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.

I’ve learned to accommodate my ADHD’s quirks and demands. But when I start to ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist, even try to brush it off like a bit of fluff, my ADHD buzzes to life.

You know the axiom: “It takes a village to raise a child?” Well, “it takes a party” to get my house and yard clean on the same day!

Last night was the annual party for my husband’s lab students. We’ve hosted the event for five or six years, so I have the pre-party To Do list down to a science. Order the Mexican food. Make the sangria. Try to get in (and out of) the shower before the first guest arrives. (That hasn’t happened yet; don’t people know NOT to arrive on time at an ADD-driven event?)

The day after the party is like a holiday for me. I walk around in a state of semi-amazement that I (temporarily) live in a place that is picture perfect. There are no piles in the kitchen. The carpet has no stains. The pillows are fluffed and the dust settled.  At least for the moment.

Even the landscaping is flawless. This morning, still wearing my nightgown, I went outside to “survey my domain.” What a thrill it was to see a freshly mown lawn, mulched flowerbeds, blueberries ready to burst into luscious sweetness. Ah, life is good. So good. Perhaps it would stay like this forever…

My two faithful Shelties, Boomer and Cosmo, convinced me that no idyllic setting was complete without breakfast. So I meandered back to the kitchen and pulled out the dog bowls. I noticed a tickle on my shoulder, so I casually reached up to scratch it when a loud “Bzzzzzzzzzz” exploded near my right ear. In a nanosecond, I screamed, yanked my nightgown over my head and threw it to the floor.

“What’s wrong?” my husband asked, as he ran into the kitchen.

“There’s a bee in my nightgown!” I gasped. “Get it out of here!”

Victor (my hero) grabbed the nightgown (as I grabbed a robe), took it out to the deck and shook it to release the bee. The bee wouldn’t let go. The creature – a large bumblebee of some sort – hung on for dear life. Victor shook harder. Apparently, the bee adored my nightgown; it would not loosen its grip.

Finally, Victor managed to scrape the bee onto the patio table, where it fell on its back, spun around drunkenly and then righted itself. I pulled my nightgown back on, still shuddering that unknowingly I’d carried a bee on my shoulder for – how long? Ten minutes? Twenty? Fortunately, there was no sign of a bee sting.

By the time I calmed down, I realized that the episode was a perfect metaphor for my ADHD. Like the bee, my ADHD hitches a ride on my life. Most of the time, it glides along quietly; I’ve learned to accommodate its quirks and demands. But when I start to ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist, even try to brush it off like a bit of fluff, my ADHD buzzes its warning:

“You can’t get rid of me (bzzzzzzz!). I’m here forever (bzzzzzzz!). Work with me and it’ll be fine (bzzzzzzz!). Fight with me and you might get stung (bzzzzzzz!)."

Point well taken (if you’ll excuse the pun). I know better than to imagine that weeds will never grow again in my flowerbeds; weeds grow in everyone’s flowerbeds. And I know that I can’t dislodge my ADHD from its private perch. It’s tenacious. It likes me. It’s my lifelong companion.

So when the piles reappear on the island in my kitchen – as they most certainly will – I’ll be reminded of that stubborn bee and its warning: "I’m here. This is reality. Do what you have to do to take care of yourself. I’m not going away."

ADHD buzzes in my ear every day. I respect it. I take care of myself. And sometimes I weed the flowerbeds. Even the ones with bees…

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.

It’s been three days since Barack Obama was elected the 44th president of the United States. No matter whether you are ecstatic or bummed about the outcome, the election offers profound implications that should give all ADDivas a dose of that magic elixir: HOPE.

Why? Because we, like Obama, face a world that uses rigid standards to separate "good" from "bad" and "right" from "wrong." We, like Obama, have been judged harshly by those rigid rules. We, like Obama, have been the target of ridicule, the scapegoat for problems, the odd duckling among stereotypical swans.

But Barack Obama shows us that whether our difference is in the color of our skin, the way our brain works or how many times we are late filing our taxes, we can transcend those challenges and rise – quite literally – to the top.

I don’t know about you, but there have been times in my life that I was so tired of trying harder, going the extra mile, thinking ahead of the business people around the conference table, that I wanted it all to STOP. I was sick of playing by everyone else’s rules. I was exhausted from untwisting my pretzel-like self into a semi-straight line that passed for "normal." I wanted to go to bed, pull up the covers and hide until that neatly pressed world marched right on past me.

I don’t know Barack Obama personally. I suspect there were times in his life that he was discouraged, disheartened by the uphill road ahead. But I notice he didn’t go to bed and pull up the covers. He kept moving. He renewed his efforts. And most importantly, he never stopped believing in his dream. Never.

ADDivas would do well to take nourishment from that determination. Many of our dreams have been discarded; they litter the roads of our distant past. We turn away from them as proof of our failures and an accurate predictor of our futures.

But women with ADHD are not failures. We deserve to revisit our dreams - resurrecting those that still inspire us and creating new ones that have nudged themselves into our adult lives. And as we make that slow turn toward ourselves, welcoming that woman who is truly a miracle, truly unique and precious in the world, we ignite that four-letter word in ourselves and in those who witness our transformation.

HOPE. It’s not about elections. It’s about life. Your life. And you.

As I poured the boiling water over just the right amount of sugar to make more nectar for our flock of hummingbirds, I was struck again by the similiarities between hummers and those of us with ADHD.

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