A step in the right direction

I’ve been talking with a couple of friends about the frustration we feel around our own neurodivergence. Nobody else’s, just each of us with our own flavour of it. 

With a late realisation that you’re one of the people whose brain works in a certain way, can come a pathway through emotions that seem to affect a lot of us: 

• relief (omg there’s a reason why I’m like this) 
• curiosity (tell me all the things about being like this) 
• sadness (why did I have to be like this?) 
• shame (I just remembered a million examples of how I’m like this [in the company of people who aren’t, and didn’t expect me to be]) 
• frustration (despite all this awareness and knowledge, oh…I’m still like this. Of course.)

I expect it’s a little different for us all and again, I am only talking about my personal experience. In my household of three, there are three people with ADHD and it looks different in each of us. So this is me.

(By the way, if it feels to you that suddenly everyone’s got ADHD or ASD, I recommend a listen to Sara Tasker’s most recent podcast for an interesting segment on just this.)

My frustration is that, like a couple of other things I’m coming to terms with, despite all my newfound knowledge, I’m not able  - and this must be the ultimate fucking irony - to actually change it. 

I have a plan that - even though I can’t change ADHD - may help long term, and that involves nutrition, but I’ve been struggling with my mindset. All the decades of start-stop-start-stop. The repeated, complete loss of interest in something I’d felt passionately about. Never finishing anything, even if I start. Always, always, always thinking that if I just change something it will magically all be fine. That’s made me who I am and have been for a long time.

Dear Reader, I think I made a breakthrough.

I just sat and watched a short film that's been made by a sportswear company about one of their spokespeople, Rich Roll. If you haven’t heard of him, a shortened, incomplete version would read: privileged but awkward kid who swims like a fish > Stanford - competitive swimmer > Cornell > corporate lawyer and raging alcoholic > recovery > endurance athlete and top-rated podcaster. The short film is framed around a letter he writes (and narrates) to his younger self. 

I’ve listened to Rich for years and it struck me, maybe there’s a reason that I’ve always been fascinated by his (and others’) stories of recovery (from addiction). Because I am fascinated. It’s one of the main reasons I’ve listened to him for so many years and it’s always felt a bit weird. I mean…why?? Well, maybe I just worked it out.

See, my version of ADHD dictates that my major issue is that always-just-out-of-reach, new, changed situation that will make me all the things I want to be. 

A recovering alcoholic lives every day with some unease in their bones that tells them, "just have a drink and you'll feel good...I'll leave...you'll be happy and comfortable" and they have to look it in the eye and say, "you're a liar". Whereas every day I have a feeling that if I just changed everything and made it shinier and newer, I'd feel good. I'd be happy and comfortable. But that urge is a liar.

No matter how much I talk/learn about ADHD, that feeling isn’t going away. It’s what my brain does. My name is Jo and I'm a changeaholic. 

What am I gonna do about it? With it? In spite of it?

The occasional change/ course correction/ attempted upgrade is a good thing for all of us, but not every damn day. Or even every week, or month. Continually throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

As I sit with this, I see how beautifully it ties in with my thoughts on devotion and discipline, because that’s 12 Step territory, Baby! No wonder! No wonder at any of this.

So I’m writing this because maybe your ND brain works a little like mine and these words might open a door for you too. I’m going to see where it goes. 

P.S.

Medication. 

I know many people have found a way to get, or are in the looooong NHS waiting lines for, a diagnosis because they’re keen to try medication. Medication has helped a lot of people. I’m not interested in that so why clog up those waiting lists? I know what I know and now I have to find a different way forward. Medication is absolutely not The Easy Way; please don’t think I’m suggesting that. There is zero heroism in turning down something that can maybe help you, I simply have personal reasons for not wanting to try it.