Dear Darlings,

Recently, I published a blog called I Did a Bad Thing. In it I chronicled some of my journey into my ADHD (mostly inattentive) diagnosis, and the validation I felt when I got the results. It helped me see that I wasn’t a bad person, or lazy. It helped to understand that I have a neuro-divergent brain. Weeks have now gone by since I was diagnosed. So, now it’s time for the rest of the story.

As soon as I got the paperwork, I called my doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. She was booked through December, I was told. But I could be added to a list for any possible cancellations. Oh, yes please! My time on a waitlist to get an appointment seemed to last forever, but in reality it was only a matter of a few weeks before there was an opening. “Would Wednesday at 2:30 work?” I’ll make it work, I assured the receptionist.

I was looking forward to this more than I cared to admit. I wanted, and needed, her advice and guidance. Was this all there was for me? Should I just accept what I have and keep plugging along? I was curious and open to any guidance she had for me.

She came in the room holding the paperwork from my testing.

“I see you have quite a diagnosis here.”

“Yes. Yep. Uh-huh. I sure do.” Nerves got the best of me, and so I bumbled a little. Was she thinking I was just faking it, I wondered? Her next question allayed my nerves.

“What made you look into testing?” She wanted to know.

I told her the same story I told you all in my blog. I did okay while the kids were at home and had to focus on doing things in order to keep them going. They depended on me. And in between them depending on me, I could get things done for myself. I told her that I’ve had this blog since the kids were little, and I used to write all of the time. I told her that I published a book when the kids were still here.

“So, now you’ve lost your focus?” She probed.

“That pretty much sums it up.”

I gushed on and told her that I’m doing all of the things to help me cope. Writing lists. Reading motivational books. Keeping notes. Putting things in my calendar. Drinking the mushroom coffee that’s all over social media, touting magical benefits to help people like me stay focused.

She laughed. “Is any of that helping?”

“To a degree, but…”

“So, would you like to try some meds?”

“That’s why I’m here to get your advice. Do you think they can really help me?”

“If none of those other ways are helping you feel more focused then meds can help.”

She went over a list of different brands and dosages, and the difference between stimulants and non-stimulants. A lot of the information I already knew from going through this with the kids when they were younger. But now I had to apply this knowledge to myself. She and I decided on where we were going to start. And then she went over the fine print. Class C scheduled drugs have rules. Lots of them. She said if I run out on a Friday and need a refill only the prescribing physician can refill the prescription.

“If I run out that’s on me,” I said. “And it’s not like I have a job where people’s lives depend on me. I’m not a doctor like you. So I’ll be okay.”

And Darlings, this is where she got me.

“Yes, but you’re a writer. You do something I couldn’t do. You put words together and make things happen with them. You wrote a book.”

She heard me. She listened. She validated me.

I left her office on wings. Flying in a way I haven’t before. Validation.

My prescription was ready. I picked it up and got a little nervous. Is this really what I wanted? To try this? I’ll see how I feel in the morning, I thought to myself.

Thursday morning dawned. I carefully crept out of bed so I didn’t wake Stan. It was 6:30. I drank my large glass of water. I drank my liquid vitamins. I fixed my mushroom coffee. I got my meds out. I looked at them. Before I could think too long, I took one…just downed it with my coffee. I drank my second cup of coffee…and maybe a third. Okay, so I was more nervous than I thought.

And then it happened.

My brain went quiet. My body was humming from too much caffeine and the meds, but my brain was silent. The monkeys in my head stopped screeching, and the squirrels stopped spinning in circles. And then I noticed something else. Something about myself I never realized before. My brain didn’t hurt. The physical pain in my brain was absent. I just thought that was a normal thing…my brain hurting. I didn’t know a brain isn’t supposed to be in pain. Is this what “normal” feels like?

Validation.

I went to my tennis lesson. My coach said he’d never seen me hit like that. Focused. Seeing the ball. Hitting consistently. No pain in my brain to distract me. Everything firing correctly for the first time in my life.

I called Claire. I called Lucas. I called Zach. I was so ridiculously happy.

I held off telling Stan. I wanted to make sure I had his undivided attention when I told him. We were leaving the following day to go to Charleston, and I knew I’d have the time I needed to explain what I decided to do for myself.

Stan and I went to our ballroom dance class that Thursday night. My focus was waning, but I still felt so good.

We loaded up the car and hit the road early. I was still hesitant to tell him. Would he judge me for not being able to just bull through this? Would he think that this was just a weakness, and I needed to be tougher? More emotionally that I intended, I told him about my doctor’s visit, and what she and I decided. I told him I took the meds she prescribed.

“Wait. You were medicated yesterday?”

“Yes, I was.”

He took a beat. “That makes so much sense! You were so focused last night at dance, and determined to get the steps right. I’ve never seen you like that before. I was wondering…”

Tears tipped over and slid down my cheeks. I felt seen, heard and noticed. This is what pure, unadulterated validation feels like.

xo,

me