Someone asked me recently how to get past the deep sense of failure we ADHD women feel when we contemplate trying again to — fill in the blank with whatever you like. We have "failed" so many times that the subject doesn't really matter.

What does matter is my answer: it was all about my husband, Victor. When I faltered in my attempts to start the ADDiva Network, it was Victor that gently, but honestly, reminded me that this was the work I was born to do.

He stood by me, reassuring me over and over (I need a big dose of encouragement) and eventually, I began to believe him. And eventually I began to succeed.

The news may seem dismal, if you're not in a steady relationship with someone you love, or worse, if your relationship isn't supportive of you and your ADHD. But it doesn't require a fabulous husband or partner to gain that confidence in yourself. It requires someone on the outside reflecting back to you just how miraculous you truly are.

You are, you know.

A miracle, that it.

The fact that you cared enough about YOURSELF to read this post (not to mention finding the ADDiva Network in the vast ocean of the internet) means that you haven't given up hope. And when you have hope, there is a tiny pinprick of light that you can hear, and eventually believe, the good news about YOU. Yes, you.

ADHD isn't a life sentence (although a lot of people will tell you so), it just is. And your past does NOT predict your future. Will you be linear and color inside the lines if you have someone supportive in your life? Nope. But you'll feel a lot better about coloring without any lines at ALL.

Victor is a miracle, too. He's survived cystic fibrosis for nearly 59 years. The doctors told his parents he wouldn't see 19, let alone 59. So I take my turn in supporting him (even though he doesn't need a lot of support; he's pretty self assured these days).

It take someone outside our ADHD bodies to see the goodness that lies within. It takes a husband or a friend or a mom or a cousin or a coach or a therapist. It takes someone who won't get tired of reminding you again and again that you are worthwhile until … until … you know it's true.

This article first appeared in ADDitude Magazine online.

On a recent Sunday afternoon, I received a call from one of my clients, a young woman in her early twenties who told me that her father had died of a massive heart attack the previous evening.

I was shocked. Although I had talked to her father only once – he interviewed me before he agreed to pay for ADD coaching – I knew he was a relatively young man, a college professor who was still teaching, edging toward retirement. And I knew he loved his daughter beyond measure, bolstering her efforts every day, in every way.

I immediately thought of my own dad, who has a long history of heart problems. So I picked up the phone, just to check in, to make sure he was OK. There was no answer, but I left a message, asking him to return my call.

Instead, when the phone rang the next day, it was my mother, telling me that my dad was in the hospital. He’d suffered a TIA – a low-level brain blip similar to a stroke. Again, I was shocked. My dad is older, in his 80s. He juggles the ailments of aging pretty well, so I’ve learned to be optimistic about his health. My client’s unexpected tragedy, however, reminded me of a poignant passage from my favorite poem by Mary Oliver: “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?”

The words echoed in my mind as I monitored my dad’s recovery, as I attended the funeral of my client’s father, as I thought about my own place in the world, my own longevity. I know deeply (and forget regularly!) that I want to savor my life, to notice its millions of facets and flaws. I believe life is best experienced moment-to-moment, fully engaged and open to possibility.

Isn’t that a perfect job description for an ADD brain? It locks onto one of life’s fascinating topics, then skips over to another one and then another. We order the ’sampling menu’ when we flit through life with an ADD brain – a little taste here, a nibble there. As long as we stay in the moment, we are truly living our lives to the hilt.

Sometimes, I admit, my ADD brain clogs with so much information. And sometimes I can get “into my head” with worry or planning or overwhelm. But when I quiet the mind chatter that comes from what I call the “ears up” self – the busy-busy brain, I find my center again. I pay attention to what is in front of me, in the present moment. And then the next.

That is truly all we have in this world. One moment; followed by another moment; and another moment after that. Until we are all out of moments. And our ADD brains stop flitting forever.

My ADD client grieves for her father, while appreciating his life. She will go on to create a life she loves, moment to moment. My father has recovered, and started the first day of the rest of his life with a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs.

I will try to stay fully present with my ADD brain; and remember the rest of Mary Oliver’s poem:

“Doesn’t everything die and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

This article first appeared in ADDitude Magazine online.

I can see clearly now — but only when I can find my glasses. So, I have discovered the best invention ever for attention deficit adults.

For the most part, I don’t mind getting older (quite possibly because I am in denial).  “Age spots” don’t send shudders down my spine – they look like freckles to me. I’ve never had freckles; they seem kinda friendly, like Pippi Longstocking.

And I’ve never been obsessed about the differential between the year I was born and the year displayed on my cell phone. Birthdays, schmirthdays. Who cares? I admit, however, I’m a bit shocked that 60 is coming at me like a freight train. Oh how my attitude changes with perspective! As an adolescent, my matter-of-fact view was that by 60 you were on death’s doorstep; today, I’m convinced that 60 really IS the new 40; or 35.

But when I have to squint to read the instructions on the back of the pizza box (they made the print smaller, I swear), I’m ready to turn back the clock. Reading glasses, of course, make all the difference in my reading comprehension.  Sadly, my glasses are rarely within an arm’s reach, my first criterion for actually plopping them on my face.

I thought I’d solve the problem by stashing multiple pairs of inexpensive readers all over the house (Costco kindly sells them in the convenient three-pack). But somehow the glasses migrate to my computer or bedside, under papers, stuck in drawers, tangled into a magnifying heap.

So imagine my delight when I discovered that the FOFA folks (that’s Find One Find All, the best invention ever for ADDivas) had unveiled a new locator device for glasses. Woo hoo!

A word of explanation: a couple of years ago I found a fabulous key locator in, of all places, Radio Shack (yes, yes, I “located” a key locator!). The package contained two devices, one for a key ring, the other for a wallet. Each had six buttons with numbers. I learned how to set up the locator so that when I lost the car keys, for instance, I could press “1” on the wallet device and the key ring would beep. If I lost my wallet, I could press “2” on the key ring and the wallet device would beep. Great idea, great execution. I only needed to find one thing with the beeper and I could find up to six other missing objects that were attached to a FOFA. I wanted more of them, but Radio Shack stopped selling them.

I delved into the Internet to track down the manufacturer (“made in China” was my only clue). Finally I found it, a small company in Texas owned by the “Find One, Find All” inventor.

I ordered several sets of their ‘new and improved’ FOFA model, attaching one to my camera, my van keys, my purse, my cell phone. They worked! What a miracle; I wanted to buy stock in the company. I eagerly ordered the new glasses locator.

It was, well, a disappointment. I’m sure it’s my ADD sensitivities, but I can’t stand even a tiny bit of weight around my neck. The little button panel, even shrunk down to less than half its original size, proved far too distracting for me.

So, I’m heading back to Costco today. A few more three-packs and I’ll have so many pairs of readers, they’ll always be within an arms reach. And perhaps I won’t burn the pizza next time.

This article first appeared in ADDitude Magazine online.

Of course not!
That’s a silly question!
Everyone knows that ADD is only one small part of me.
I am MORE than my ADD.
Right?

Then why are there websites and podcasts and books and organizers and therapists and, yes, coaches, who are eager to help me “deal with” my ADHD?  They have tips and tricks and advice oozing from every pore and every  page.

“Break the big job into smaller ones.”
“Begin with the end in mind.”
“Stop working on the computer two hours before bedtime.”

I’ve spent a lifetime memorizing these and hundreds of other helpful tips and tricks. I have schedulers and timers and colored folders and project management software. I’ve even recommended them to my clients. I know HOW to get organized, be on time, deliver on my promises. Yet I’ve mastered none of them. And frankly, I’m tired of trying.

I can’t shake the feeling that the world ‘out there’ believes that the operative word in Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder is “deficit.” That’s awfully close to “deficient.” And a long way from “fulfilled,” which is the adjective I’ve chosen to describe the rest of my life.

I unconsciously fall into it, this sense of being “less than” those perplexing folks whose neurotransmitters play together nicely. And I am usually unaware that I have clicked into my compensatory mode, either tap dancing to cover my deficits or applying a thick layer of my most effective Tips and Tricks. I can fake being “normal” for a while, but I have no endurance. The façade melts and I am exposed.

Now that I’m older, I don’t cringe nearly as often as I once did when I was “outed” as an ADDiva. But I do take a look at my patterns. With as much “work” as I’ve done with therapists, coaches, books and all the rest, I am dismayed to find that sometimes my gut response is still shame, followed by an urgent need to “try harder.” Even deeper though, is my realization that I am simply exhausted by the effort. It’s not worth it any more. To my body, my psyche, my energy.

Surely, surely, I can release the growling undercurrent that monitors my ADD-ish behaviors. Or at least notice it before it controls my thoughts and actions. When I’m on my deathbed, I don’t want my last words to be:  “Well, I was almost linear!”

Of COURSE there is more to life than dealing with ADD. Everyone knows that. It’s the popular answer, ADD wisdom du jour.  But honestly, how much of our lives ARE spent with ADD at the helm? If I am truthful, 100 percent. ADD isn’t a mask I can take off at night. I am not “more” than my ADD. I am ADD and ADD is I. Or perhaps ADD R Me.

So the harder question is: how do I move from “dealing with” ADD to “living with” ADD and thriving as a result of ADD? How do I look ADD in the eye, acknowledge its breath and depth and treat it as a respected ally instead of a pesky nuisance to be shooed away and thwarted at every turn?

I don’t have the answer. This inquiry deserves more than a flippant remark or a clichéd retort. My suspicion is that each of us will make peace (and friends) with our ADD with as much variety and creativity as our wild-child brains allow.

So I invite you into the question. How do YOU go deeper, beyond the “let’s fix it” stage? How do you put your arm around ADD and walk down the road with it, knowing that there is one absolute certainty: that ADD will never desert you?  It is yours (and you) for as long as you live. How do you move from “endurance” to “fulfillment” starting right now? 

This article first appeared in ADDitude Magazine online.

My husband and I went out for dinner last week. Victor ordered crab legs. I didn’t.

I love crab legs; they’re almost as good as lobster. But I haven’t ordered or eaten them in years. Why? It’s the process: wrestling with that metal vise-like thing to crack open the shell; using those teeny tiny little forks to dig out a small morsel of crab; dipping it into the drawn butter, trying not to lose it at the bottom of the bowl and finally getting a bite to my mouth.

Rinse and repeat. Rinse and repeat. Ur, no, that’s shampoo.

But it might as well be crab legs. It’s all about repeating the same steps over and over. After the first few bites, it gets pretty boring. I’m not in the mood to play with shells when I’m really hungry.

Ditto for seeds, as in watermelon seeds. Let’s face it: the best part of a watermelon is that sweet juicy center that has no seeds at all. If I were completely selfish or extravagant, I’d sit down with half a watermelon and eat only that center section and only down to the “seed layer.”

Since I’m neither selfish nor extravagant, I end up with a wedge of watermelon that has, at most, three good bites without seeds. Then I am forced to be on high alert for small darkish shadows, the “seed aura,” if you will.  And then I have to decide on the least offensive way to get rid of them. It’s just too much trouble; too much thinking.

I’m struck by how insanely petulant this sounds; I’m complaining about a few seeds or shells at a time when so many people in our world go to bed hungry each night. And yet, this is my reality. My ADD reality.

In the “bad old days,” before I knew anything about ADD, I was ashamed of being so “picky” about small details, agonizing over things that were unimportant to other people. It was only after my diagnosis that I realized that, unconsciously, I had been taking care of myself in the most tender way imaginable. I was conserving my precious patience and focus so they were available when I needed them most. Perhaps at school. Or with my sons. Or driving to work.

The older I get, the more I want to spend my energy on things that matter to me: my husband, my friends, my clients, my retreats, my Shelties, my children and their children. I have a perfect right to be “picky” about my choices. I’ve given myself permission to set up a life that accommodates my limited supply of concentration.

It’s OK if I decide to skip the watermelon and crab legs. It’s OK for me to sit at the back of the room so I can wiggle in my seat, or even doze off. It’s OK for me to work all night and take an afternoon nap. Because this is my life. Mine. I claim it. I create it. I live it. Even if it clashes with someone else’s reality, someone who adores watermelon, for instance.

I’m reminded of my favorite scene from the wonderfully funny movie “On Golden Pond” with Katherine Hepburn. Hepburn’s character is reassuring her young grandson that his grandfather (played by Henry Fonda) loves him deeply, even in his most cantankerous moments.

“Sometimes,” says Hepburn, “you have to look hard at a person and remember he’s doing the best he can. He’s just trying to find his way, that’s all. Just like you.”

I’m just trying to find my way, my ADD-ish way.

Just like you.

I am fortunate, I know.

None of my family or close friends have lost someone to a war, past or present.

And though I detest war as a means of settling disagreements (I’m not in favor of any kind of violence against our fellow beings, human or otherwise), my heart goes out to the parents, children, partners, relatives, friends of those killed in the line of duty.

As the ads for Memorial Day sales swirl around us, I notice that this somber day has devolved to shopping status. Another holiday gone commercial (see also: Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July – US holidays in general, actually). I admit it. Sometimes the entire day passes and I have forgotten to take even a brief moment to honor the veterans of all wars in all countries.

How ironic. Memorial Day was set aside to remember, yet I forget. I can’t blame this on ADD (I can’t blame anything on ADD for that matter).  I simply need an appointment, a ToDo, to remind me to remember.

So for the next 15 minutes, I will sit quietly, breathe, allow the spirits of those passed on to fill me with their wisdom, prick my sorrow at their absence and be grateful for their lives, however brief. I will broaden my focus to embrace others who have departed this earth – my dear friends and relatives whose lives played out in another era.

And I will humbly remember that life is a gift for which I can be grateful each and every day. My skin is still warm, my heart still pumps. But it won’t last forever. I will join the ranks of those we honor today. I only hope someone will notice I am gone and remember, with a smile.

Life is a pass-along gift. I need that reminder on Memorial Day. And every day thereafter.

My sons are grown and living on their own now, but the early days of wilted bouquets and spilled orange juice for my Mother’s Day breakfast-in-bed still bring a smile to my once-a-mom-always-a-mom face.

Being an ADD mom with ADD kiddos is a three ring circus sometimes. You’re going in 10 directions. They’re going in 20 directions. You’re trying to keep up with each other….or not. Whew! I can remember thinking "I’m having a hard enough time keeping myself upright, let alone try to help my sons, too!"

But we muddled through. And now that they’re grown and gone, they think I’m the best darned mom that ever walked the earth! How did THAT happen??? Hey, I’m not gonna try to change their minds. It’s nice to be appreciated. On Mother’s Day and any other day.

So here’s to the ADDiva moms in our midst. May they be blessed with a heaping helping of patience when they need it most, a spur-of-the-moment sense of humor and a heart open to the aggravating, creative, procrastinating, loveable and altogether amazing children they nurture each day!

Viva ADDiva moms!

Spring gardening is the perfect antidote for ADD women. Look at the possibilities:

1. There is always something new coming up  – sprouts, flowers, seed pods…

2. You can make a huge mess and nobody cares because you're SUPPOSED to get dirty when you garden (cool, huh?)

3. Planting is really satisfying – plopping those seeds in the ground and waiting a week or so to see the new life pop through (even cooler!)

4. It's an OUTDOOR event; research shows that people are happier when they are outdoors around green leafy things, like trees and plants.

5. It's good exercise; ADHD improves with exercise. Read John Ratey's book "Spark" and you'll see what I mean.

6. Most important of all, gardening is good for the soul. It literally GROUNDS you. Sinking your fingers into the damp earth reconnects you to the earth and that, in turn, reconnects you to YOU.

Even if you're not a gardener (yet) and  think you have a brown thumb, try planting a few petunias or radishes. You might be surprised at the results.

Then write and tell me all about it….I love hearing about your experiences!

Hugs,

Linda

Shhh… hear the sound of silence?

It's my mindfulness class at Duke Integrative Medicine and we're sitting in the circle "watching" our breath, letting go of the noise from the yoga class next door and being gentle with ourselves when our thoughts overtake us again and again.

This week we also walked mindfully. Heel-toe, heel-toe, inhale-exhale. It requires an enormous amount of concentration. Attention, a lot of attention.

Jeanne van Gemert, a mind body therapist and former sculptor is our instructor. I worked with Jeanne for a year or so to get past my financial abundance issues (still working on that). Her energy is calm and relaxing, generous and open.

It's wonderful to be in her presence. The practice of mindfulness – a conscious effort to stay present in the moment within your own body – brings me back to a place that is calming for my ADD mind.

It reminds me of Who I Really Am. I am not the crazed running-around woman trying to do everything, to get things done while chasing perfection.

I am. I just am. So are you. You are enough, just breathing in and out. In and out. You are alive. Whoo baby! How great is THAT?

More updates as I move through these weeks of refocusing my energy where it does the most good…within me.

Think about it: if you procrastinate about doing your taxes you probably procrastinate about getting a massage or going to the grocery store, too. It’s not about the actual event or whether it’s pleasurable or not. It’s about dragging your feet or waiting til the last minute.

What’s up with that? Ah your ADDiva brain needs the extra push of adrenaline to get it going, m’dear. When we get excited or anxious or in a hurry, our brains perk up and work better.

That’s the whole idea behind prescription stimulants – waking up your brain without the effort of creating drama or chaos in our lives.

So when you leave the mess on your desk or your bed unmade, notice whether there are parallel circumstances in other areas of your life.

Chances are, the way you do anything IS the way you do everything. Until you change everything by changing one single thing.