You Canât Have ADHDâYouâre Just Like Me!â
I am 50 years old, and became licensed as a registered psychologist about two and a half years ago. I am in private practice, where I work with individual adults, couples, and families. I have a married daughter who is an elementary schoolteacher, and have recently remarried. Three years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD.
Several years ago, I was counseling families and youth at risk. Many of these young people (and some of their parents) exhibited problems like defiance, aggression, impulsivity, poor school achievement, and criminal behavior. Many had been diagnosed with ADHD, among other disorders. In no way did I connect their problems with my experiences. This changed about 4 years ago, when a girlfriend, a veterinarian by profession, asked me about adult ADHD. She described having difficulty reading and recalling full paragraphs, having to review the same page repeatedly, and being forgetful and disorganized. I laughingly replied, No, you donât have ADHD, because that sounds just like me.â Then the lightbulb in my head went on. The ADHD-diagnosed youth with whom I had worked presented very differently. However, as I thought about my friendâs experiences, and mine, I became curious. I promised to look into it. Thus, my journey with ADHD began.
As I reviewed the recent literature, I connected with what I was readingâit was like finding the missing pieces to the puzzle of my life. About that time, I was studying for the psychology licensing examinationâthe dreaded Examination for Professional Practice in Psychology (EPPP)âa 200-question, 4-h multiple-choice exam, with finely nuanced wording requiring a great deal of concentration to decipher. I had started studying twice before, and this time was much the sameâI struggled to sustain my attention to the readings and retain what I did manage to read. I consulted a psychologist, who confirmed my growing belief that Iâd struggled with ADHD my whole life, visited my long-time primary care physician, and started a trial of Dexedrine. As the pieces of my puzzle came together, this is how I made sense of them all.
As I reflected on my childhood, I realized that I recalled very little of it. Even though I grew up in a small town, Iâd forgotten names and events. As a young child, my fondest memories were of living on a farm we had rented for about a year. I dug in the dirt to make the garden grow, made mud pies, climbed trees, and brought the odd wounded bird or animal home to fix.â Once school started, things began to change. ⌠My first day of school, I remember my mother walking me into the classroom, where I was allowed to pick my own seat. Like a self-conscious, timid mouse, I quickly chose the closest seat. It was behind a girl with beautiful, long, golden blonde hair; I could hardly resist touching it, as she sat in front of me. I was painfully shy and recall quietly watching others to see how they looked, behaved, and spoke. I was mortified about answering questions in class, and would never raise my hand. I avoided eye contact by looking at my paper, or adjusting my clothes, or picking my pencil off the floor, and so on. I learned to say I donât knowâ right away so the teacher would move on quickly. I did this mostly because it seemed like I couldnât think fast enough, and didnât want to be humiliated by having the wrong answer.
My mother tells me she knew something was wrongâ with meâI was fidgety and overactive. My mother complained that she couldnât settle me downâ when I would get home from school. Teachers reported that I would often look out the window and daydream, seemed to fidget a lot, and would talk in class.â By the time I was 8, in third grade, the school was concerned enough about me to send me for some kind of assessment. As I recall, I scored in the 98th percentile in spatial and abstract reasoning, but other areas like math and working memory were below average. My mother recalled that she had slipped and fallen when I was 2 years old. I hurtled over her shoulder and struck the right side of my forehead on the floor, resulting in a large goose egg.â She hypothesized that this might be responsible for my difficulties. The assessment results confirmed my motherâs suspicions that something was wrongâ with me. She took me to numerous doctors for 8 months, studiously avoiding psychologists or psychiatrists, to figure out what the problemâ was. Looking back, it seems like she was looking for a magic bulletâ (preferably a physiological one) that would confirm the problem was insideâ me, and not something that she was responsible for, or had to do anything about. Eventually, one physician referred me for an electroencephalogram (EEG), which was abnormal.â Hearing the doctor give the results to my mother, I felt shocked and so emptyâmy brain was abnormal! I was abnormal! I felt sad, bad, and numb. I was emotionally devastated, thinking, I guess I really am stupid!â
Even though I had never had an obvious seizure, my daydreaming (blank stare) was interpreted as petit mal or absence seizures.â I was diagnosed with epilepsy and was given phenobarbitol initially, which resulted in a severe allergic reaction, including a fever. I was then placed on Dilantin thrice a day, which continued for the next 8 years. Dilantin just seemed to slow me down. When I became excited, active, or simply wanted to play, my mother told me it was time to take my medication. I was basically told to take a pill.â I disliked the way it made me feel. It amplified the feeling that I wasnât very smart or worthwhile as a person.
As school and life continued, I was an easy target for being teased. A very painful experience involved a friend who noticed the long menâs underwear showing under my pants and socks, pointed, and snickered out loudâin class. My family couldnât afford to buy me snow/ski pants for me to walk to school, so I was forced to wear the long johns.â Growing up poor in a small farming town added to my sense of unworthiness. The only activities I could ever participate in were Brownies and Girl Guides, and it seemed to me that I never fit in anywhere. I almost always felt, and was often reminded, that I wasnât good enough.
In school, I couldnât seem to get it, no matter how hard I tried. I would learn what I could in class, but without doing homework, I was scraping by in school with Cs. I was more interested in social interactions. But, I mainly remembered just feeling stupid and like I didnât belong. At times, I found I could retain more if the classroom was physically arranged so I could hear better. However, when teachers assigned me a seat in the front of the class, again I was embarrassed and felt everyone watching me as I forced myself to pay attention. After some time, it occurred to me that, because I had to pay attention (or risk being rudely reminded by the teacher), I was able to absorb and remember more. This strategy became crucial when I tackled tenth-grade math againâsome 15 years later! Although my struggle to learn and fit in didnât seem to change much from year to year, my marks declined. Skimming by with average or below-average marks, I had fallen farther and farther behind. I tried to study but couldnât seem to remember it all ⌠there were so many missing pieces ⌠I just kept doing it the wrong way. For example, in math class, I would sit there and do it, and do it, and do it, but it just didnât seem to click. For a while, I had a tutor, which helped a bit, but not enough to feel comfortable with math. Although my sedated behavior was easier to manage, school was always a struggle. I gravitated toward learning activities that utilized audio, video, and hands-on activities, and de-emphasized reading and memorization. Subjects requiring memorization of facts and detail were very difficult. Practical information held my interest and was easier for me to absorb. Accordingly, I did very little homeworkâthe minimum necessary to complete assignments. I didnât see the point in studying because it did not help anyway.
My shyness and introversion followed me into my teens. I felt depressed, and continued to feel stupid. When I failed tenth-grade math (the academic math course), my stupidâ narrative was reinforced. Although I had wanted to become a doctor or a veterinarian, failing math, despite having a tutor, precluded attending university, and I abandoned that dream. I took it as evidence of how stupid I really was. With depression taking hold, I gave up on school and my dreams. I focused my attention on a social life and started to rebelâ by hanging out with a badâ crowd ⌠kids who smoked and skipped school ⌠and later drugs and alcohol. I started to rebel and tried to assert myselfâI wanted to be who I wanted to be. Knowing now that I had untreated ADHD, Iâm surprised I did not become more drawn into drinking or drugs, given that I lived in a small town with little else to do. My friends were my world. Because I was subdued and quiet, I was seen as a good listener. Others would confide in me, and ask for my opinion. Typically, in adolescence, friendships become very important. In my case, however, they gave me what my family could not. Friends became a safe haven where I could express my feelings, and be accepted the way I was.
Home life was even worse. Even in the context of the prevailing ethos of the 1960sâchildren should be seen and not heardââmy mother seemed stricter than usual. As a self-employed tradesman, my dad was often absent. Although my mother stayed home to parent full-time, she suffered depression and could not provide the optimal level of support that children struggling with ADHD require. In retrospect, I consider my parents very authoritarian and harsh. Doing something I wasnât supposed to, making a mistake, or talking backâ (in an attempt to negotiate or ask why) resulted in being spanked as a child, and grounded with loss of privileges in my teens. I could not voice my questions, ideas, or feelings for that matter. I was told what to think and what to do. I blamed myself for my miseryâafter all, I was abnormal and likely deserved it.
When my parents divorced when I was 16âanother risk factor for future problemsâI went to live with my dad after a huge fight with my mother. But moving away from my mother facilitated another transition. I had been on Dilantin (a sedative) for 8 years, before an annual EEG test result indicated normalâ resultsâhow that happened I have no idea, but after 8 years of feeling doped up,â I finally went off Dilantin. Despite some clear vulnerabilities, I managed to develop some strengths that pulled me through. I developed some effective coping strategies, for example. The rare times I studied, I did it with others. Discussing content, approaching it from different angles, helped a great dealâeven if it was something boring like history. It helped to process in different modesâvisual, audio, kinesthetic. The subject matter in nonacademic math courses felt practical and relevant.
Ironically, my parentsâ authoritarian parenting style supported development of some of my strengths. On one hand, I was indecisiveâsomething that plagues me to this day. I thought if I made a wrong decision, I would be accused of lying and be in trouble. On the other hand, I became very adept at reading people, understanding their perspective, mediating and negotiating, and advocating for others. My predisposition to be a peacemaker was an adaptation to my parentsâ authoritarian parenting style. My parentsâ authoritarian parenting also drummed great organizational skills into my head. Everything went into its place immediately after use, was clean, tidy (uncluttered), and organized. This helped me avoid the disorganization that plagues many young people with ADHD. Another strength I developed (through 19 moves in 13 years) was to be able to pack an entire house in order of each room. I can remember the box in which specific items can be found. This helped to keep me organized and able to manage many tasks at onceâmultitasking was the positive buzzword at the time.
My story does have a happy ending. Fast forward to age 30. I started university as a single parent, conquered my math nemesis, and realized I wasnât stupid! I just needed different tools and methods for me to learn. It took me longer. I needed multimodal strategies (verbal, visual, auditory) and immediate correction as I proceeded through a formula, so I would learn the right way to use it. This was an astounding epiphany in my life. I eventually completed a masterâs degree in counseling psychology. Being diagnosed with ADHD at age 48 was another revelation. The pieces of my life puzzle came flying into place. I also cried for all those years in school and at home that I will not ever know what I could have been or done.
Based on my experience as a child and youth with ADHD, I would say to kids: Youâre not stupid, or worthless, or lazy, or good-for-nothings. You are valuable. You do count. You might feel like you donât belong, canât keep up, or that you arenât as good as other kids. It could be that you have ADHD: a different way of thinking and learning that others may not understand.â I would support young people to advocate for them, and ask them, What are the things that you like? What do you think you do well?â And Iâd support them to discuss this with an adultâwhoever is available for them. Especially for boys, I would try to help them understand and manage their behaviors, because once they are labeled as aggressive,â or bullies,â adults find it much more difficult to be sympathetic, support them, or understand their behaviors in context.
I would say to parents stay open and curious.â Our children donât come with instruction manuals. They are unique. Parenting and teaching strategies that work for other children may not necessarily work for the child with ADHD. If you have concerns or questions, take account of different opinions (day care, schools, other family members, and so on) and the most recent information possible. This may involve obtaining a competent psycho-educational assessment of your child. In my work, all parents want the best for their child. Many parents may be influenced by their values or culture, and hesitate to have their child on daily medication, especially related to a mental health issue. Or, they may be concerned about side effects or the stigma of being labeled. Recent research finding is that medication, properly administered by a competent physician, with informed collaboration with parents and other supports, gives a child the greatest opportunity for success. ADHD does not mean that youâre a horrible parent, or your child is a horrible kid. Medication and other supports may create a context for your childâs creativity, intelligence, energy, and dynamism to emerge. I would also urge parents to take action to support your child, to obtain the necessary services and information, in a timely way, before your child starts to believe he/she is stupid,â not worthwhile, or develops an aversion to school. If a child develops a pattern of aggression, anger, and rage, others will be less sympathetic and less interested in supporting him/her. Itâs especially important to maintain your relationship with your child. Although you may need to set firm limits, provide strong structure, and be the bad guyâ at times; itâs important to sustain a caring, connected relationship.