This morning, I could not figure out where I had put the cat food, and my cats were super annoyed with me. Batman, Princess Inky and Penny were warily circling each other, losing patience as I revisited each cupboard quizzically tapping the side of my head as if that would cause me to remember where I had put their breakfast. Finally, I noticed that the milk was still out on the counter from making breakfast for my girls and my husband. I went to put it back in the fridge, only to find the bag of cat food where I had meant to put the milk. Sound familiar? I had no recollection of putting the cat food in the wrong place. It was like my brain was on auto pilot while I made breakfast, packed lunches, brainstormed yoga poses for my late morning class, wondered about starting to journal again, and checked emails and texts that kept rolling in throughout the morning. It often feels like two things are true: I have a superpower that lets me tolerate multi-tasking, and there are twelve crack filled squirrels living in my head during my waking hours and they are in charge. I learned I have ADHD at 47, after my youngest child Millie was assessed as having severe ADHD. The questions I had to answer about her symptoms sounded eerily like my own behaviors which I had assigned as proof of my inadequacy as a human. It came as no shock to any of my friends and family when my months long evaluation clearly highlighted my neurodivergence. I had assumed that everyone has a perpetual buzz happening in their brains. That we exist in a time where everything moves at hyper-speed made my distractibility and short attention span seem cultural rather than personal. 

Finding out later in life involved a review of all my experiences as a child, in competitive sports, academically, my career, and particularly in my relationships. I plan to share these stories and the lessons from them in future blog posts. One of the most consistent feelings I have had my entire life is shame. Shame, and fear that people are going to find out that I am incompetent and always a hair’s breadth away from cosmic and irreversible failure. This is partly because I have experienced a lot of failures, and most of them were very public it which of course led to embarrassment and then, the inevitable shame.  The thing I have learned about shame is that it is most powerful when it stays in the shadows and recesses of our inner voice as we agree with and double down on whatever external criticism and judgment have resulted from failing to function in systems not designed for our brains. My goal for this blog is to help people who feel like they don’t belong in a world that demands linear, ordered thinking find greater self-acceptance, confidence and courage to ask for what they need to thrive in whatever system they find themselves. 

You don’t have to be neurodivergent to connect to stories living in a constant experience of forgetting what you were doing, sending the wrong message to the wrong people, or walking into your living room two times and promptly forgetting why you’re there. Some of these experiences are universal, some of us just have them earlier and more frequently in life. When was the last time you were in a social conversation with someone you just met and something they shared caused you to make an exclamation sharing something before you could stop to question whether it was appropriate, relevant, or welcome? Did you then start a parallel conversation with yourself that sounded something like: “Oh God why did I just say that? Can I call Cher and turn back time? Is this person going to think I am brilliant and their new best friend, or someone they should work hard to avoid forever?” And then after you replay the interaction ad nauseum in your mind, does it eventually fade into the recesses of your brain, having been replaced by a million thought sparks lined up behind it in an endless queue?

I will feature stories to destigmatize this neurological orientation alongside coping strategies that can help you appreciate the beautiful prism that comes from filtering the world through a different lens. For example, my friend Anna, a medical professional on a mission trip to Guatemala sent me a video of two vital surgeries being performed in what would be considered a makeshift OR in the US. The surgical teams who were attending unrelated cases were separated by a curtain. They were a life changing symphony- hyper-focused on their processes and their teamwork. My friend, an integral part of this very successful effort, has ADHD. I imagine many of her colleagues do as well. This is an example of the way forward, harnessing the power of neurodivergent brains while working to broaden our systems to increase our ability to engage and contribute without stigma.