ADHD: An Owner’s Manual (Part One)

It’s been almost two years since my life-changing diagnosis of ADHD. Suddenly, all of the issues that had plagued me my entire life made a whole lot of sense. I wasn’t stupid — I was neurodivergent, and in learning the true nature of my big dumb brain, I learned to embrace the parts of my neurological difference that made me, well, me. As much as I hated how my brain worked at times, I came to see my ADHD as a sort of blessing/curse, the same way Mei from Turning Red learned to love the red panda she turned into whenever she experienced emotions.

ADHD doesn’t come with a fursona, sadly.

Today, I found out one of my favorite professors had been diagnosed with ADHD over the summer, and just like that, my entire perspective of her changed — she was me! And as someone who aspires to be a professor of music therapy someday, seeing someone in that position who has what I have and is successful was really reassuring. It was like someone patted me on the shoulder and said “Hey Jess, this can be you someday.” And it felt really frickin’ cool, yo.

And it hit me — I’m that to someone. Somewhere out there, some aspiring musician or writer or college student is trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with them, why they can’t sit down and practice or write or study or do much of anything without getting sidetracked. Maybe they think they’re just stupid, too. And it’s my turn to show them that they, too, can be successful with ADHD. I believe everything happens for a reason, and perhaps my “curse” is intended to be used as a blessing for others, just like how Mei’s ancestors used the red panda to protect their loved ones.

I won’t lie and pretend I have it all together. I’m still working on getting my shit together. I think most people are, if we’re honest with ourselves. No one has it 100 percent figured out at any given time. All I know is I have nearly three decades of life experience with this brain of mine, so I’ve learned some tricks on how to utilize it. Here is part one of my “owner’s manual” for ADHD.

#1: You have ADHD

You have ADHD. You. Have. ADHD. That’s not going to change. Your brain is wired differently from most of the world, and nothing can change the way it works. Barring a lobotomy or something, but that will cause more problems than it solves, ya know? There’s a reason we don’t do those anymore.

They say the first step of recovery is acceptance. The fifth step in grief is also acceptance, so get all your feelies out. Journal about it. Bring it up in therapy. Punch something that can be punched (not a person or other sentient creature, preferably). But as soon as you come to terms with the fact that you have ADHD, you can start working toward really living with it.

There is no cure for ADHD. There are treatments to make it more manageable, sure, but there are no cures. Yoga will not cure ADHD. Walking outside will not cure ADHD. Essential oils will not cure ADHD. Heck, Adderall doesn’t even cure ADHD, and it’s literally an ADHD medication. Full disclosure: I use all of the things I listed to help me concentrate and ground myself, but guess what? I still have ADHD, and everything that comes with it.

That’s not a bad thing though!

You see, in music therapy school, and presumably training for all other types of therapy, there’s a push for “person first language” and saying someone has a condition, rather than is it. It’s a way of separating the person from the condition. But I don’t like that for my ADHD. It’s a disability, sure, but it’s also a huge part of my personality and being. It’s like how the autistic community is reclaiming “autistic,” declaring “I am autistic,” rather than saying “I have autism.” In that same vein, I am ADHD. ADHD is a inseparable from me. For better or worse, it’s a piece of me, and nothing will change that.

(To be continued…)

Hold the Girl (Or, How I’m Going to Make Teenage Me Proud)

Sometimes I wonder if wide-eyed 17-year-old me would be happy with the direction my life has taken. After all, at that point, I was in the best shape of my life, earning straight A’s, serving as colorguard captain AND class president, and full of ambition to become the best version of myself. In fact, I remember how I was so determined to become the best performer in my dance class, I’d practice for an hour in front of the mirror every night. I had so much motivation, so much drive. I had every intention of bursting through those high school doors and jumping into a life as a music therapist, professor, creator, and business owner.

Without going into too much of a “woe is me” spiel, things haven’t exactly turned out the way I wanted. After changing my major, dropping out of college twice due to then-undiagnosed ADHD, and letting my mental and physical health slip farther than ever, I feel like teenage me would cry if she met present me.

Something needs to change.

Rina Sawayama’s “Hold the Girl” is a love letter to her younger self, and I remember the first time I heard the lyrics. REALLY heard them. I felt little Jess looking back at me sadly as Rina sang the lines “Sometimes I get down with guilt/For the promises I’ve broken to my younger self.” I’ve let myself fall so far from where I was.

That’s why I’m taking action. I’m not letting myself sink any further. I want little Jess to be proud of me. I want her to be excited to grow into this woman I’ve become. So I’m deciding to be better.

Here’s my plan, inspired by Andy Frisella’s 75 Hard challenge. Despite him kind of being a dumbass (like, Trumper and antivax-level dumbassery), his challenge has a lot of substance. Follow a diet (I’m choosing intermittent fasting), two 45 minute workouts a day, no alcohol, one gallon of water a day, and read ten pages of nonfiction or self-improvement literature daily. I need a holistic plan of action like this one to get me out of this rut I’m in, and I’m sharing this plan and my progress on my blog to keep me accountable.

In short, I’m not going to sit back and be content to suck anymore. She wouldn’t want me to.

Today, I choose to hold the girl.

Do the Damn Thing

2022 so far has been a year of releasing things that no longer serve me. I started by giving up vaping, then alcohol. Next on the shit list is overeating, which will be a lot easier to address after we move to an apartment that isn’t surrounded by every fast food establishment known to man.

But perhaps my biggest vice isn’t something I do, but something I don’t do — the damn thing. As in, the stuff I actually want to do with this life.

I’ve grown so complacent with numbing myself with video games and YouTube binges that I’ve let go of a lot of my creative endeavors. To be fair to myself, I hide away in these frivolous things to escape from the stresses of work and school, and it’s healthy to indulge in mindless fun every now and then, but it’s still not an excuse to let my projects languish. Someday when I’m dead, my long-abandoned Sims or virtual farm won’t matter. What will matter is the work I leave behind, and right now, that output is pretty abysmal.

I’ve had part one of my story — THE story — finished for about half a year now. I’ve been working to get this out for more than a decade, and I finally finished it, only to wuss out and not actually publish it. Why? Part of the problem is I’m scared it’s no one’s going to like my story or even care enough to read it, but to be honest, an even bigger part of the problem is how I’m just to lazy to do much of anything.

WHO’S THAT POKÉMON? IT’S PROCRASTINATION!

So I’m resolving to keep writing, even when it’s hard. Even when I don’t feel like it. Because I don’t want to leave this planet someday without putting my stories out there. The saddest stories are the ones that never get told.

That being said, keep checking back here, because I’m going to post what I write on this very site. You may have noticed I switched the name of the blog again, this time to my own name. That’s because I’m intending this blog to be a repository of all my writing from now on, fiction and nonfiction alike. If you follow me for my posts on mental health and spirituality, don’t fret — I’m still going to post things on those topics from time to time. But I’m especially excited to share my story with everyone, once and for all. It’s been a part of me and my imagination for so long, and I’m ready to see it come to fruition.

It’s scary to put my writing out there, and it’ll take a lot of dedication and hard work, but I know I need to finally do the damn thing.

You Can’t Always Get What You Want

Scrolling through Instagram as I tend to do on a lazy Sunday evening, I found this infographic:

I could write an entire doctoral thesis on how this relates to my own life. Like, how I’m glad I didn’t end up a journalist, because I can’t handle that kind of pressure. Or how I’m glad I never reached Taylor Swift levels of fame, because, well, I can’t handle that kind of pressure.

I’d like to think I’m the fancy bejeweled Russian kind, though.

Young Jess wanted a lot of things that, in retrospect, adult Jess would have considered a nightmare. None more so than my middle school crush, who I absolutely believed was my soulmate.

Ah yes, the face of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

I remember crying myself to sleep over this kid, who will remain unnamed, but we’ll just call him Kyle. The way his floppy auburn hair jostled in the wind at youth group meetups, the way his blue-green eyes shone like sea glass at Cedar Point. I was obsessed with this guy in a way I’d never been obsessed with anyone ever. I didn’t think I was capable of having a crush. The closest I’d come before was strange thoughts about Ann Wilson from the band Heart and this dude from an American Idol knockoff no one remembers. I wasn’t supposed to have crushes on people I actually knew. That was preposterous.

But there he was. I was so enamored with him, I couldn’t imagine a single flaw in him. And young me thought this is what love is. I would have done anything for him. I would have let him walk all over me if he wanted. I would have readily given up everything that made me, well, me, if it meant a chance to have him. And I did. I changed the way I dressed to be more like his then-girlfriend. I started trying to be someone I wasn’t. And surprisingly, it worked! A few years later, I ended up dating him. And…it was anticlimactic. We kissed once, and there were no sparks. I had this boy of my dreams, but something wasn’t right. Shortly after, we broke up. it was mutual.

I had many crushes since, but none were as intense as Kyle. I think everyone needs a Kyle, just to show them what love isn’t. Love isn’t obsession. Love isn’t being a doormat. Love isn’t losing yourself to someone else. Kyle wasn’t a bad person. In fact, he was a great person! Just not my person.

Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like had I ended up with him. Before writing this article, I looked him up on Twitter, my last connection to the boy that changed my life. It was…mostly hockey. Some stuff about Bitcoin. A retweet of Ben Shapiro, which is probably not a good sign. But mostly just hockey. Even if middle school me got her way, she’d be miserable today. I’d be miserable today. I don’t give a shit about hockey or Bitcoin, and Ben Shapiro kind of sucks. And he’d be just as miserable with some eccentric artsy chick who likes Bernie Sanders and blogs for fun.

Sometimes we don’t get what we want, and that’s okay. I’ll let the Rolling Stones take it from here.