Learning to love my brain

"There is, as I know you have read, no exact test for this, but based on our conversations thus far it feels safe to say that you do likely have ADHD. This doesn't change anything about our sessions, but it does help us find a lens to look at some of the things you've been wanting to address." This is what my counselor says in my second session with her, three months before my 51st birthday.

More accurately, it's what I think she says; at "you do likely have ADHD" my focus plummets through a trap door, abandoning me to dozens of memories fading in and out of one another in rapid succession. Me in first grade, ignoring the teacher's strict instruction to stay in our seats while she left the room so I could check the hall and see if she was on her way back (she was)...me in second grade gym class, happily making dandelion chains in the sunshine of left field, completely oblivious when the kickball hit me in the leg and quickly embarrassed for not comprehending what all my screaming teammates needed me to do with the ball...me in third grade, unable to find my math homework that should be in the math folder in my trapper keeper but isn't...me in fourth grade, with a highly observant teacher ahead of his time who assigned me stories to write in class after I finished my assignments, which meant I finished everything before everyone, every time...me in fifth grade, the new kid in school, watching my classmates closely to try to learn how to fit in, embarrassed and face hot and trying in vain to defend myself from the laughter and accusations of staring...me in sixth grade, coming home from school late after having detention, again, for talking in class, my exasperated mom asking "how can you even talk in music class? Aren't you busy singing?"

The memories keep coming quickly, but as I research more, read articles and fall down online rabbit roles of discussion forms it's the questions that find me. It's the questions that creep in slowly, curious and benign at first, almost helpful in their suggestions. They tap lightly on my shoulder while I try to work, asking I stop for a moment and consider the "is this why" of ADHD. Is this why my handwriting has always been so bad? Is this why I struggle to keep my car clean? Is this why I could happily daydream for hours on road trips as a kid?

They don't stay benign for long. They don't even stay questions for long. Soon they are sharp accusations, accusations that thunder and grow more and more insistent, rousing me from sleep, interrupting conversations with friends, even throwing my physical balance off mid yoga class. This is why you got laid off three times in one year in your twenties. This is why you were bullied for being the weird kid in fifth grade: Because you WERE the weird kid in fifth grade. This is why you had an eating disorder in your teens. This is why you didn't get that internship in college. This is why your first marriage didn't work. This is why you never fit in anywhere. This is why you give up easily. This is why you never had the courage to pursue writing. This is why you are so physically awkward when you try new activities, no, this is why you are so physically awkward ALL THE TIME.

The accusations escalate in their meanness and frequency, now a humming that ebbs and flows but never ever ceases throughout my waking hours, a constant barrage of insults so painful my breath catches in my chest: No one really likes you, and if they knew you better they wouldn't like you at all...You've wasted your life not being focused and now it's too late...Don't worry about the ADHD, you're nothing and there's no point in trying to be something...Did you see that look your friend gave you when you tried to talk to her about ADHD? That's because she sees who you really are and knows you are just making excuses for yourself... You're lazy and have always been lazy and will always be lazy...How did someone like you end up having so many successful friends? It's a good thing they don't know how you really feel about yourself, no one would stick around for that craziness.

I develop an obsession of googling ADHD along with personality traits I either dislike about myself or have been accused of by others (often both). ADHD and eating disorders. ADHD and body dysmorphia. ADHD and not fitting in. ADHD and being late. ADHD and selfishness. ADHD and anxiety. ADHD and poor self image. ADHD and thinking everyone hates you. ADHD and living a mediocre life. ADHD and not being good at anything.

There are dozens of articles, blogs and websites on every combination I search.

Already in the midst of some serious midlife questioning of my purpose and value (which led me to therapy in the first place), I spend several days vacilating between grief over "what could have been" had I been diagnosed in childhood, confusion over whether any of my life choices had ever been mine or just a function of ADHD, and a fierce jealousy of sucessful friends who made life look easy.

Frustrated and wallowing in self pity, I open up to a friend who asks during a phone call how I'm handling my diagnosis. "I'm okay, other than having to come to terms with the knowledge that the rest of the world identifies my entire personality as a disorder," I say, deflecting with humor so my friend will hopefully feel neither pity nor discomfort ( see "ADHD and always making others feel comfortable.") I await the sound of laughter in my earpiece, but something unexpected happens. My friend doesn't laugh, or make an excuse to hang up the phone, or make any judgmental or pitying noises. My friend tells me I'm amazing, that I'm well loved by many, that I make a difference in the lives of my friends, that I'm important to them. My friend tells me they wish I could see myself as they do. My friend keeps talking, deliberately not giving any silences that I can misinterpret as awkward.

My friend makes me feel seen. And somehow this helps me find the slightest bit of solid footing again.

I open up to my therapist more and more about my feelings. I stop my random googles to instead read helpful articles, listen to podcasts, and even join a "women with ADHD" group. My therapist urges me to stop looking at the traits I've lumped together as "all my faults" and to start looking for the ways in which ADHD has made me more creative, funny, uniquely me. I sign up for classes I want to take: a herbs class taught by a licensed herbalist, a writing workshop I'd been eyeing.

I tell myself my happiness is more important than seeking "accomplishments."

I tell myself, and start believing, that my "negative" traits are perhaps things that are innate to my ADHD, but that my new awareness gives me agency over them, that my life opportunities, even at 51, are limitless.

I cannot say I'm where I want to be, but (most days) I am able to stop the judgmental thoughts before they take over. I have yet to be able to say that I love my ADHD brain, but I'm slowly learning what that journey can look like for me.