Looking Forward: Learning to See the World Through ADHD-colored glasses

About 2 weeks ago I had an appointment with a new primary care doctor. I hadn’t seen a regular doctor for a checkup in years because I was either in college and away from home, or I was seeing a OB/GYN.  This had worked fine for those years because I rarely got sick, and the doctors I did see were able to take care of any immediate needs. However, this past year has been especially difficult for me emotionally. I felt broken. I felt lonely, even when I was surrounded by people. I felt constantly overwhelmed. I felt hopeless, unneeded, and sometimes unwanted. I felt I was replaceable--like someone else could fill all of my roles better than I could. I felt I was letting everyone down, including my own husband and children. And those emotions HURT. Really badly. I decided enough was enough, and I made an appointment.

After going through the general physical exam, lab work, and blah, blah, blah, he asked if I had any other questions for him. I hesitated. Was I ready to swallow my pride and ask for help? Mustering all the courage I had left, I asked him what he knew about adult ADHD. He smiled and said, “A lot actually! I’ve treated many patients for it. Let’s see what we can do.” After filling out a questionnaire and talking with the doctor, the both burdensome and relieving answer came: Yes, you have ADHD.

            What? Me? I mean, I thought I had a lot of the symptoms, but it the idea still seemed so foreign. Kids have ADHD, but I’m an adult. People with ADHD are hyper, loud, and impulsive, but I’ve always been quiet, well-behaved, and respectful. But I’m also forgetful, always losings things, missing appointments/parties/receptions, losing track of time, not following through on commitments, running late, slow to process information, and hard to carry on conversations with. For all these qualities, I assumed I just needed to try harder, even though attempt after attempt failed to bring improvement. After making a careless mistake/omission, I often jokingly said that “I guess just suck at life,” but inside I felt it was true. 

         

          I have all too often had to rely on others’ graciousness to succeed: my parents for making endless trips to the school to bring me things I needed but had forgotten; teachers for giving me extensions after missing assignment deadlines; friends who forgave me after flaking out on them; mentors who repeated instructions to me time after time, answering the same question over and over again because the answer didn’t stick. I flew under the radar as a child because I was well-behaved, and most of my deficits could be blamed on childhood, on naivety, on “she’s still learning.” As I entered into middle school and high school, I think I developed the trait of perfectionism in an attempt to camouflage my other short-comings. Through college, I struggled to do all that was expected of me, but assumed that it was just part of going to college. In my marriage and after having children, I began to run out of tools. My perfectionism led me to give up on things that I had desperately tried to do, but were unable to finish. I began to feel like a failure, like a let-down. I saw others around me thriving under similar circumstances, and felt I must not be cut out to be a mom, a wife, a nurse, etc. I developed strong feelings of depression from past failures, and felt a lot of anxiety about future ones. I decided something needed to change.

                And then came the diagnosis. I found out that I don’t just suck at life. I may have failed, but I’m not destined to be a failure. I’m not broken, I just need some upgrades to my approach at life. I am still going through the grieving process and trying to understand what this diagnosis means for the rest of my life. On one hand, it’s hard to internalize that this is something I will always have--that it can’t be healed. On the other hand, it’s a relief to have my struggles validated, to see that there is help, to understand that my short-comings most often stem from a biological source and not a flawed character. 

                I am just starting this journey, and I know there is a lot of learning, relearning, and internal struggling to come. It won’t be easy, but I'm looking forward to finding therapies, people, processes, systems, and even medications that can help me live my life. I'm looking forward to learning how to succeed at work, at home, and in relationships. I'm looking forward.