I am Adult A.D.D.
Some would have me say I’m an adult with
A.D.D., but I’ve come to view this as who I am; not what I have.
Many seem to want us A.D.D’S to have “something wrong with us,” thinking that if we would make the effort we could change. Sadly, many have bought into that, but I’m luckily rather stubborn and have lived beyond that branding iron. I’ve settled into a fuller life with many valuable lessons that might not have come if I weren’t so “obstinate.”
Here’s one lesson nearly forty years past from my eldest brother, a Chaplain in an eastern-U.S hospital. It came about three years before I was diagnosed.
“You have to learn to love that in yourself which you now hate, or it will never change.”
“What a crock,” I told him. I was angry at something I can’t remember now, but I was enraged at myself for being unable to control my emotions. My anger built into a rage that I was well aware of. To me it was vile and needed to be torn out even if it destroyed my soul. Nobody else should be subjected to it.
A few years later, I got trapped into a colleague’s personal pity-party and tried to extricate myself with my brother’s words. Another similarly trapped colleague’s response carried the cusp of the lesson. Regarding her abusive ex, she yelled that she hated him and never wanted anything more to do with him. (Neither did his own family.)
“If that S.O.B. changed,” she practically screamed, “I’d have to love him again, and I’ll never do that.”
Simply, if we hate something or someone we would rather keep them as they are. It’s easier than swallowing our hatred and pride.
Many seem to want us A.D.D’S to have “something wrong with us,” thinking that if we would make the effort we could change. Sadly, many have bought into that, but I’m luckily rather stubborn and have lived beyond that branding iron. I’ve settled into a fuller life with many valuable lessons that might not have come if I weren’t so “obstinate.”
Here’s one lesson nearly forty years past from my eldest brother, a Chaplain in an eastern-U.S hospital. It came about three years before I was diagnosed.
“You have to learn to love that in yourself which you now hate, or it will never change.”
“What a crock,” I told him. I was angry at something I can’t remember now, but I was enraged at myself for being unable to control my emotions. My anger built into a rage that I was well aware of. To me it was vile and needed to be torn out even if it destroyed my soul. Nobody else should be subjected to it.
A few years later, I got trapped into a colleague’s personal pity-party and tried to extricate myself with my brother’s words. Another similarly trapped colleague’s response carried the cusp of the lesson. Regarding her abusive ex, she yelled that she hated him and never wanted anything more to do with him. (Neither did his own family.)
“If that S.O.B. changed,” she practically screamed, “I’d have to love him again, and I’ll never do that.”
Simply, if we hate something or someone we would rather keep them as they are. It’s easier than swallowing our hatred and pride.
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