“I was born with a brain that tells me to move. I’m hyperactive, and I’m bad at moving.”
Jessica McCabe, How to ADHD
Lately some people pushed a bizarre rivalry in the neurodivergent community, perpetuating misinformation harmful to people with ADHD, autism, or both. Most recently I saw ADHD referred to as autism-lite (which minimizes ADHD, demeans autism, and misrepresents both), as well as claims people with autism say they have ADHD instead because it’s supposedly less stigmatized and more socially acceptable. These are separate disorders with their own unique criteria, and people can experience different challenges within that criteria in varying degrees. It’s not a competition in any case.
I’m mostly bothered by the assertion ADHD isn’t stigmatized since jokes about ADHD and medication are still socially acceptable, and part of why many of us resist seeking help, and why help is often hard to come by. When the school psychologist suggested having one of my sons screened for ADHD, I wanted him screened for autism first because I was in denial. I didn’t want to face a decision about medication. His ADHD was pretty obvious in retrospect, and mine was hindering me more than I’d been willing to admit. I hate seeing anyone else discouraged from finding relief.
I think a lot of the more honest confusion comes from comorbidities that may occur alongside ADHD or autism, and exacerbate challenges.
In my case, I have:
- Sensory processing disorder. Eating or touching certain textures triggers my gag reflex. Also, the ‘muddiness’ of Tool’s music makes me physically ill (headache, nausea). Weirdly specific, I know, but it’s not just me.
- Misophonia (whispering, humming, and whistling in particular)
- Light sensitivity
- Dyspraxia
Throw ADHD back into the mix, and you have someone that’s constantly – and clumsily – seeking or evading stimulation.
What kills me is growing up I was often accused of being hypersensitive, and it’s a literal truth – but not when it came to my eating woes. That I was faking…as an infant. Or even as a child who couldn’t eat yummy foods like applesauce or strawberry shortcake without gagging, but could eat gross food like liver. I think instances of being force fed led to anxiety that made the condition worse than it otherwise would have been, too.
Now that I’m an adult, meal times are no longer the bane of my existence, but dyspraxia has vexed me all along. I was the baby that didn’t crawl when expected, and skipped straight to walking some time later. I was the child who was always picked last because I was unathletic and uncoordinated, and who once got sent to the office for being unable to breathe and run at the same time (no asthma, the mechanics have simply alluded me). I was the middle schooler who finally learned how to tie her shoes the correct way, and who was teased for walking with her hands sticking out (it wasn’t a conscious act, I think I was using them like other animals use their whiskers to help me navigate). I was the high schooler whose parents couldn’t teach her to drive, and the adult who failed the road test twice before I even started driving. Ultimately I had to go through a private instructor.
I’ve become the adultier adult whose coordination and spatial awareness has improved a lot on ADHD medication, but I don’t learn techniques and katas as easily as others in karate. I need moves broken down into smaller pieces because I can’t make sense of what I’m looking at, and it takes me several attempts to get things right because I can only correct one body part at a time. And it doesn’t take much to disrupt my muscle memory. I’ve worked my way to my second degree brown belt, but I have to power through more anxiety and self-doubt every time I test, and I don’t have the mental energy for anything else until I get past it. It’s embarrassing, and it’s frustrating not being able to explain the times I fail to people whose brains and bodies sync up like they should. Obviously I’ve gotten through it (so far). I’m trying to accept smooth sailing just isn’t in the cards for my journey.
I once explained to my husband that my mind felt fragmented, but I feel it even more so with the rest of my body. Sometimes it takes a lot of concentration to hold the pieces together. And then people take it personally and get mad at you for being withdrawn or self-absorbed when you’re just trying to function like a passably normal person, thereby making it about themselves (not lately that I’m aware of, but it happened a lot in the past – that, and all the times people took offense to my resting bitch face when I was just trying to remember if I locked a door or turned off an appliance.)
So, yeah, I’m self-absorbed – but mostly out of necessity.
The alternative is flying apart in multiple directions, or maybe just collapsing in a broken, useless heap. Whee!
