How my later in life diagnosis of ADHD and OCD shaped Season 3 of 'Ginny & Georgia'
The third season, which premiered on June 5, debuted at No. 1 on the U.S. charts with 17.6 million viewers — in just its first four days — with fans eager to see the aftermath of Georgia Miller's (Brianne Howey) arrest for murder on her own wedding day. All three seasons of the series have been on Netflix's top 10 list for English TV for three weeks and running.
Ginny & Georgia centers on the mother-daughter relationship between teenage Ginny and her free-spirited, secretive matriarch, Georgia, as they settle into a new town and face unexpected challenges. Central to the show is mental health.
Growing up, Lampert never understood certain compulsions and behaviors that affected her life. It wasn't until her 30s, when she was diagnosed with ADHD and OCD, that everything clicked. This revelation would later influence the character of Ginny's best friend Maxine Baker, whose behaviors, struggles and dialogue have pieces of Lampert's own experiences. Ginny and Maxine, aka Max, make up half of their friend group, nicknamed "MANG," along with characters Abby and Norah.
Maxine is a dynamic and complex character, known for her energetic, emotional and vulnerable nature. She often brings humor and heart to the series, but beneath her vibrant personality lies a struggle with mental health and a search for self-identity.
The character of Maxine naturally holds a special place for the creator, writer and executive producer. Still, she was conscious of not diagnosing Maxine onscreen this season.
Below, Lampert opens up about giving a voice to her personal journey through Max and how actress Sara Waisglass brought the character to life.
Coming out of the release of Season 3 of Ginny & Georgia, the comment I'm seeing the most online is 'I relate to Maxine!'
I've watched passionate TikToks about how deeply everyone feels for the character, the questions they have about her actions and the empathy they hold for her.
'Why did MANG leave her out?'
'I've never related to a character more!'
'She was trying to help!'
'Maxine, get behind me! My poor little glass child baby!'
Maxine's pain isn't obvious. She's not brooding or glum. She's energetic. She's the star of the musical. She is happiest when others are happy. She loves the spotlight but is wildly generous about sharing it. Maxine is constantly thinking about everyone else.
It is exhausting to be Maxine.
She always has to be OK. That's the role she's been cast in, especially as a twin to her brother Marcus. When she starts to not be OK, when she cracks, no one sees it because she's gotten too good at hiding it. Even when she tries to share her feelings, no one sees she's drowning.
The version of depression that we're more used to seeing onscreen is represented in Marcus, portrayed so achingly and hauntingly beautifully by Felix Mallard. But in a show where the theme is "everyone's fighting a battle you can't see" — what battle is Maxine fighting, and is it so dissimilar from Marcus's, or is it just packaged differently?
By entering Maxine's head in Season 3, the writers were able to give context to some of her over-the-top reactions from Season 2, revealing her thought process in a way that showed the chaos and heart that make up the character's inner world.
We also had the gift that is Sara Waisglass, who has the ability to make you laugh and cry in the same sentence. Sara was very brave in Season 2 in allowing Maxine to be so messy, to bring the character to places that we knew would be unpopular with the audience because she had to be flawed. She had to be human.
Does Maxine overreact to Ginny and Marcus's relationship? I think so. Is that something I would do at 16? Absolutely. She makes sense to me, her rejection sensitivity, the larger-than-life emotions, the dramatics. Of all the characters on the show, Maxine is the one I relate to the most.
I was in my 30s when I was diagnosed with ADHD and OCD. Suddenly, so many aspects of my life clicked and made so much sense. I realized that this wasn't unique to me. So many people — especially women — aren't diagnosed until later in life. Women's mental health, like women's physical health, is criminally overlooked.
And to be honest, I'm not interested in diagnosing Maxine. She's young. She has a lot of growing up to do. She's got pieces of me, but she's not me. She's a combined effort of the other brilliant writers who work on this show, and of the special sauce of Sara Waisglass, who infuses Max with her own spin so that everything feels so very Max.
I knew that it would mean a lot to depict Maxine's inner thought process onscreen. If we could get it right, I knew it would be powerful and others could connect to it. Max would make sense to them.
When Season 3 was released on Netflix June 5, the response was shocking because Maxine is all of us. Everyone felt for her. Everyone felt they were her. We've all gone through feelings of being too much, of being left out, of needing to be OK when other people weren't. The universality of that is beautiful to me.
I hope that if the show does anything, it makes people feel less alone. With Maxine's story specifically, I hope that it helps people pay attention to the friend who they don't think needs help, the friend that's laughing on the outside. Inside, they just might be hiding something deeper.
To those people who do feel like Maxine, I hope you see how you're not alone and how seen you really are. That's why it was so important to me to put the inside of Maxine's head onscreen, for all the Max's out there.
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles

Associated Press
28 minutes ago
- Associated Press
RushTok backlash: Why sororities aren't letting prospects post
TUSCALOOSA, Ala. (AP) — Kylan Darnell became an overnight celebrity in the TikTok niche that documents the glitzy, ritualistic recruitment process for sororities. As a 21-year-old rising senior four years later, she's taking more of her sorority life offline. Darnell has until now been the embodiment of RushTok, a week-long marathon that has teens at schools around the country meticulously documenting their efforts to land a cherished spot in a sorority during the colorful, girly and enigmatic recruitment process known as rush week. Reactions to the content that once catapulted her to fame — depicting her life as a Zeta Tau Alpha member at the University of Alabama — had become so negative that it was affecting her mental health, she said. 'This year it was just like a whole different level of hate,' Darnell said. Citing a need to protect prospects from harassment, many sororities have made similar moves, issuing a de facto ban against talking to the press or posting on social media during rush week at Alabama, where almost 13,000 students participate in the nation's largest on-campus Greek life. A centuries-old tradition Across the country, rush is typically a 10-day event where 'prospective new members' try out sororities through rounds of activities prescribing a strict slate of outfits and etiquette. In the lead-up, girls often submit 'social resumes' and letters of recommendation from sorority alums. Participation often requires an eye-opening price tag. After spending sometimes tens of thousands of dollars on outfits, makeup and plane tickets, each of this week's 2,600 recruits paid $550 to participate. It's non-refundable if they don't get picked. If accepted, they'll pay an average $8,400 a semester to live in the sorority house, or $4,100 if they live elsewhere, according to the Alabama Panhellenic Association. The pressure can be so intense that an industry of consultants now helps girls navigate the often mysterious criteria for landing a desired sorority. Some charge up to $10,000 for months of services that can begin in high school. Throughout rush, many events are invite-only. At any point, girls can get a dreaded call informing them they've been dropped — that a sorority is no longer interested in letting them join. Matches are finally made on bid day as prospects rank top choices and sororities make offers. Morgan Cadenhead, now 20, gained such an audience on RushTok despite being dropped that she covered most of her tuition with income from social media. Then came the social cost as she was slammed online for criticizing Greek life. Now the marketing major — featured on Lifetime's 'Sorority Mom's Guide to Rush!' — said she's looking for offline work. A zealous TikTok following A fixation with rush was renewed when sororities resumed in-person recruiting after the pandemic. Social media became flooded with 'outfit of the day' and 'get ready with me' videos showing sorority members and recruits in well-lit rooms, sometimes flaunting exorbitantly priced designer wear or pieces purchased on Amazon, always precisely curated. Alabama's Greek life got attention before, when its traditionally white sororities racially integrated, accepting their first Black members in 2013. Targeted by protests following allegations of racial discrimination, the university agreed with the Justice Department in 2016 to encourage diversity. Today, Black students outside of traditionally Black sororities and fraternities represent 2% of the total Greek membership, the university website says. Meanwhile, online attention to rush has led to books, a polarizing documentary and the reality television series, widening the appeal of sororities in the South in particular, according to Lorie Stefaneli, a New York City-based consultant who flies to Tuscaloosa each year for rush. Stefaneli coaches girls from around the country, and about a third of her clients enroll at Alabama. She says many are drawn by the vibrant depictions of sisterhood, showing female friendships that can ensure girls feel seen and supported. 'That's the reason why a lot of them want to go to Alabama, is because they see it on TikTok,' Stefaneli said. Recruits told to stop posting — or else If they gain enough followers to become social influencers, RushTok participants can earn ad revenue and brand deals. Darnell's posts brought her financial independence, more than covering the $58,000 it costs her annually to attend Alabama from out-of-state. Rush can be fun and help girls build confidence, but it's also an 'emotional rollercoaster,' especially for girls who feel they need to reveal themselves to a massive audience, Stefaneli said. She answers phone calls at all hours of the night during rush week. 'I'm literally a therapist, I'm talking these girls down from a ledge,' she said. Numerous incoming freshmen told The Associated Press this week that they were expressly prohibited from speaking with the media or even posting about rush at Alabama. Darnell said the most selective 'Old Row' houses will automatically drop prospects who do. 'Now a lot of girls just come to the university to be influencers,' she said. 'It kind of gets in the way of sisterhood.' Some incoming freshmen — including Darnell's 19-year-old sister Izzy, with a vast social media following of her own — have chosen to post anyway, satisfying a demand that can reach millions of views within days. Izzy Darnell — who wouldn't share her choices for sorority ahead of Saturday's bid day — said her older sister's acumen has equipped her to navigate criticism and potentially predatory business deals. But she worries about how other girls might handle the fame and money. 'I just fear what some girls will do because they think they have to,' Izzy Darnell said.


CBS News
28 minutes ago
- CBS News
Bay Area's Black park skating party is putting a new spin on history
Nestled in the heart of West Oakland is a park that looks like any other. But when Thursday evening rolls in, the court clears, the beats drop, and the whole place kicks into four-wheel drive. "When I lace up my skates, all my troubles melt away. It's like everything bounces off you," said Tamara Copes. Copes is one of the organizers of Panther Skate Plaza, a weekly roller jam where wheels glide and fashion flows faster than the footwork. Michelle McNamee figured this was a good way to get her five-year-old son, Journey, to stop scrolling and start rolling. "We live in this little apartment and I need to get them outside. I need to do something, so skating is perfect," she said. While the dance moves may be modern, the roots run deep. It happens at Lil Bobby Hutton Park, named after the first member of the Black Panther Party, killed by police at just 17. Once a hub for social movements, the park still brings people together, only now on wheels. Black-led skating events, from casual street parties to organized meetups, are thriving in cities across the country and fueling a full-blown roller revival. "Black people were kept out of a lot of recreational spaces, including skating rinks. So they started doing a soul disco night," said Copes. To honor that legacy, these parties are about more than just skating. Each week, a free farmers market sets up beside the court, run by God's Resting Place Community Outreach and inspired by the Black Panther Party's free breakfast program. The organizers are also raising funds to build a permanent skating rink in the park. The skates are free too. But ask Rody Jointer, and he'll tell you the real payoff is priceless. "The division that's happening right now, it's not good for anyone. It doesn't matter who we are and what we look like. We just need to really come together and keep doing things like this," he said. The Panther Skate Plaza rolls out every Thursday from 6 to 9 p.m. at DeFremery Park in West Oakland, locally known as Lil' Bobby Hutton Park.


Washington Post
28 minutes ago
- Washington Post
RushTok backlash: Why sororities aren't letting prospects post
TUSCALOOSA, Ala. — Kylan Darnell became an overnight celebrity in the TikTok niche that documents the glitzy, ritualistic recruitment process for sororities. As a 21-year-old rising senior four years later, she's taking more of her sorority life offline. Darnell has until now been the embodiment of RushTok, a week-long marathon that has teens at schools around the country meticulously documenting their efforts to land a cherished spot in a sorority during the colorful, girly and enigmatic recruitment process known as rush week.