Looking at myself with my ADD eyes
Knowing I have attention deficit disorder has changed what I see when I see myself in a mirror
A couple of weeks ago, I was diagnosed as having attention deficit disorder (ADD).
After I came out of my last period of depression, I was struggling to concentrate. So I looked for ways to increase my attention span. And I ended up reading a list of the tell-tale signs of ADD.
ADD, and its sibling attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), are life-long neurological conditions that cripple your memory, impulse control and concentration. It can even distort your perception of time.
Reading the indicators of ADD — chronic lateness, academic and professional underperformance, poor memory, poor impulse control, anxiety — was like reading a description of myself.
So I spoke to my GP and got a referral for an ADHD evaluation for an NHS adult ADHD unit. A year later, I was speaking to a consultant.
Three hours later she said, “You fit the criteria for ADD. You fit it very well.”
My reality shifted.
The stupid dreamer
As ADD is a life-long condition, I’ve had ADD since I was born.
When I was growing up, my parents, elder sister and teachers wouldn’t just tell me to my face and to each other how I was a useless, forgetful, lazy, stupid dreamer.
They would hold me up as an exemplar and the focus of their disappointment and anger.
As I grew up the people who should have taught me how I am worth a great deal, taught me I was worth little.
I learned those lessons well.
So when I was told I have ADD, I was told I had never been a useless, forgetful, lazy, stupid dreamer.
And so my reality shifted.
All those times over all those years I’d torn myself down for being lazy.
For acting without thinking.
For saying precisely the wrong thing at precisely the right time.
For not following through with even the simplest of plans.
For ignoring my responsibilities to myself and others.
For forgetting the little and big things.
For rarely being on time for anything.
For not paying attention to anyone or anything.
For struggling to make and maintain friendships.
And for being blind to how my behaviour affects other people.
That view of myself was something that had been inflicted on me by others.
They had seen my behaviour and judged me wanting. And that behaviour was heavily influenced by my ADD.
Their image of me — the image they taught me to believe — was based on a lie.
Permission to forgive
A few days later, I considered what I’d be like now if I’d been diagnosed as a child.
The answer only took a moment: no different.
In the 1980s, my parents — and the public — thought a ‘hyperactive child’ referred to kids whose bad behaviour and “acting out” were down to bad parents and the child eating too much sugar and food additives. So even if I had been diagnosed, I’m unlikely to have received treatment.
At the end of my evaluation, the consultant told me: “This should have been diagnosed when you were a child. I’m sorry.”
I took me a few days to realise that simple “I’m sorry” was permission to forgive myself.
It was an acknowledgement that I’d been failed by everyone around me when I was a child.
New lessons
I wanted to rage at what should have been. And what was done to me.
Instead, I decided to let that anger go.
I’ve better things for my brain and soul to do.
I’m going to learn how to live with ADD.
I’m going to learn to take responsibility for my behaviour, and not use ADD as an excuse.
I’m going to learn how to forgive myself the years I’ve spent punishing myself.
And I’m not going to permit anyone to dismiss me as useless, forgetful, lazy, idiot or a dreamer again.
Especially if that person is me.