I’ve been working with a therapist for the past year to deal with the fear, grief and upheaval of metastatic cancer life.
Dealing with cancer now brings up a lot of stuff from back then. All your old messed up shit comes rising up to the surface when you think about your mortality. So we talk about now, and we talk about back then, and we talk about how they connect. And how to free myself from some of the old shit, so I can face this new shit. Oh the irony! Figuring yourself out just in time to die.
In the spring, she suggested I may be ADHD, and recently we dug a little more in to that. I know it’s trending, I know everyone is TikTok-diagnosing, especially women and later-in-life diagnosis—-but hear me out!
What if…
What if my anxiety…
What if my anxiety and depression…
What if my anxiety and depression and crushing sense of perpetual
failure…
What if all this time, it’s been ADHD?
I was skeptical. Another diagnosis feels like another burden. I have never once thought that ADHD might apply to me. I just don’t fit the stereotype I have in my mind. And no other therapist has ever mentioned it—however they have “diagnosed” me with social anxiety disorder (nope), panic attack disorder (nope), borderline personality disorder (big nope!), and more… So what is one more wrong label?
But also, what if this is the right label?
I made a list for Dr.B. I listed all my ADHD-like behaviors, my quirks and work-arounds, things I avoid, things that make me uncomfortable, memories of school and childhood that rang ADHD bells, my struggles at work and with emotions. I wrote it all down.
It was six pages. Bullet-pointed, categorized and described in great detail (usually in parenthesis).
At todays appointment she laughed conspiratorially and said “This was a joy to read. This is hyper focus. This is a rabbit hole”. Yes, she said, waving the six pages, THIS is ADHD!
And it’s gonna be fine.