At first, I wondered if I really had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). I resisted his sophomore teacher who recommended that his son EJ be tested, and fought doctors who called him fidgety and impulsive. There was no way her husband and I would drug our son. We thought he was already perfect. He’s smart, funny, curious, and active. He just didn’t fit into their frame.
On Halloween night 2003, when EJ was in 3rd grade, I witnessed “impulsive” behavior when he crossed the road to meet a friend and was nearly run over by a car outside Chicago. . Because of this danger, and a new teacher’s comments about social issues in the class, her husband and I decided to get a prescription for our son.
they did what they had to do EJ is happier and has more control over his actions.
I had no idea at the time that he might have inherited ADHD from me. I was in a minivan and he was a 36-year-old English teacher with a master’s degree. He wasn’t a super petite boy. He had a lot to hide. That minivan was a mess and my house was a mess too. If a neighbor were to show up uninvited, I would chat at the half-open front door, block my view of the kitchen, or hide days-old dishes in the fancy sink. I was so embarrassed that I couldn’t show anyone the mountains or the dishes from last week. Foodstuffs are crammed into the vast island. Instead of asking her out for coffee, I want to say, “Thank you for stopping by.” I knew I didn’t deserve this beautiful home and I had distanced myself from most of my friends out of shame.
I wanted to clean up, but for some reason I couldn’t attack Chaos. It was like trying to pay her bills before marrying her engineer husband. I knew I had to do it, I intended to do it, but now I don’t. A simple task seemed complicated because I couldn’t find a starting point or a clear set of steps ahead (writing a check, addressing an envelope, walking to a mailbox). Had I known that the first step was what I needed, I might have found it. In my mind, the more I thought about it, the darker and more vague that chore became.So I was tiptoeing around the laundry on the bathroom floor I have to clear up this mess — and move on to other things.
When we first started living together, my husband joked about this laundering neglect, but I could tell he didn’t think it was really funny. “Hey, is that carpet under there?” It really meant, “This mess bothers me!” I recognized his discomfort and vowed to do better, but he ended up reverting to his bad habits. At one point, he got so frustrated that he gathered up all the little piles of dirty clothes and threw them out of his upstairs bedroom window for all his neighbors to see. Looking back, I’m surprised our relationship didn’t end there. I was furious and ordered him to retrieve his clothes immediately. He did and apologized. I’m sorry too, so I’m sorry. Neither of us could understand why our clothes were left there every day.
When I built my dream house, I promised myself that even after a lifetime of failures, I would do my part to keep it clean and tidy. I will do my best. Sure, I kept busy with my full-time job and her three kids, but I noticed other working mothers maintaining orderly housing for their families. If they could do it, why couldn’t I?
While browsing the shelves at a bookstore, an epiphany struck me and I picked up Women with Attention Deficit Disorder by Sari Solden. The stories of mothers and grandmothers were jaw-dropping. Many of them appeared to be fully functioning, but were living as disorderly lives as I had. But what fascinated me was the masking, hiding their messy reality. I collapsed on the carpet and cried as the floor dropped to the floor in relief and fear.
I was relieved that I was not alone. Fear that my behavior was an “obstacle” and perhaps I wasn’t smart enough, smart enough, or disciplined enough to overcome it.
Courtesy of Kim R. Livingston
An online survey indicated yes, my symptoms (confusion and distraction, number confusion, word search and memory problems, procrastination) have been present since childhood, so it is likely that this disorder is an “attentive” ” I replied that I had a classification. I have never been hyperactive, but I learned that there is another type that is more common in girls, without the H. (Since then, the label “ADHD” has come to describe both types.)
I was somewhat relieved that I finally had a way to explain my behavior, but I still kept all this ADHD stuff to myself. I didn’t even tell her husband. I was embarrassed and wavered between logic. If you have a problem, deal with it. what’s the big deal? and emotions: Talking about emotions makes me nauseous. I solve problems myself (usually by ignoring them) so I don’t need a psychiatrist.
Then a few days later, one Friday morning, when I was home alone, I found two pharmacy bottles in the kitchen sink flip-up drawer where most people keep their sponges. I realized what I was thinking. One bottle contained his EJ’s daily Ritalin pills. The other was a short-acting “homework drug” that he took occasionally as needed, so he had plenty of extras. No one will notice that someone is missing?
I wondered what it would be like to be drugged. I knew the dosage might be a little different due to our different bodies, but I thought that might give you a hint of something. And while I played by the rules and never used drugs recreationally, whether it was Ritalin or any other drug, it was only this time that I decided to make my own decision whether or not to consider medication. I told myself that it might help me to do that. I took the pill out of the bottle, held it in my hand and swallowed it.
After 10 minutes, cleaning seemed like a good idea. We spent four hours wiping countertops, sorting piles, sweeping floors, and folding laundry. There was no effort or encouragement, just concentration. Not expensive, but enthusiastic. I knew what I wanted, and for the first time, there was no magical force driving me crazy. It was a miracle.
The next afternoon, I sat at my kitchen table and plucked through the pile of essays that were supposed to be graded the previous week. My brain was just uncooperative.
I glanced at the sponge drawer.
just one more time,I thought. Please help me get these documents back. after that: Is this what addiction feels like? Bruce and I read a lot of research before allowing EJ to do it. So I knew that Ritalin, aka methylphenidate, is classified under the Controlled Substances Act as a Schedule II drug in the same group as stimulants and cocaine. However, when used as directed, it was a safe and effective treatment for attention deficit. We are interested in the potential effects of this drug, such as sleep disturbances and anorexia, and the long-term risks of uncontrolled ADHD, such as increased rates of driving accidents, self-medication substance abuse, school and social We compared and examined relationship issues. Ritalin was not addictive unless abused. For EJ, we decided that using medication was the best course of action.
In my case, I knew that corrective lenses had sharpened my vision and made the world clearer. I never thought about addiction when I reached for my glasses, is there something wrong? Even though I decided otherwise, I still felt guilty taking EJ’s medication, especially without my doctor’s permission or guidance. But I took another one anyway and immediately landed in the grading zone, happy and fully focused on the task at hand.
After a few more undercover jobs with drugs, I finally decided I couldn’t keep stealing my son’s drugs. As it seemed to work for me, I came to believe I needed it and eventually decided to get my own prescription from my doctor.
Not long after that, at my annual checkup, I blurted out to my doctor that I might have ADD. My cheeks got hot and I wanted to jump off the table, grab his clothes and run away. But she didn’t laugh at me or look surprised. She referred me to a psychiatrist, and the next day she got a call from the doctor’s office. She made a reservation.
Courtesy of Ethan Livingston
If I were to go back in time, I would start with a practitioner who knew about ADHD in adults. I got what I needed: a diagnosis, but the process felt too easy and too similar to superficial online testing. The psychiatrist asked me some questions and I answered them. that’s it. I took home the prescription. Medication changed my life, but the psychiatric evaluation wasn’t more thorough and comprehensive, and for years I wondered if I really had ADHD.
In a practical sense, medicine has made me a better mother. First of all, schedule management was impossible for me. Before my diagnosis, the doorbell rang a day early because I printed and sent the wrong date on a birthday party invitation. Another time, we attended a long-awaited nursery school Halloween party. It was just about to end. My little pirate and his bumblebee brother were crushed.
I believed that modern family demands are somewhat silly and that perhaps the children would be better off staying at home and playing board games, but I recognized the value of their activities. Thanks to my prescriptions, we were able to go where we needed to be on the right days, manage uniforms, lessons, practices and performances. And in some ways, it made me a better teacher. I went to class on time and attended faculty meetings.
But now I realize that in the most important respects, I was already good enough. I was a capable mother from the beginning, despite mix-ups and a messy home. I found it easy to love children, to be with them and to teach them. I also suspect that my creativity and bizarre and unpredictable classes are at least partly related to, or the result of, my girlfriend’s ADHD, which made me a great teacher in the first place. I also think.
Unfortunately, even with Ritalin, I didn’t turn my home into the showcase I wanted. To this day it is a mess. But now it’s a controlled mess, and now reflects more of Bruce than of me because I took responsibility for it when he retired. Of course, I wasn’t entirely responsible for that. I wanted to be the kind of mother who would raise a neat and beautiful home. I admired her and envied her. But I’m not her. And after Bruce and I grew up with each other, he assured me time and time again that the gifts I gave the world were as powerful and valuable as anyone else’s.
I have come to appreciate the value of my brain. In fact, I’m so fascinated by it and so obsessed with how it works that I spend a lot of money on selective brain scans in the same way some people go on cruises or buy new guitars. spent In the end, I produced a report showing visual evidence that my brain actually works differently than a non-disabled person, and that ADHD is indeed real.
At 55, I still take the pills daily and they continue to bring clarity and calmness to my life. I tried and survived for a long time without it, but too much of my life’s precious energy was spent on panicked damage control. Missing your flight, forgetting your wallet in the restroom at a restaurant, missing a deadline in an online class, or ruining your room. Not dealt with when it should have been dealt with. Over the decades, other treatments such as nutrition and exercise have proven effective, but they work best when combined with drugs. and most content. Because life is best when you’re focused.
Kim R. Livingston lives outside Chicago with her two cats, two dogs, and her husband, a former chemical engineer. Their three children (a physiotherapist, a PhD student, and a nurse) mostly worked out of the hut, and now Kim has time to write. Her first book, Walks Like a Duck: How a Mom with ADHD Led Her Neurodiverse Family to Peace of Mind, will be published by TouchPoint Press in her May 2023 publication. www.kimr livingston.com you can know more.
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