I walked into my final university exam armed with some knowledge, some dread, and a lot of Timbits. Those chocolate glazed wonders were more than just the salve for any particularly wounding questions; they were my strategy for slowing down. Most people want to do everything faster. Me? I need to dial it back about 50 miles. Processing at whirlwind speed is both a blessing and a curse. Fantastic in a debate, but it is a nemesis for almost every test you will ever take. Instead of writing “SLOW DOWN” as I had many times before, here I tried the Timbit approach. Read a question, take a breath, nibble, scribble, repeat. All in a quest to encourage my brain to walk, not sprint. When I sprint I trip, and that feeling is overwhelming – I shut down.
I’m neither unmotivated nor apathetic, yet this is how I have felt for much of my academic career. The reason? I have ADHD. Or more commonly known as why I have been called everything from a motormouth to a smartass. While having exhibited those characteristics, the way it affects my brain is different than a child who has just had too much excitement or too much sugar. For them, the lack of focus is temporary. It’s a phase that will wane. For me, it is a permanent state of being. No two instances of ADHD are identical. So what I share may apply only to me or you may well see a glimmer of resemblance to your daughter, your brother, or even to yourself.
Sometimes I wish it was labeled “having the energy to do lots and lots of things excluding the one thing you really need to focus on, except the times you can only focus on that one thing” disorder. Perhaps then people would have a better grasp of what it is like to constantly negotiate with your own brain. I say that because there are many prevailing attitudes which do not recognized ADHD to be an actual learning impairment. “You just need more sleep, a better diet, you’re just not trying, big pharma has duped you, drugs are evil!” Respectfully, none of that is helpful. As someone living with unbridled chaos in my mind, what I seek is understanding, and perhaps a little patience. So I’m hoping I can break down the bedlam.
Growing up, I was oblivious of why I blurted out answers in the middle of class, awkwardly inserted myself into conversations, or why my mouth would betray me – speaking even when my brain would admonish, just be quiet! My deepest hope was that being like everyone else would help me feel less alone. So I worked hard on being less myself - I learned to put up my hand, bite my tongue, and measure my words. Slowly, I mastered the betrayal of my inner spirit.
I want to learn, but I can’t hurt my brain in the process. It is counterproductive. The idea that all children learn the same way is about as ridiculous as assuming every person is capable of drawing or sprinting with equal ease and success. It’s been said that if a child isn’t learning the way we are teaching then we need to teach the way that child learns. I have rarely heard a more resonant nugget of pedagogical wisdom!
Learning with ADHD basically boils down to stimulation. I cannot sit there and just listen. You need to engage with me, not talk at me. When there is no participation required, it removes a major incentive to stay tuned in. I recognize that stimulation can be a double edged sword, necessary yet distracting. The key is a focused approach, one that keeps me present rather than pursuing a tangent in my head – I don’t need Facebook to tune you out!
Paper is actually the best way to organize my mind. I admit, I am an intransigent tree killer! In fact, I could probably drown in the Luddite Sea I regularly scribble all over. Paper works because it is tactile and therefore real, writing rather than typing forces me to slow down, and the page affords me the ability to draw arrows connecting disarrayed thoughts and even doodle in the corner when the need arises.
Throughout the majority of my schooling I got incredibly lucky. I was blessed with small classrooms and motivated teachers who let me explore the world through books, and challenged me to ask even stranger questions. I will be forever grateful for their long-suffering dedication to instilling in me the essential value of structure, all without stifling my creativity or my curiosity. Similarly, I went to an alternative high school. Our teachers sometimes jumped on tables to make a point, we rolled bowling balls down hallways in the name of science, and no subject seemed to be off limits. I couldn’t wait for university. That gleaming ivory expanse where I could focus on the subjects I loved. It actually turned out to be a brick wall, and I hurtled through it at full speed. Throughout my years there, I hated lectures. Even when I loved the material, being spoken at was unflinchingly tedious. I felt like a tiny invisible ant, desperately trying not to be crushed by the very rock I was working to push up the hill of learning.
The stunning fact is that I had no idea as to why till I was 20. I was identified as “gifted” at the age of 9 and despite the high comorbidity of ADHD, no one ever quite figured it out. All I knew for most of my life is that my brain is a maddening binary between hyper focused and a lack of any focus.
Remember the seesaw at your childhood playground? Up and down, over and over. A flash of infinitude happens, and you’re suspended equal to your partner. That instant is my mental sweet spot. It’s the horizon where everything is clear and I am fully present. Before I knew how to use coping mechanisms, I experienced that clarity about as frequently as Halley’s Comet (Hint: Rare). The point is, I have difficulty directing my attention in a sustained way at a consistent level. But my diagnosis is not a crutch, nor do I ever want it to be. I have control over medication, finding alternatives like paper and Timbits, and vocalizing my struggles so those around me become pillars of support. It’s a potent combination which has empowered me both interpersonally and academically.
For many others, they have neither the benefit of alternative schooling, nor the support of understanding family, friends, and teachers. They desperately need a seismic shift away from traditional and inflexible models of education. Until that happens, a sizeable contingent of smart and otherwise capable children will continue to quietly declare, “Drone on, oh mighty ship of learning, drone on."