For anyone who suffers from a cognitive disorder and the associated anxiety, self-help books and inspirational social media articles can feel a little too peppy. Here's one person's experience of coming attempting to come to terms with ADHD and accept that she functions differently.
by Liz Richards (writer)
A couple of years ago, I discovered a book called The Queen of Distraction: How Women with ADHD Can Conquer Chaos, Find Focus, and Get It All Done. It was pitched as a really great resource for women with ADHD to help themselves find balance and realize their full potential. I honestly couldn’t tell you if that’s true. I picked it up a few times, but never got through it. Oops.
My journey with brain disorder is as personal as it is ongoing as it is constantly evolving. No, that doesn’t make me a special snowflake like all of the yoga sites and mindful living journals tell me. But I do spend a lot of time skimming those journals, inspirational quotes, and jumping around self-help books. Then I spend more time overthinking what I’ve read, alternating between being too hard and too forgiving on myself, spiraling out to reel myself back in again.
The anxiety that comes with ADHD is personal too. It took just one uninformed school counselor and two ill-equipped teachers in 10th and 11th grade to shut me down for years. When my grades dropped from straight As to Ds in only two subjects, the people I was taught to rely on assumed it was a cry for attention. They helped reluctantly, because it was state mandated, and I never actually learned advanced algebra or basic chemistry.
I adopted a philosophy of overcompensation and rigid self-reliance. I found that I worked better under pressure. As long as I took on projects that held my interest, I did fine with a full plate, and because I was always keeping busy, so when I did slip, people thought I was full of myself. So I fought to stop slipping.
My anxiety comes out in activity, in the inability to leave things unfinished and simply let it be. There’s nothing I can read in a book that will help me make sense of it. Last weekend I painted two rooms, scrubbed the floors, rearranged furniture, completely redecorated, and bought new furniture in time for a friend’s dinner party. But I still get sick when I think about the suitcase I haven’t unpacked from a vacation that ended a month ago. That’s nothing new. I have to set the bar too high, so that I have a shot at average.
I’ve read it all and reacted in every way. I read that ADHD was made up so I ignored it for several years and hoped the problems would go away. That was unhealthy, and they didn’t go away. In fact, each time the cycle came around, it came around bigger and badder.
I read that antidepressants help curb the anxiety associated with the condition. That felt like it helped for a while, and then I got slapped with bouts of paranoia and panic attacks.
I read that yoga and meditation help people with cognitive disorders focus and gain clarity. Of course that’s true, but there are days when sitting still and quieting the mind are not achievable tasks.
I read that chemicals in food and too much TV are linked to worsening ADHD symptoms. Sure I feel better when I eat better and am more active, but that’s kind of an obvious concept.
Anxiety is complex, and it can’t be boiled down to what I read or what I’m supposed to read about my condition. I look at every anxiety article I see even thought I know it will make my skin crawl. I can’t sit still, petrified that if I sit too long, life will pile up on top of me and I’ll suffocate under all the things I haven’t done.
I don’t know if balance is really in the cards for me. But I keep doing, reading, living. Because for every 40 days when nothing clicks, there’s one day that something does. Because through all of the brain fog and the caffeine abuse and the stress I know is disproportionate, there are moments of clarity. However brief they may be, they define me, and give me something by which to measure myself. Because I’m a basket case, and not moving forward is not an option for me.
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