Now that I see it...

I came into this world with a box.

My parents couldn’t open the box when I was born, but they could reach their hands inside and feel around. They were excited when they could feel a round, smooth object inside the box. It was so smooth! And even! And perfect! It felt warm and soft. It was fun to feel the object and to tell everyone all about how smooth it was!

Before I was old enough to start school, my parents noticed the object in the box was changing. 

Now when they reached in, they noticed the smooth parts were harder to find. And there were jagged parts that weren't there before. Pointy parts. Parts that hurt when they reached inside. They felt hot to the touch. Too hot.

They consulted an expert. What was this object in the box?? They thought it was smooth but now it’s rough and it hurts. How could it be both?

The expert agreed that these pointy parts were causing problems for my parents. What did they need to do to get rid of these pointy parts and get back to the smooth parts?

They needed to apply pressure and try to sand down the rough and pointy parts. They needed to meet force with force and overpower these rough parts.

So they did.

Stories are told about my rough and pointy parts when I was little. About how difficult they made things for the people around me. About the strategies and methods that were used to get them to go away. The stories sometimes paint my early years like a battle scene.

I’m glad I don’t have actual memories of this part of my life. But the object remembers. It has turned it’s memories into very strong negative emotions around discipline and punishment.

But the rough and pointy parts didn’t go away. They got rougher and pointier.

And I learned that they were not okay. No one wanted to reach inside the box and feel the rough parts. When the pointy parts came out, I got in trouble. But I had no control over what was in the box. And the punishments taught me that there was something wrong with me because I couldn't manage the rough parts.

Once I went to school, the object in the box shifted again. The pointy parts could no longer be felt. The smooth part was back!

We did it! they said. The discipline must have worked! The shaming and yelling and spanking and taking away privileges worked! 

Any time my teachers reached into the box, they felt the smooth part of the object. There were awards and praise and good grades.

They never knew about the rough and pointy parts. They just heard the stories. The stories that made me feel embarrassed. Ashamed. That made my parents look like martyrs for putting up with me.

But I knew something else was in the box. I knew it was hiding. That the smooth parts were not all that existed inside the box.

I realized as I went through school that I had some control over the object in the box. When I was little and people felt the rough parts, things didn’t go so well for me. So I learned to hide them. 

By the time I got to high school, the smooth parts were getting tired of being touched all the time. It was a lot of effort to make sure the smooth parts were always within reach. They started to wear out.

And the object started to shift again.

Only I was the only one who knew.

Now when I reached inside the box, I felt holes. This part of the object that I could now feel had craters and empty spaces. It felt cold. 

What is this??

I didn’t tell anyone else about what was happening to the object. I kept telling people that it was smooth and wouldn’t let anyone else reach inside to check for themselves.

I started acting like the rough and pointy parts were back, but they weren’t. I wanted to hide the holes even more than the rough and pointy parts, so I started acting like a teenage version of my 4-year-old self. Angry and defiant felt better than exhausted and apathetic. 

There came a day when I decided I was leaving this world, and taking this mystery box with me. It was, after all, the reason I was leaving. I was tired of trying to figure out what was inside when it kept changing on me. When it kept making me feel like something was wrong with me.

But the box told me I couldn’t leave. It told me that the object inside was a gift. That it wasn’t for me, but for others.

I was angry at the box. I cried and I yelled. That wasn’t fair for it to give me that kind of responsibility.

I decided to ignore the box altogether. I refused to feel the holes and craters. I refused to feel the rough and pointy parts. I didn’t know what the gift was, but I knew I didn’t want it.

As I became an adult, I continued to do a really good job of only letting people feel inside the box when the smooth part of the object was around.  

I earned degrees, I taught kids, I had a life. It felt smooth.

Then one day the world shook the box. It picked it up like a Magic 8 ball and shook it hard. The object smashed around, crashing against the sides of the box.

When the dust settled, I reached inside. 

The holes were so deep.

I couldn’t hide them anymore. I couldn't even hide them from other people.

I didn’t know what else to do. But other people did. They sent me away to the experts.

The experts felt the craters and the holes. This is not okay, they said. This is not healthy.

They couldn’t feel the rough and pointy parts. They didn’t even know those parts existed.

They couldn’t feel the smooth parts. I forgot those parts existed.

So they came up with a plan to fill in the holes and craters with pills and therapy.

I could feel the rough and pointy parts protesting. They were feeling ignored. They knew they mattered, too.

I could feel the smooth parts feeling defeated. They were tired of working so hard.

I could feel the holes and craters feeling misunderstood. They are just trying to get rid of us, they thought.

As a special education teacher I helped kids learn how to thrive with their pointy, rough parts. And their holes and craters.

And I remembered the box telling me that the object inside was a gift for others. I could see it now. I could see how my experiences paved the way for me to help others. It made it easy for me to understand them.

One day I was asked to talk to a group about a topic I really didn’t know that much about.

As I dove in to the research, I recognized parts of my object in it. I recognized the rough and pointy parts, and how they hurt other people. I recognized the holes and craters, and how they hurt the person they belonged to. I wondered if I was finally figuring out the truth behind my mysterious object.

There's a hopeful feeling when you think you know what's 'wrong' with you. If other people have it, that means you aren't alone.

I also learned about another part of the object that I hadn’t noticed before. This part was scratchy and soft at the same time. Like it had two different textures depending on how you chose to think about it.

I confided in the person closest to me. I read the description of the rough and pointy parts. And the newly discovered scratchy/soft parts. Yep, that’s what I feel when I reach inside, he said. There were parts I had never even noticed until he pointed them out to me. Is this me? I would ask. Totally, he would say. Do I do this? I would ask. Seriously?? He would reply. You really don’t know you do that? I really didn't.

Had I figured it out? Was I finally able to solve the mystery of this object inside the box?

But the research didn’t talk about the smooth parts. I didn’t see the good grades and the friends and the two masters degrees in the information I was learning.

So I told myself this wasn’t my object. My object must be something different. Something no one else could relate to.

In the last couple of years, the object has shifted again. Now what people feel when they reach in the box is the scratchy/soft part that I didn’t even know was there until a few years ago.

Depending on the person and the day, they either feel something a bit uncomfortable that they prefer to avoid or something they really like and want to keep feeling.

I mostly feel the scratchy part when I reach in.

I have learned what things cause the object to feel scratchy and I try to avoid them.

I have learned what things cause the object to feel soft, and I try to reinforce them.

It’s exhausting.

Lately I have really felt the pull to tear the box apart and see the object for what it really is. All the sides, all the pieces, all the things.

Why does it have rough and pointy parts that get me in trouble and make people mad at me?

Why does it have smooth parts that make it seem like everything is fine?

Why does it have parts that are sometimes scratchy and sometimes soft?

What is this thing I've been carrying around my whole life??

This week I cut the box open. I talked about all the parts. I was asked questions about even more parts I hadn’t felt before, but once we talked about them I could feel them all.

As the evaluation went on it reinforced what I suspected several years ago about the object in my box, but had rejected because of the smooth parts.

And I realized that the smooth parts rose to the surface when I was operating in systems and structures that were best for the object. Even though I couldn't identify the object, I had found ways to accommodate it.

Now it all made sense.

The object in my box, with all its points and craters and scratches and rough patches and holes and soft spots, has officially been confirmed as ADHD.

And now that I see it, I can’t unsee it.

I now understand this gift that I came into the world with. This gift that’s not for me but for others. This gift that allows me to understand how neurodiverse kids think and feel. And how to best help them.

The beauty of a diagnosis is that it provides a sense of community. A sense of belonging. A sense of understanding of yourself and others. A sense of relief.

The challenge of a diagnosis is that it points out ways of being that are different than most other people, usually things that are more difficult for you than for others. We don't seek a diagnosis because we are conquering the world, but rather because we feel like the world is conquering us.

Now that I see it, I'm here for it all.

Especially that ORANGE awareness ribbon!! :D