Just a Stepping Stone

May 12, 2024

I did eventually find the link to the online ADHD assessment I mentioned.

I had to redo my Google research, but at least I managed to get there a little faster this time. Once I pulled it up again, I went through it carefully and did some fact-checking to ensure it was a legitimate diagnostic tool. Then, I left the browser tab open—for about two months.

I told myself I was waiting to get paid from a camp I taught at in mid-March. While it did take some time to receive the payment, I still sat on it for a few weeks after that. Then, a girlfriend of mine—who is both diagnosed with ADHD and a practicing therapist—asked if I had taken any steps toward getting assessed. As I tried to explain my fears about the cost and my discomfort with talking to my doctor, I realized I had been stalling.

The longer I waited, the more pressure I put on the outcome. The more time passed, the more I started to see ADHD as an explanation for all of my struggles and self-perceived shortcomings. The risk of being wrong began to feel heavier.

So, I booked an appointment with my doctor.

I realized that while I haven’t ever been particularly comfortable speaking to doctors, that wasn’t the real reason I avoided this step. And although the cost of some assessment options was definitely a factor, it ultimately wasn’t what was holding me back either. Even after I got paid and found a more affordable option, I stalled.

I stalled because of fear—fear of rejection, fear of judgment, and fear of making my concerns known to someone with the power to validate or invalidate me. And both outcomes felt equally uncomfortable.

But I’m choosing to move toward that discomfort now because the longer I wait, the more unbearable it becomes. Taking action now is an act of self-protection.

Unfortunately, I have to wait two more weeks for my appointment. So in the meantime, I’ll focus on self-care.

June 9, 2024

I saw my doctor last week, and it went about as well as I expected.

Thankfully, a few days before my appointment, I was provided with an ADHD self-report assessment form to fill out and bring with me.

My doctor didn’t ask me a single thing about my symptoms or why I was asking for this kind of support. She glanced at the self-report, acknowledged that I’d scored high, and said she would refer me to a psychiatrist for anything further. While I’m pleased she gave me a referral—and the wheel feels like it's turning slightly—I was really discouraged by how the rest of the appointment went.

She spent a significant amount of time lecturing me about marijuana use, claiming that it puts me at higher risk for stimulant addiction. She warned me repeatedly about the side effects of stimulant medications and ordered an ECG for my heart.

She asked how long I’d been seeing my therapist and whether I started therapy to deal with the grief of losing my mom. I said, “No, actually, I lost my mom when I was 12 years old and didn’t get therapy until I was 28.” 

She asked what I saw my therapist for—if it was to deal with depression. I said, “No, actually, I've never considered myself depressed. I saw my therapist to help with anxiety, relationships, work, trauma—many different things.”

She asked about my work as a personal trainer, how I worked for myself, and whether I was doing well at it. She commented on the economy.

She asked about my relationship—how long we’ve been together and how it’s going. 

She asked about my last pap and the regularity of my periods. I told her about my ever-worsening cramps and that I’d been off birth control for quite a few years. Then she asked, “If you get pregnant, will you keep the baby?” Seriously, that's a direct quote. I said, “Probably? …We aren’t planning for it right now.”

She reminded me—again—that marijuana use carries a risk of lung cancer.

She asked about my asthma and whether I’ve had any attacks. “No, never.”

She commented on my weight, my BMI and praised my active lifestyle.

She offered to refill any prescriptions and said, “I think you look great, you’re doing great, and I’m not worried.”

She ended the appointment by explaining the convoluted process of scheduling with the psychiatrist. Apparently, they’ll call me to schedule—but if I miss the call, I’ll need to ask my doctor’s office to resend the referral, then wait for another call. Every time I don’t answer, my referral goes to the bottom of the list again.

Needless to say, I kept a close eye on my phone—and now have an appointment booked for late next month.

I left the doctor’s office feeling discouraged. Although I am, ultimately, making progress, her lack of acknowledgment for why I was actually there didn’t make me feel any more comfortable asking for her help.

Upon reflection, I can see that I put a lot of pressure on this appointment. I came prepared to explain myself, to justify my reasons for being there—but after one look at my self-assessment, she didn’t even ask.

I thought we’d have a dialogue about my experiences, but it felt more like a lecture than a conversation. I thought somehow this one appointment would give me clarity even though, deep down, I knew it was just a small stepping stone.

I hoped she might approach me with compassion, considering how difficult it was to bring these concerns to her in the first place. But—like many of my experiences with medical professionals—I felt like a problem to be solved or to be passed off to someone else.

She did assure me I’d be in good hands at the clinic she referred me to, so I guess I’ll just have to trust her on that—for now.

Slow progress is still progress

Jan 22, 2024

I saw my therapist last week.

As I often do, I brought a list of things I wanted to talk about. Typically, my sessions with her start in one of two ways: either she asks about something currently relevant—following up on a past discussion or bringing up a recent event—or I start with the first thing on my list that feels either the most pressing or the easiest to bring up.

Since I hadn’t seen her since my book came out, that’s where our discussion started.

As the session progressed and we naturally wrapped up that topic, she looked at me and asked, “What else is on that list of yours?”

I considered, once again, waiting to bring up my ADHD concerns. But after some stammering and what felt like a messy, drawn-out explanation of why I was apprehensive, I finally said, “I’ve been wondering if I might have ADHD.”

As I expected, my therapist was very affirming and validating.

She explained that, due to our long-term relationship, she knew me too well to be able to diagnose me herself. However, she offered helpful insights into what seeking a diagnosis might look like and the different routes I could take. She confirmed that it made sense for me to identify with ADHD and reassured me that, with or without a formal diagnosis, I deserve to access and utilize information and strategies that help me.

Speaking with her was incredibly validating and eased some of my ADHD imposter syndrome. But it also left me with another question: Do I need or want to seek an official diagnosis?

Feb 20, 2024

After my initial conversation with my therapist, I felt better—for a while, anyway. Her validation that my concerns made sense and that I deserved to find whatever help felt right for me quieted my busy brain on the subject for a few weeks.

During that time, I shared our conversation with some trusted friends, who also validated my feelings. I thought:

Maybe that’s enough for me.

Maybe I don’t need a diagnosis.

Maybe I just needed to know that it’s okay for me to identify as neurodivergent, and now I can continue to learn about it on my own.

But as the weeks went by, memes, videos, and articles continued to populate my feeds. My behaviors cycled from disorganized to hyper-focused to somewhere in between and back again. The thoughts started bubbling back up.

I thought about how I’ve procrastinated nearly every important project or assignment I’ve ever had, both in school and in my professional life, and how often I get stuck in analysis paralysis when making even small decisions.

I remembered my ex constantly telling me that I “lacked initiative” because I procrastinated starting new, difficult, or mundane tasks around our home, and how I used to believe I simply wasn’t a hard enough worker to be successful.

I considered how—even now, looking at everything I’ve accomplished in the last few years—some days, accomplishing anything felt nearly impossible. And how I rely on visual cues and calendar reminders just to complete even the most basic tasks.

Thankfully tomorrow, I have another appointment with my therapist and another opportunity to talk this out.

Feb 29, 2024

Welp, I procrastinated once again.

I went into therapy intending to bring it up right away, honestly. Though I was hoping she would bring it up first. It was one of the last things we discussed in our previous session, after all, and it felt like a pretty big deal to me, so I was kind of counting on her to mention it.

Of course, that means she didn’t. And because she didn’t, I felt like I had a free pass not to bring it up myself.

Instead, we had a really positive session. There’s been a lot to celebrate lately—my first book, my relationship, and just generally how I’ve been feeling and handling things. Talking about all these recent wins, I almost didn’t want to bring us back down by bringing up something that felt so overwhelming.

So, I never did. And when I walked out of the session, knowing I wouldn’t be back for another six weeks, I kicked myself for it.

It’s been on my mind a lot since then.

I could wait six weeks and try again, but I now know my therapist can’t do anything beyond referring me to someone else. Which means it’s up to me to take matters into my own hands.

For me, that looked something like this:

1. Obsess about it while doing absolutely nothing productive except consuming social media content that reinforces my belief that I have ADHD.

2. Google how to get diagnosed and fill out a bunch of online assessment tools, only to find that none of them provide actual results unless I subscribe to their services—something I’m not ready or willing to do right now.

3. Eventually stumble onto legitimate diagnostic services and discover that many cost thousands of dollars.

4. Briefly consider asking my GP for an assessment, then decide against it because I’m apprehensive about medication and not super comfortable talking to my doctor.

5. Actually find a more affordable option and resolve to give it a try. Bookmark the link for later, because obviously, I’m doing this search on my phone right before bed.

6. Fail to act on said discovery for weeks and forget where I saved the link.

7. Repeat steps 1–6 until I’m actually ready to take action. TBD on when that is.

   
   

So, it’s safe to say progress is being made—however slowly.

Choosing My Discomfort

Jan 15, 2024

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with my therapist.

There are quite a few subjects on my list to discuss with her, but ADHD has been on that list for a while. I haven’t brought it up before—obviously, for all the reasons I’ve already mentioned—but also because I always seem to let other things take precedence.

In a way, bringing up ADHD with my therapist is the very thing I’ve been procrastinating. The many other topics on my list, while valid and important, aren’t any more important than this big concern of mine. Talking about them feels productive—and it is—but I think, in some ways, I’ve been using that sense of productivity to distract myself. It allows me to put off something just as important and productive, but maybe a bit more uncomfortable.

It’s ironic when I think of it that way.

When I started writing about this, I didn’t know exactly where it would go. I had just published my very first book and wanted to keep up the momentum. My book is a self-help memoir called Choose Your Discomfort—a title inspired by my therapist, actually. In a nutshell, the idea of "choosing your discomfort" is about accepting that discomfort is inevitable in many circumstances, both positive and negative. This is particularly true when it comes to being vulnerable, speaking your mind, or making a change. If discomfort is unavoidable, then it’s up to you to choose which discomfort to engage with and how. You get to choose the discomfort that will serve you best in the long run.

So now, as I think about the discomfort I’ve been avoiding by not bringing up ADHD with my therapist, I have to wonder: Is avoiding this discomfort serving me? Or maybe, just maybe, choosing it could help reduce my discomfort in the future.