ for traditional paths.
The issue isn’t ability. It’s support.
Unlocking ADHD’s 2021 Understanding Needs community study, which surveyed 596 individuals (about half of whom were adults), found that over 40 percent of adult ADHDers face challenges in maintaining employment. This mirrors global trends and highlights a systemic gap in support.
While Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) is currently classified as a disability in Singapore, ADHD is not. Research shows that 50 percent or more of individuals with ASD also have ADHD, and up to 50 percent of ADHDers may have ASD. Recognising ADHD within the disability support framework would align with existing neurodiversity models and close a crucial gap.
Singapore’s Enabling Masterplan 2030 is aiming to increase the employment rate of residents with disabilities to 40 percent by 2030. Many of the initiatives under this plan—such as cultivating inclusive employers, training job coaches, and improving post-placement support—would also be highly beneficial to ADHDers if made accessible to them.
The question we should be asking: How can we build a society that not only accepts but amplifies the strengths of neurodivergent individuals?
With the right support, ADHDers can bring creativity, problem-solving skills, and out-of-the-box thinking to our workforce—assets that are sorely needed in an ever-evolving economy.
What’s a challenge Singapore must overcome in the next six years to stay a place where people want to live and thrive?
Singapore must ensure that hope continues to beat strongly in the hearts of its people, just as it did for the generations who came before us.
Hope takes root when people can envision a future for themselves and their loved ones. For many neurodivergent individuals and their families, that hope begins to fade when they don’t see clear pathways in our education system or workplaces that embrace different ways of thinking.
It’s painful to speak with parents of neurodivergent children who feel that their children have limited options here. Some who can afford it have chosen to leave Singapore for countries where their child’s unique wiring is not only accepted but supported—where there are broader avenues for assessments, interventions, and strength-based development.
Every family that leaves is not just a personal loss—it’s also a national one. We lose not only their contributions, but potentially an entire generation of untapped talent. And for those who stay, the question is: how do we keep hope alive?
I remember my daughter when she was younger—her eyes sparkled with life, and she laughed easily and often. But as time went on, that spark began to fade. Stress crept into our home, especially as I started receiving more and more complaints from her teachers. She wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until she was 15, but by then her grades had slipped so much that she was at risk of being retained.
We had always believed in her potential—something later confirmed by an IQ test and other tests. But we were unequipped to understand or support her learning struggles. Her teachers, too, didn’t have the necessary training or tools to help her succeed.
As we learn how to harness the strengths of ADHD while navigating its challenges, we’ve grown in ways I couldn’t have imagined.
Today, she’s a young adult whose opinions I deeply value. Just recently, I told her that I had finally found the word to describe how I feel about her: I cherish you.
I’m grateful for the strength of our relationship now, and for the bond I share with my other daughter. These connections are precious and hard-won, shaped by years of struggle, healing, and understanding. And they are absolutely worth fighting for.
Are we doing enough?
There are encouraging signs. Our education policies are shifting, with less emphasis on high-stakes exams and more space for holistic development. This is a step in the right direction.
But for this shift to truly take root, it needs to be embraced by the broader community. As a society, we can start valuing connection over comparison and growth over grades. When parents feel supported in nurturing their children’s unique paths—and when they see those paths being respected and accepted—it becomes easier to imagine a future filled with possibility.
Employers, too, have a vital role to play. By recognising potential beyond paper qualifications and focusing on transferable strengths, we open more doors in society. One where hope is not a privilege, but a shared promise.
If you could introduce a new national priority for Singapore, what would it be?
It would be to cultivate a culture of service—one rooted not in obligation, but in purpose.
Not service in a tokenistic way, but in a deeply personal one: encouraging individuals to give back in ways that align with their unique strengths and passions, so that their impact is both authentic and lasting.
When we channel our energy into causes greater than ourselves, we shift the focus from inward pressures to outward purpose. This not only strengthens our mental wellbeing and sense of meaning but also nurtures empathy, resilience, and connection. It’s in those acts of service—mentoring a youth, supporting a neighbour, volunteering skills to a cause—that we discover the kampung spirit that once defined us.
This kind of engagement creates more than just good deeds; it builds bridges. Over time, these small acts of service weave together into something greater—a cohesive, compassionate nation where people look out for one another, not because they have to, but because they want to.
As the founder of Unlocking ADHD, a young charity and social service agency that empowers ADHDers and their families to live life to the fullest, I’ve poured my personal journey—both as a parent to a child with ADHD and as a late-diagnosed adult—into creating change.
This has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but also the most meaningful. It gives me purpose. And it is truly a privilege to be able to give back to the country I call home in this way.
What’s one overlooked issue within your community that deserves more attention?
One overlooked issue within the ADHD community, especially among caregivers, is burnout.
This is particularly critical when the caregiver also has undiagnosed or late-diagnosed ADHD, which is more common than most people realise. ADHD has a strong genetic component, so when a child is diagnosed, there’s often a high likelihood that one of the parents may also have ADHD but may have gone through life unaware of it.
That was my story. I was diagnosed at 50, a year after my teenage daughter received her diagnosis. By that time, I was already on the edge of burnout. I was juggling caregiving for two daughters, work, and multiple personal and business responsibilities. I didn’t know why everything felt so overwhelming; I just knew I was barely holding it together.
Many neurodivergent individuals I speak to—especially women—describe a similar experience. They are constantly exhausted, struggling to cope, and yet unable to access the kind of support they truly need.
Self-care becomes elusive. They’re often the last thread in a fraying rope—responsible not just for themselves, but for their families too. And when that thread breaks, everything can fall apart.
ADHD burnout is uniquely complex. While many people today experience stress and exhaustion in our fast-paced, hyperconnected world, those with ADHD often experience more extreme emotional highs and lows. Everyday tasks can be harder to manage due to impulsivity, inattention, or executive function challenges. This makes burnout not just more likely, but more intense.
To truly support neurodivergent families, we first need to acknowledge the invisible load that many caregivers carry—especially those with ADHD. In Singapore, ADHD is not currently recognised as a disability or mental health condition eligible for government-funded support. As a result, many adults go undiagnosed, unsupported, and unseen.
It’s time to change that. While policy-level recognition remains a long-term goal, we already have more immediate opportunities within our communities. Workplaces can adopt more flexible, caregiver-friendly practices and focus on mental wellbeing beyond surface-level wellness campaigns.
This is where organisations like Unlocking ADHD can play a vital role. We are working to fill the gap by offering accessible psychoeducation, peer support networks, and curated resources specifically designed for ADHDers and their families. We help individuals and caregivers better understand their brains, find community, and feel less alone in their journeys.
Our goal is to make support not only available, but relatable and actionable. With the right partnerships and awareness, Unlocking ADHD can be a bridge between lived experience and long-term systemic change.
With greater recognition, inclusive conversations, and shared responsibility across society, we can build a culture where those caring for others are also cared for—early, compassionately, and sustainably. Caregivers shouldn’t have to reach a breaking point before help is available.
What small shift—policy or mindset—could make a big difference in the daily lives of your community?
A powerful shift that could greatly improve the daily lives of the ADHD community is to start viewing ADHD through an inter-agency lens.
While this may not be a ‘small’ policy shift, it is a necessary and foundational one. ADHD is a lifelong, multi-setting neurodevelopmental condition. It affects learning, often co-occurs with mental health conditions, influences family dynamics, impacts productivity in the workplace, and carries public health implications. Many countries recognise ADHD as a disability within their systems.
In Singapore, we need to take ADHD more seriously. A holistic, comprehensive, and coordinated approach could position Singapore as a leader in ADHD understanding and management in the region. Public-private-people collaboration can make this possible—sustainably and at scale.
On a mindset level, we need to reframe how we think about ADHD—from a deficit to a strength-based perspective. This small shift in perception can make a big difference in how ADHDers see themselves and how others relate to them.
Dr Ned Hallowell, a renowned American psychiatrist with ADHD, once described the ADHD brain as having a “Ferrari engine with bicycle brakes.” His job, he said, was to strengthen the brakes. Because with the right support, the car can win the race.
This analogy resonates deeply. Each ADHDer has inherent strengths, often tied to their interests and creativity. When we help individuals access and build on those strengths—while also strengthening the “brakes” through structured routines, tools, and practical strategies—we set them up not just for survival, but success.
Small wins, built on strengths, lead to greater motivation and resilience. And when systems and society recognise and support that process, the impact on daily life is transformational.
I wish for a society that supports and celebrates neurodivergent strengths. Change begins when we choose to see differently—and act with intention.
Singapore moves fast. What’s one thing we need to slow down for?
In Singapore’s relentless race for achievement—be it good grades, the next promotion, another qualification, or material success—we need to slow down and ask: At what cost?
There’s nothing inherently wrong with ambition. But when it comes at the expense of our relationships, especially with our loved ones, something essential is lost.
I’ve seen too many families grow distant under the weight of expectations. The pressure to perform can be overwhelming—and when things don’t go as planned, the fear of failure or the shame of falling short can become deeply crippling. It eats away at a person’s self-worth and dims their hope for the future.
When we strip away the accolades and achievements, what truly matters is whether we are loved, and whether we have loved others well.
At the end of our lives, we won’t be asking about grades or resumes. We’ll be asking: Did the people I love know I loved them? Did I feel loved in return?
Being lovable and being loving are two sides of the same coin, and both require time, attention, and intention. Slowing down allows us to be present for the things that matter most.
What’s one thing about Singapore you’d want to protect for the future?
One thing I’d want to protect for Singapore’s future is the spirit of accessibility and community embodied in our weekly Meet-the-People sessions.
As someone who was not born in Singapore but who became a citizen after moving here 21 years ago, I continue to be deeply impressed by this practice. Having lived in Malaysia, the United States, and Canada, I’ve seen firsthand how rare it is to have such regular, direct access to elected representatives.
What stands out even more to me is the dedication of grassroots volunteers, many of whom cheerfully serve late into the night to ensure residents are heard. While not every issue may be resolved, the very existence of this platform is something precious. It reflects a deep commitment to listening, engagement, and care for the community.
It reminds us that we are not just individuals, but part of something bigger. When people look out for one another—not just during crises, but in everyday life—it fosters a safer, more cohesive society.
I hope Singapore continues to preserve and grow this form of engagement. It’s these quiet, consistent forms of connection that strengthen the social fabric—and remind us that behind every policy or problem is a person, and behind every solution, a community.
In 2030, what kind of Singapore would you be proud to call home?
I would be proud to call a softer, more inclusive Singapore home.
A Singapore where compassion is not just spoken about but built into our systems. One that balances excellence with empathy and recognises that strength also lies in how we support those who are different.
I’m encouraged by the steps we’ve already taken—greater emphasis on mental health support, peer-led initiatives, and an openness toward inclusive hiring. These are signs of a maturing society, one that is beginning to look beyond labels and see the human being.
But I hope that these positive shifts will also be extended to include the ADHD community—who today remain largely invisible within the system. ADHD doesn’t fit neatly into one category; it touches education, employment, mental health, family, and public policy. And because it crosses so many boundaries, it has often fallen through the cracks.
By 2030, I hope Singapore will lead the way in recognising and supporting neurodiversity in all its forms. That ADHD will no longer be a ‘no man’s land’, but be acknowledged, understood, and included in the wider efforts to build an equitable society.
That would be a Singapore I’d be proud to continue calling home. Not just for myself, but for my husband, my daughters, and for every family who dares to hope that difference can be a strength.
