My current work in progress coloring pencil illustration

What 'Relaxation' May Mean When You Have ADHD

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“Just relax.”  I hate when someone says that to me. My brain does not “just relax.” It is impossible. Even when I am asleep, my mind races. My dreams are so out there… so much so that they don’t make any logical sense to me at times.

Most people who are neurotypical do not understand what it is like to live with a non-neurotypical brain. It is something they cannot possible understand, and I don’t fault them for that. But at least listen to me when I tell you it is not at all possible for me to relax. I do not feel calm if I just sit quietly and stare at a TV for hours. I do not enjoy sitting at the beach. I can’t do things “normal” people do to relax. My brain has too much going on for that. I like talking while hiking, coloring while listening to music, doing puzzles, creating something new, painting, building, exploring. I need some stimulation… that, for me, is euphoric. Being able to do something I enjoy, especially if someone I love enjoys it with me, is my type of relaxation.

My current work in progress coloring pencil illustration
My current work in progress

If I were to define “relaxation,” it would not be the same relaxed feeling others may feel — like a weight is lifted off their shoulder and they are comfortable and can release the tension felt throughout their day. I define relaxation as a time when I can not be overwhelmed by the world around me, where my thoughts are not racing, where I am able to enjoy something and don’t have to conform to the norms of society to fit in. Relaxation is feeling myself, doing something that makes me truly happy and comfortable. I don’t find comfort in a bed or comfy chair. I find comfort in activities or situations where my thoughts aren’t racing. I love letting my imagination go wild, allowing myself to create things without any worry about negative influence. That for me is the feeling I love.

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A Letter to the Teacher of My Son With ADHD, From a Mom With ADHD

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My son, my husband and myself all have ADHD. We like schedules and knowing what is expected from us. We like things clear and understandable. We need reminders, notes, alarms.

This is how we stay on target and get done what we need to do. But what happens when your 10 years old and don’t have these skills yet? You need someone to teach you how. You need someone in your corner who will stand up for you and be your voice when you just can’t. You need someone to make your reminders, notes and alarms.

ADHD has been used as an excuse for kids who are just kids so much now that when a child who really struggles with it comes into a class they are often grouped with kids who don’t struggle in the same way. Being extra tough on a kid without ADHD may mean more work gets done and they might push themselves to do better. Being extra tough on a child with ADHD may mean no work gets done and they might push themselves far too much.

They may shut down, get angry, talk back, tear up their papers instead of doing them. They may look like they are being bad, but in truth they are trying to tell you it’s too much and they need your help to get through this. They are asking for what they need in the only way they know how.

So often this gets overlooked and the teachers lose a chance to help because they didn’t know the signs. They are trying to help without the skills they need. Sound familiar?

You can’t expect to do open heart surgery if you have only been trained to do stitches. You can’t teach a child with ADHD if you have only been taught to teach kids without ADHD. So why aren’t these kids often given the same help as children with other diagnoses? A special needs class, an aid. Why do we tell them to grow up and deal with it instead of teaching them the skills they need to succeed?

We need to give them the same chance as any other child with special needs. They need understanding, not tough love.

We can’t forget that just because they don’t look different, they still need help. They need us to be there for them and make sure they don’t get overlooked.

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We Need to Understand the Challenges Kids With ADHD Can Face at School

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My son has ADHD and sensory processing disorder (SPD). Many people are misinformed or just have some preconceived notion of what ADHD is, so here is a brief description.

ADHD is not:

  • Just being hyperactive and unable to sit still.
  • A behavior problem.
  • Caused by poor parenting and lack of discipline.
  • Magically treated by medication.
  • Something small children just outgrow.
  • Treated with sports or other physical activities.
  • Just a child being “lazy.”

ADHD is:

  • The inability to regulate one’s emotions.
  • An inability to identify and pick up on general social cues.
  • An inability to filter out the input around you, therefore, causing extreme distractibility.
  • An inability to control impulses.
  • Difficulty organizing and staying on task. 

This is just a brief overview of some of the characteristics that are associated with this disorder. A child can have some, many or all of the characteristics. Additionally, any one of the characteristics may be more present and cause greater challenges than others. 

My son has begun first grade this year, and the transition has been difficult. In kindergarten, he was able to have some freedom to play and roam; the expectations were not as high. Now, in first grade, he is expected to sit still for longer periods of time and do much more class work. Pressures have increased 100-fold. He is facing challenges under these pressures.

There are social situations that he seems to perceive or interpret incorrectly. Every day he fights against his own brain and body to tune out the world around him, sit still and focus. He often comes off of the bus tired and wounded from that day’s war. Some days it is so difficult that he just gives up and refuses to do any work altogether. This, consequently, elicits more negative penalties and additional demands from his teachers to try and work harder. I worry that the day is soon coming where he will just refuse to get on the bus and go to school altogether.  

There are times when he calls out so often that no other student can get a word in edgewise. He is smart, brilliant even, and he has ideas that need to be heard. Waiting his turn to share his thoughts can be challenging for him.

I want to help my sweet boy. I want him to feel smart, for he is truly brilliant. I want him to feel socially accepted, for he is the nicest, kindest, most loving child.  

I want him to feel happy every day, because that is what a 6-year-old deserves. I’m not sure I know how to do that right now, and it terrifies me.

I wish society understood this disorder and its challenges more. I want parents to understand that it’s not that our children are “undisciplined” or “lazy”; they actually work twice as hard as a “typical” child to function day to day. 

I want schools to begin to design programs that work for children who are wired this way. Why is my child made to feel less-than every day because he cannot fit into the mold of current educational expectations? We have to do more for children as a whole.

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The Path of Love and Patience We Travel Together as a Special Needs Family

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When I was teaching a freshman class, I remember a paper conference I had with a student one morning. While looking over his paper, this student told me he had ADHD. “I just have to work harder. It’s not easy, but I don’t let it hold me back,” he told me. I always remember this conversation. For one, it was the first time in my new teaching career that a student told me about his special needs. I felt honored and curious as to how I could help him succeed. But the conversation we had has also replayed in my mind again and again as I raise my own two sons, both of whom have ADHD and one who is autistic.

“You have some challenges,” I tell them. “I know it’s not easy. But it just means we have to be creative, work through things together, try again.” We’re going to get there, but the challenges that can come with ADHD and autism mean my boys might have to take a longer way around. As my boys travel their paths, I’ve realized I’m on the longer way around, too.

I read parenting articles about patience and find myself scoffing. I find myself justifying my irritation — “Well, I asked nicely the first three times! If you would just pay attention, Mommy wouldn’t yell!” I want to raise them right, to be kind, loving, respectful men. But that means I have to be kind, loving and respectful, too. I can’t justify acting like a jerk or dismissing my impatience and irritation as acceptable by-products of any parenting challenges I might face on a day-to-day basis. ADHD and autism can present challenges for my boys, but I don’t want them to say “I can’t” because of their special needs. I don’t want to say “I can’t” either.

I can be kind, like keeping them in mind when I plan our dinners because making their favorite foods is one way I can tell them, “I’m thinking about you.”

I can be patient. I can be creative in carving out one-on-one time, even if it is just snuggling on the couch, watching their favorite show. I can be interested, even if I can’t keep all Pokemon details straight.

And I can be loving, always loving, because they are my sons and I am their mom.

We’re on the long way ‘round. We have challenges. Maybe you do too. But let’s keep moving forward, choosing love, choosing kindness and choosing relationships.

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I Should Be Happy I Was Finally Diagnosed With ADD, but I’m Not

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I’ve got a failure complex. I thought maybe it was my battle with depression, but I’m starting to win that war. Yet, still I feel a failure. A failure at work. A failure as a father and husband. A failure as a man. A failure at life. Failure with a big, fat capital F.

I understand feeling inadequate as a parent or even a spouse is a natural thing. I can live with that. I don’t like it, and I’ll always feel like I should be doing more, but my best will have to do. The rest of life, however, keeps me awake at night. It’s what I think of before finally falling into an often fitful sleep at night and the first thing on my mind as I prepare for another day at work.

To understand, we have to go back. Way back. Twenty years back, to be more precise. I was a dorky, unathletic senior in high school. Awkward, introverted and lacking confidence. I had one thing going for me though. I was pretty damned smart.

As it happens, my intellect is the one thing I really like about myself. I’m not bragging. I’m certainly no genius. There are scores of people intellectually superior to me, but I’m still on the high side of average. This is really where things start to fall apart.

I graduated high school near the top of my class, had one of the higher SAT scores in the state and was told the sky was the limit. Except it wasn’t. The limit turned out to be my attention span. I went to college and changed majors as often as people change the batteries in smoke detectors. From pre-vet med to elementary education to criminal justice, I just kept shifting.

I functioned at a high level. So nobody took notice of how difficult it was for me to keep on task. To be fair, I didn’t notice it myself. I found it impossible to pay attention to anything not relying heavily upon theory. STEM type classes were my nemesis, and I avoided them like the plague. In theory classes, you can get the gist of an argument and fill in the holes. STEM, however, required a person to understand the entire process.

Since I often spaced out, giant holes were left, and I struggled. I thought maybe I was just lazy, but I still couldn’t will myself to change. It wasn’t working, and so I had to adjust to a focus and major that suited me. That’s where the constant major changes came in. Now, I have a master’s degree in criminal justice and make my living as a salesman. It’s not me. I don’t like it, but this is the hole I dug for myself.

A few months ago, I finally began seeking therapy for depression. Part of that process was also seeking the help of a psychiatrist to fully diagnose my condition and to find a treatment that might help me cope. The expected result, of course, was a full on major depressive disorder diagnosis. Toss in a little generalized anxiety disorder, and you have absolutely no surprises. Seriously. Tell me something I don’t know.

“Oh, hey. By the way, do you have trouble following conversations? What about finishing things? Do you often struggle just to follow along to a television show? What about household projects? Are some of those laying around waiting for finishing touches?”

“Yeah, but what are you g….Oh. Oh Fuck.”

It was like a sledgehammer to the back of my head. As soon as the doctor began asking the questions, I knew where he was going. It was the surprise that shouldn’t have been. Attention deficit disorder (ADD). I was shocked, and then I wasn’t.

Just that fast, everything fell into place.The natural reaction, I think, would have been to be grateful there was finally something that may result in positive change. The depressive jerk in my head had other plans. Now, I lament 20 lost years. Two decades of wasted time. Somewhere around 7,300 days lost to an endless abyss.

Now, instead of just disliking my job, I have an intense hatred for it. Walking in the door becomes the epitome of wasted years. The small talk. The lack of a challenge, of a mission, of having any real impact at all. It is the symbol of my failure, like a giant billboard reminding me of 60 grand in wasted education and 20 years of spinning my wheels.

I should be happy. I should be relieved that a weight chained to my ankles for so long will soon be released. I should be able to look ahead and formulate a plan. Nope. I can only see the wreckage behind me, the shredded remains of 7,500 days and each new day only adds to the shame.

I don’t want to wallow in my failure. I don’t want to constantly look over my shoulder, ashamed at the wasted potential I’ve left behind. Yet, here I sit, hammering away at my old laptop, getting ready to post to a blog few people read and submit another piece of writing, of my art, for free to any website that will publish it.

I used to say I was just smart enough to realize I’m not quite smart enough to do anything great. Now, I’m not so sure this is true, but I’m also of the opinion it may just be too damn late.

I can sit in my chair and think my life is barely half over, and there is still plenty of time. But the great question is time for what? I’ve spent so much time dabbling in so many things that I’m left with no idea of what’s next. Like a swimmer pulled underwater who is unsure where the surface is, I just don’t know which way is up.

Oh look. A squirrel.

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My Answer to the Question 'What Does ADHD Mean?' After My Child's Diagnosis

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What does ADHD mean?

If you Google ADHD, you will learn that the acronym stands for attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, and you will read about distractibility, hyperactivity, and impulsivity.

If you go to a medical professional for answers, chances are you will be given pamphlets and told of medications that might help.

Others might tell you that ADHD is over-diagnosed, and often a parent’s “made-up excuse” for a child who is undisciplined at home.

The best place to go for a true understanding of ADHD is into the home of a family who lives with it. My 12-year-old daughter has ADHD. I’d like to tell you about our experience with ADHD.

My daughter wakes up in the morning and jumps out of bed, eyes wide open, ready to run a race. She believes everyone in the house should also be up and ready to run beside her. She does not believe in sleeping in.

She can’t always sit still long enough to eat a bowl of cereal or tie her shoes, and she strives to fill every moment with noise and movement. If she runs out of things to say, she will sing, bark, moo, or even cluck like a chicken.

At times, her ADHD can cause her to play too rough, spill things, break things, knock things over, constantly apologizing. Only to repeat the things she just apologized for.

She is often distracted from the task at hand by things the rest of us might not even notice: a squeaky chair, a dripping faucet, the flicker of a light, a voice in the hall, a movement across the room, or a dog barking outside.

Her having ADHD means she might ask half a dozen questions in rapid succession but not wait for an answer, because she cannot stop her mind from wandering from one topic to the next. It means medications that help her organize her thoughts, have conversations, follow multistep instructions, and learn.

As her mother, my daughter having ADHD means creating visual schedules and reminders, and going over the rules repeatedly. I model a quiet voice and talk often about volume. I give constant reminders about safety. I meet with teachers and request help and understanding. At times I have lost my patience and have tremendous feelings of guilt for not being more understanding.

Life with my daughter means lots of giggles, silly misunderstandings, fun games, made-up words, a huge imagination that never stops, hugs and back rubs.

Her ADHD diagnosis has meant learning to parent differently. It has helped me to find buckets and buckets of perseverance and compassion I had no idea I had.

It means I work harder and longer, knowing she is worth it all.

Follow this journey on Quirks And Chaos.

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