There’s a reason I don’t write very many blog posts.
It’s not that I don’t have much to say or that I’m ill-equipped to say it.
It has a lot more to do with…
- The executive functioning demand of writing (i.e. organizing my thoughts and putting them together in a cohesive outline)
- My perfectionistic tendencies (e.g., balancing my own voice with a meticulous attention to readability, word choice, copy editing, SEO stuff, etc.)
- My inability to recognize when I’m going down a rabbit hole (or tangent) that distracts everyone (including myself) from the topic at hand, leading to frustration and self-annoyance.
- My fear (and rejection sensitivity) around what people will think if I make a mistake, get too personal, or share a belief that isn’t reflective of the greater community I support. A lot of people on the internet say nasty things, and yes, that does have an impact.
- Others not getting my dry, dark, and often sarcastic sense of humor. It’s often hard to translate that into writing.
- Already having a great group of writers.
- Time. With so much going on all the time, I simply don’t have the time to write, so for that reason in combination with the reasons above, it’s not on my priority list.
Weirdly enough, these are many of the things we work on with our clients ALL. THE. TIME. So, admitting that they’re a major struggle for me feels scary and vulnerable, like I’m not holding up my end of the deal in some way.
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But as I type this, I’m reminded that one of the really cool things about LSA is that in everything we do, between 1:1 coaching, articles we publish, our workbook, cookbook, and everything in between, we never try to be hierarchical. We provide a safe space for our neurodivergent clients and those who support them by relentlessly pursuing common ground and an even playing field, not by flexing our egos or asserting an unnecessary level of dominance, academically or otherwise.
Yes, we know some stuff, but we aren’t know-it-alls.
Our clients and their families are the greatest experts on their own lives. Not us.
Our job is to listen, help normalize experiences, and to experiment with tools and strategies to help our clients find what works for them.
We do that in a number of ways, but lean heavily on our shared lived experience with neurodivergence.
Anyway, this post isn’t about trying to sell you coaching or anything else for that matter. Rather, I’m here to reflect on my own experiences and a few things that would have been helpful for me growing up as someone with ADHD. Whether you’re neurodivergent, a parent, teacher, therapist, or anyone else who supports the community, my hope is that reading this will offer an opportunity for some reflection.
On my bio page where I say, “I started LSA because it’s the type of support I wished I had when I was growing up…”, I’m not kidding. Coaching would have been extremely helpful, as would a number of other things, some of which I’ll go over here.
This post serves as my ultimate “why” for giving my all as a special education teacher and for starting Life Skills Advocate.
Caveat 1: Trigger Warnings
In this post, I share some incidents of trauma, physical violence and mental health challenges I experienced growing up.
If that is triggering for you, I encourage you to close this article, jump down to the TL;DR summary at the bottom, or proceed with that in mind.
Caveat 2: I embrace the idea of “AND” and encourage you to as well
Look, this post may seem kind of negative. I mean, it’s about stuff I wish I had when I was younger. So, it may be enticing to read the title and be like, “This Chris guy is the founder of a successful coaching business, fulfilling his passion, has a team and support, etc. etc. etc. Seems like he has it pretty good and should be grateful for what he has.”
Welcome to the wonderful world of “AND”.
“And” is a powerful thing.
The statement above is true AND I am grateful for what I have.
A person can be both successful AND wish the things that got them there were less difficult.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to reflect publically AND I hope it helps some people.
I have ADHD, mental health challenges AND a supportive wife, friends and team.
Human beings are complex and from my perspective, most of us don’t really seem to know each other or ourselves very well. Why? I don’t know, but if I had to guess, it’s because it’s uncomfortable and sometimes requires us to challenge or reflect on our well-established belief systems.
Caveat 3: This is a personal blog post that includes my own personal experiences
MY opinions are based on my experience. Not yours.
There’s some vulnerable stuff here and it’s difficult to share, but I feel compelled to do so, because again, I’m hopeful it will help some people.
You don’t have to use any of the resources I share here, and none of them should be thought of as hard and fast “advice”. Rather, a reflection of my own experience in an effort to spark thought and intention.
Caveat 4: This isn’t going to be a political blog post
I don’t have the interest or capacity for that.
Again, I’m here to talk about my own personal experience in hopes that it resonates with you in some way.
I’m not here to talk about school reform, the president, legislature, race, privilege, society at large, or anything of the sort.
Caveat 5: Some of the resources below include affiliate links
As I mention at the bottom of every blog post and rather exhaustively on our Neurodivergent-Friendly Tools and Resources page, we only recommend stuff we actually use or that’s been vetted by the greater community we support. This is sometimes really hard because of how diverse the neurodivergent community is, and what works for some, likely won’t work for others. So we do the best we can.
What does affiliate mean?
It means that if you click on a link to something and make a purchase, we earn a commission.
How much is the commission?
The commission varies by thing and not every product link is an affiliate link. Sometimes I call out specific affiliate links in-text, sometimes I don’t. It just depends on if calling it out is distracting or makes the post cluttered or difficult to read. That’s why I put the affiliate disclosure statement at the bottom of each blog post.
Since this post is so personal, I can confirm that every affiliate link is something I use personally.
Caveat 6: If you email me, I may not get back to you
Please know that if you send me an email, I WILL read it, and WILL do my very best to get back to you in a timely manner.
I really do love reading emails from people, especially ones that involve some sort of story or common connection.
But, sometimes I can’t respond.
If I don’t, it’s not because I don’t care, or that I’m too important, or anything like that.
It is more likely because I don’t have the capacity. Some days, I receive dozens of emails that require some level of processing.
What I Wish Was Different Growing Up
Parents Who Didn’t Hate Each Other And Weaponize Me (trigger warning)
My parents absolutely 150% HATE each other and I don’t remember a time when this wasn’t true.
And one way they showed that hate towards each other, was by using me as a weapon against the other.
To illustrate this, I’ll share 3 specific incidents that stick in my memory.
First, I recall an incident when I was 4 or 5 of my dad sitting on the top step of our staircase holding me tight on his lap, protecting me, as my mom hit him on his back with her fists.
I vividly remember feeling and hearing the THUD as she repeatedly struck him. This, combined with the feeling of him shaking, the yelling, the crying, and the sound of glass breaking in the other room, is one of my earliest memories.
Another incident, I recall a literal tug of war–where I was the proverbial rope–that took place in the upstairs bathroom of our “new” house. My mom and dad were literally trying to take me from one another, deeming the other unworthy of being my parent.
Lastly, an incident that took place in the family (heh, family) room of our new house. I must have been 6 or 7. Like a scene from a movie where a dog is urged to choose its owner, I was placed between my mom and dad who were sitting on opposite sides of the room, urged to choose between the two of them. I remember freezing in place, afraid to make a choice, shaking and crying, until either my mom or dad (I don’t remember which) noticed my reaction and scolded the other for putting me through that. Thanks, I guess.
I don’t remember the context around any of these incidents, why they were fighting, or the result of each. But I do remember the feeling. A feeling of stuckness with the overwhelming sense that I had to perform or “sell” in some way to get it to stop. At the time, the only thing that seemed to work was crying and working myself up to the point of nausea, shaking, and hyperventilating. Showing them that I was so distraught that it made me physically ill. Reflecting back, it’s hard to know how much of this was manipulative theatrics on my part versus genuine raw emotion. Probably a combination. I just wanted it to stop, and it did, but only until next time. I remember the guilty feelings that came after as my dad would yell, “Get ahold of yourself!” and my mom would proceed to verbally berate my dad to me as her brand of consoling me. For example, she’d say things like, “We don’t need that son-of-a-bitch.”
Again, my memory around context and the immediate aftermath is fuzzy.
I was in second grade when my parents divorced. There was a big custody battle that I’d rather not get into.
The yelling, screaming, and physical violence towards each other stopped, but the using me as a sounding board for each of my parents’ grievances with each other very much continued. It was just a constant, relentless and hateful onslaught of pure disdain for the other parent, and it made up a significant percentage of our time together. As an ignorant kid in the middle of a very adult (even though they weren’t acting like it) situation, it was hard to know what was true or how to respond.
Disagreeing, challenging or even trying to change the subject was simply not an emotionally safe option, and doing so often led to either a lecture (from my dad) about how irresponsible my mom was and how she’s not to be trusted; or sarcastic comments like, “Well, you should go live with him then.” from my mom.
So, I kept my mouth shut and “sold out my values” (whatever that means) and agreed with both parents when they’d verbally bash the other, even fervently joining in with them at times, as what I assume was done as a means of self-preservation.
I guess my thinking was, “If I could just show them how much I agree with them, maybe we can unite on that hatred and they’ll love me for it.” It felt terrible.
This went on for years.
This dynamic has left me with several key takeaways, many of which I still struggle with today:
- Being an adult is scary and should be avoided.
- Perpetually being a kid is emotionally unsafe while at the same time a comfortable place to retreat to as an adult.
- Adults and authority figures can’t be trusted while simultaneously holding the keys to my sense of self-worth.
- Advocating for myself often makes me feel worse.
- That I’m only worth something if other people say I’m worth something.
- I mask so much that I literally don’t know who I am sometimes, from an identity and values standpoint. This makes it hard to be myself, because I don’t know what myself even means.
- Similar to my challenges with self-advocacy, expressing disagreement towards others feels next to impossible and triggers an immediate and debilitating fight or flight response. I’m afraid that engaging in conflict will result in conflict or the other person disowning me.
- That the impossibly high standards I set for myself will never be enough.
- That love is conditional/transactional.
There’s probably more I’m not remembering.
All the performative agreeing with them I did as they verbally bashed each other was done in vain. During my junior year of high school in the year 2000, one day I had enough and I impulsively ran away from my dad’s house to go live with my mom. Upon returning to his house a week or so later to pick up my belongings, my stepmom called the cops and I was promptly greeted by 5 police cars (lights and sirens) going like 70 MPH down a 25 MPH residential street. I’m not sure what he or my stepmom thought I was planning to do. I’d never been violent. Maybe she and my dad thought that some of my mom’s violent (albeit rare) tendencies had rubbed off on me in the week I was with her. My dad demanded that we schedule a time for me to pick up my things the following week. Upon coming back a week later, the police were there and all my stuff was sprawled across the driveway, and my dad had a typed up inventory of all my belongings that he made me sign before I could leave with any of it. Given that I expected I would have been able to just grab what I needed from my room, I felt blindsided by the arrangement. So, in an effort to get the f*** out of there with minimal time and energy spent, and because I needed clothes, I signed the paper and left with what he determined was mine, only later realizing that there were several things he kept, including certain sentimental items and gifts I’d received from my mom, grandparents, and even from him over the years.
That day marks the last time my dad and I had a meaningful father-son relationship.
Despite my numerous attempts to make amends and reconnect, we’ve been estranged ever since.
Just like that, he was done with me. Like taking out the trash.
Often, I hear the saying that most parents do the best they can with what they have. I don’t know how I feel about this. I guess it’s probably like anything. Sometimes, it’s true. Sometimes not.
What I do know is that my actions of choosing to go live with my mom back when I was 18 led to him not wanting anything to do with me. To no longer want to be my dad. To no longer love me.
Intellectually, I know better, but in practice, it’s really hard not to feel like I must tread lightly and hold myself to an unattainable standard in relationships if I want to keep them. This looks like a number of self-preservative behaviors, which include going along with the popular opinion even if I don’t believe in it, frequent apologizing for who I am, constantly worrying that I’m not good enough and seeking validation in a sometimes obsessive way that I am good enough, extreme rejection sensitivity, and certain unhealthy coping strategies.
I mean, if my own dad doesn’t want me, why the hell should anyone else? Admittedly, this is flawed logic, but it’s where my brain goes sometimes. When I think about this, I can’t help but be reminder of this famous Fresh Prince scene:
Like Will Smith in the clip above, I go back and forth between feeling proud of what I’ve accomplished without him and feeling really sad wishing he was here to be proud with me.
“How come he don’t want me man…?” and where’s my Uncle Phil?
And how come it’s so hard for me to see the situation with my dad for what it is, and recognize that there are other people who love me and show it all the time?
A Consistent & Predictable Home & School
After my parents divorced, I lived with my mom.
First, we lived in an apartment in Mayfield Heights, Ohio.
Then to a bungalow in a different part of Mayfield Heights.
Followed by a condo in Euclid.
With each move, a new school. With each new school, a new set of rules to learn, new schedule, getting up to speed on school assignments, and new peers to try to fit in with.
I did not fit in.
I was the “weird” kid, acting out in unusual ways to get attention and gain acceptance from my peers. Unsuccessful.
I was hyperactive, had low impulse control, was disorganized, and was perpetually overwhelmed by schoolwork. No one at the time knew that I had ADHD. No one seemed to care that I was struggling.
From 3rd to about 8th grade, I had no friends and was bullied.
My attention-seeking behaviors became more and more overt, and I was taken out of Mayfield Middle School, and received out-of-district services. I went to a school for students with significant emotional and behavioral challenges called Beech Brook. I was relieved to get away from the bullying of middle school, but I was also ashamed for causing so much trouble. At the time, I remember feeling really out of place at Beech Brook. Most of the students seemed to have a much harder time controlling their behaviors than me. I would routinely see students exhibiting explosive and unpredictable behavior, and as a result, being restrained or isolated.
Academics took a back seat at Beech Brook. For the year-and-a-half I was there, I fell behind. Upon returning to public school, I was greeted by rumors from some of my old classmates, and the bullies had a new reason to mess with me, as I was still in 6th grade, while all my old peers moved on to 7th.
I don’t blame my mom for moving us around so much. We were poor and I believe she genuinely did the best she could during that period of my life. But I still wish I could have experienced what it was like to establish routine, predictability, and long-lasting friendships.
An Understanding From My Dad That Pride ≠ Arrogance
At the end of 8th grade, in hopes of finding more stability, I went to live with my dad and stepmom, back in the house where I lived just before my parents divorced.
I was finally doing well. I had a couple of friends and I was getting decent grades. Decent for me anyway.
It was report card time at one point of my sophomore year and I was really excited to show my dad that I got an A in my science class. AN A! I was not an A student, so this was a big deal and something I was very proud of. I put a lot of effort into getting that f***ing A. I remember creating my own method for taking notes for that class that involved notecards in some way, taking advantage of opportunities to meet with the teacher on a couple of occasions, actually asking questions when I didn’t know something, and really working hard to find ways to make the material interesting. The whole time, thinking, “Man, if I get a good grade, my parents are going to be so proud of me.” Completely tying in with the transactional nature of my relationships to that point.
My dad had always been someone who valued high achievement under difficult circumstances. He would often boast about earning his 4th degree black belt in Taekwondo, his master’s degree, his intellect, and his moral superiority across a variety of domains. So, I thought for sure that my A in science was something that we could celebrate together. Not quite the case, unfortunately.
When I got home from school, I went to the mailbox to get my report card. I brought it inside and placed it on the kitchen counter. When my dad got home, I was brimming with excitement as we opened it together.
As he saw that I earned an A in science, I looked at him and said something like, “Pretty awesome, huh?!”. He nonchalantly said something like, “Yeah, but don’t get a big head about it. Don’t act like you’re Mr. Big Man on Campus now.”
F*** you, dude! Just never f***ing good enough.
I don’t remember what happened immediately after that. I think I was probably deflated, but I didn’t argue. What’s the point?
Looking back, this was a pivotal moment. It taught me that I was wrong about love being transactional or conditional.
I learned that even if the conditions I thought were supposed to be met were met, it still wasn’t enough.
The person who essentially conditioned me into believing that performance, merit and submissiveness are the actions I must take to maintain emotional safety, flipped the script.
It’s as if it’s only something worth celebrating if I was following his lead or something.
Anyway, I never made a big deal about good grades again, probably because that was the last time until college that I tried to get good grades.
I guess it was flawed from the start, as I never sought to get good grades for ME. It was always for external validation.
And when that wasn’t enough, I had nothing to fall back on.
To Have Been Taught Money Management Skills
In high school, I worked at the McDonald’s on weekends where my stepmom was the manager. For the most part, I enjoyed working there. In many ways, this was my first taste of independence, and for what it’s worth, I was good at it.
Most of the time I would take orders at the counter, which, despite it just being an open counter area, was referred to by the crew as working the “window”. I also frequently worked the drive-thru, the “lane” (i.e. where fries, chicken and whatever else were cooked), and the grill.
I made friends and took pride in working hard, even though I only made $5.15 per hour.
Friday nights weren’t my favorite. The high school football crowd would come in and basically trash the place.
On one hand, I was jealous of this group of kids in their Letterman jackets, with their confidence and solid friend groups. On the other hand, I thought, “Is this really the type of person I’ve been yearning to be? Yikes!”.
I never wanted to be popular per se, or play high school football, or wear a Letterman jacket. I just wanted to be emotionally stable and seen. Someone made time for these kids. Someone saw that they were good at football and urged them to participate. Then, when they did well, someone was proud of them enough to buy them a f***ing Letterman jacket.
Anyway, I made $5.15 per hour cleaning up the lobby after they left and was okay with that.
All the money I earned went into a joint bank account, with both my dad and stepmom being the other account holders.
My dad didn’t trust me to manage my own money. My mom struggled with money, but my dad equated struggling to being irresponsible. Divorces are expensive and my dad had money, and my mom didn’t. The way my dad saw it, he wasn’t about to let my mom’s lack of financial responsibility rub off on me.
Instead of controlling my bank account, a better approach might have been to teach me money management skills, but that didn’t happen.
When I started working at McDonalds, my dad and I had an understanding that almost all of the money I earned would help pay for my college education. The way I saw it, that was a good plan. It wasn’t like I was going to go spend it on anything anyway, seeing as I didn’t have friends I went out with. Sure, it would have been nice to have a little spending money to buy a CD or band t-shirt or whatever, but the idea of having to advocate for that felt exhausting and just not worth it.
However, I actually did start making friends who invited me to go bowling with them one night per week.
Asking my dad for money for these sorts of occasions always brought on a lot of anxiety. Even though it was MY money and the same $10 for bowling every week, there was a very rigid line of questions I’d have to answer every week before he’d give it to me. Plus, according to my dad, “an agreement was an agreement.” The questions themselves were reasonable (e.g. where was I going, who I was going with, etc.), but there was always an underlying sense of distrust, jealousy and reluctance in his demeanor that’s difficult to put my finger on, and he’d keep a detailed log in a little notebook. It felt like overkill. But more than that, it felt like he didn’t trust me, which didn’t feel great.
When I left and moved to my mom’s (as detailed earlier), I quit my job at McDonald’s. Upon trying to return my uniform to the store, I was greeted by three police cars which boxed me into my parking spot. The officers aggressively questioned why I was there. They told me I was trespassing. After explaining that I was just trying to return my uniform, they took my uniform inside and went on their way. I never got an explanation for the police involvement. Again, I’ve never been violent or threatening.
As for taking ownership of the money I earned over the ~3 years I worked there, I was able to make an appointment with my stepmom to go to the bank to close the account.
More Time With My Grandparents
As a kid, I used to spend about a weekend per month at my grandma and grandpa’s house. We’d watch TV, go to the park, paint together, play with the cats, cook meals together, take scenic drives, and just enjoy each other’s company.
They really were great and spoiled me the way grandmas and grandpas tend to do.
When my relationship with my dad ended, so did my relationship with my grandparents.
When I called them, it always went to voicemail and they would never return my calls. I thought this was strange, because they always seemed fully capable of thinking for themselves. Even when things were at their worst and I was openly bashing my mom as influenced by my dad, assuming that’s what my grandma wanted to hear, she would redirect me. Good on her for doing that.
After a while, I gave up calling. Clearly, there was some reason they weren’t returning my calls, but I didn’t really have the emotional bandwidth to keep trying.
I thought about stopping by their house, but having the police called on me twice in recent past for no good reason, prevented me from doing so.
My grandpa passed away in 2004, and my stepmom messaged me on MySpace to let me know. I don’t know how he died, if he was sick beforehand, or if there would have been an opportunity to say goodbye.
I don’t remember much from the funeral. My grandma, dad and stepmom were there, but I don’t recall there being much of an opportunity to reconnect, or if I even had a desire to on that particular day.
Fast forward a couple years, in the spring of 2006, I ran into my grandma near the front counter at Manhattan Deli, a New York style restaurant/deli I would frequent in the east suburbs of Cleveland. We both had stunned looks on our faces when we recognized each other. We talked very briefly and, to my surprise, she invited me to come over to her house a week later. This felt great and filled me with hope!
During my first visit with her in over half a decade, I asked her why she didn’t call me back and she told me that my dad was monitoring her phone line (no idea how) and forbid her from having contact with me. She was very concerned with my dad finding out that we were meeting and insisted that we keep it a secret. While I thought this was very strange, it didn’t necessarily surprise me. However, it was very upsetting. I couldn’t help but think, what would have happened had my dad known we were in touch? Would he have just been angry or something more? My best guess is that he would have shunned her from his life, and my grandma was exercising her own self-preservation by complying.
We had a few more visits. About once per month.
Then, in January of 2007, I was notified by my stepmom that she passed away. Apparently, she had fallen asleep in bed watching TV, and just didn’t wake up.
My dad and aunt were in charge of organizing the wake, which was an open casket. At one point, I saw my aunt walk over to the casket and place framed pictures of her and my two cousins inside. Then, my dad walked over and put a picture of himself inside. No picture of me. Not realizing (or having not been told) that this was an option, I had no picture to place inside. This hurt.
Anyway, I just wish I could have been included in that ceremony and, while I’m grateful for the few visits I had with my grandma near the end of her life, it’s upsetting to know that my dad prevented more from happening.
The Right Diagnosis
I was diagnosed with ADHD at 35.
Reflecting back to childhood, and my teenage and young adult years, it seems like someone should have recognized it so much earlier.
I’m not a clinician, but with my executive functioning challenges, which most notably include difficulty with attentional control, working memory, task initiation, prioritization, and motivation, I feel like I have a pretty classic case of ADHD. I also struggle with rejection sensitivity, verbal communication, real-time processing of information, restlessness, and have certain sensory sensitivities.
For these reasons combined with the myriad of environmental reasons discussed previously, school was hard, work was hard, relationships were hard, anything that involved “doing” was just really hard.
Unlike many of the wonderful folks on TikTok and elsewhere, I do not consider any aspect of my ADHD to be a “superpower”. I’m not saying it’s all bad, but calling it a superpower is BS. For me, thinking about it that way doesn’t make all that challenges I listed above any easier. It makes them harder actually, because if I’m not acknowledging the impact they have, I’m not creating space to address them. For me, ADHD is a very real and debilitating neurodevelopmental disorder that makes doing things way more difficult than I would like.
Strategies and tools exist and work well when I’m regulated enough to access them. Just doing it (i.e. exercising more willpower) almost never works.
With that being said, there is nothing morally wrong with anyone for having ADHD any more than there’s anything morally wrong with those who have high blood pressure. Whenever possible, I’d just rather address the things that get in the way of having a higher quality of life, and many aspects of ADHD are included in that.
And just to be clear, while it may sound like I’m talking about “fixing” aspects of my ADHD, I prefer the very “adapting” as it’s more about making environmental and systematic adjustments and experimenting with tools, versus the idea of fixing me as a person in some way. It’s also gentler and more empowering, and doesn’t make me feel shittier.
Anyway, thinking back to childhood, I wish my parents or one of my dozens of teachers, therapists, doctors, etc. would have recognized it.
I’ll get into why that would have been helpful in a bit, but first an analogy.
I like to think of diagnoses as sections in a library. Want to learn biology? There’s a section for that. Want to read poetry? There’s a section for that too.
If you want to learn how to repair the headlights of your 1997 Chevy Cavalier, a good place to start would be the automotive section. But, simply walking into that section won’t give you the knowledge you need. You’d need to find a specific book. From there, you can get to work.
Looking for books on automotive repair in the airplane section doesn’t work any more than looking for books about Tourette’s Syndrome in the ADHD section.
The same logic can be applied to diagnoses. Having a diagnosis is a start, but to really know the person, digging deeper is required.
However, what if you DON’T KNOW what section to look in, where to start, or what questions to even ask? If we’re following this library analogy to completion, that’s where a librarian should be able to help. In theory, you describe a challenge you’re having and the librarian should be able to point you to the right section, and even suggest some specific books to check out.
This is not unlike the dynamic between a patient and doctor. Or more specifically, a neuropsychologist, who diagnoses ADHD. You go to the doctor because you’re having some challenges. You describe your challenges, they evaluate you further, and then make a diagnostic determination. I’m simplifying of course, but that’s basically the process.
What I’m trying to express here is that sometimes you leave the library thinking you have the right book, but 30 years and a whole lot of trauma later, you realize you didn’t. The Cavalier you were trying to repair is long gone, you’re not getting your money back from the mechanic you ended up going to because they closed up shop 15 years ago, and the librarian who helped you find the book is enjoying their retirement in Costa Rica. Now, apply this to the neuropsych scenario. You get my point.
That’s why it’s SOOO important to be informed, educated, and have the tools to advocate for yourself and loved ones. And, it’s important to find a neuropsychologist who has a deep understanding of the challenges you came to see them for.
At LSA, we’ve tried really hard to make each of these things easier by creating free and low-cost resources available right here on our website. Between our blog, resource hub, assessment, tools and resources directory, workbook, and more, it’s really important to me that we do what we can to help.
So anyway, I was diagnosed with mild Tourette’s Syndrome when I was seven. I experienced facial tics, but not much else. Tourette’s may very well have been a correct diagnosis, but it wasn’t the only thing going on with me.
Again, I’m not a clinician, but I sometimes wonder if I had Tourette’s at all. I only experienced facial tics for 2-3 years and they felt more like compulsions in an attempt to achieve a “just right” feeling, often associated with OCD, rather than involuntary movements. I wonder how much of my facial tics were a coping mechanism for the challenging times I was experiencing versus actual Tourette’s.
In addition, to my knowledge, executive functioning challenges aren’t directly linked to Tourette’s, so I wonder how much of my ADHD or ADHD-adjacent traits at the time were written off as a product of my chaotic environment.
Had I received my ADHD diagnosis at a younger age, teachers could have adapted their instruction appropriately, potentially worked with me on strategies for managing my executive functioning and emotional difficulties, and most importantly, I could have developed better language around my needs and learned a stronger framework for expressing them.
Somatic Therapy
I’ve had a lot of therapists over the years. Almost all of them have been awesome, but very few have understood the intersection of ADHD and mental health the way my two most recent therapists do.
A few years ago, my therapist, Joe, who has ADHD himself, recommended that I get evaluated, so I did.
Turns out, yep! I have ADHD. I was in the 99th percentile on the QbTest for hyperactivity (they strapped a camera to my head and tracked my movements). I don’t remember my score for the other domains: inattention and impulsivity.
Anyway…
One of the modalities of Joe’s therapy practice is called CIMBS (Complex Integration of Multiple Brain Systems). It’s a bit complicated to explain in a blog, but in short, this approach focuses on understanding and treating difficulties by considering how different systems within our brain interact and integrate. CIMBS works by identifying and differentiating these systems, such as those responsible for emotions, motivations, relationships, and safety, to help the brain process experiences more effectively. By carefully observing physiological responses and working in the present moment, CIMBS aims to create new, healthier neural patterns, leading to greater flexibility, authenticity, and emotional regulation.
One thing I struggle with, especially when overstimulated, is labeling emotions through language. Searching for the right words to label complex or mixed emotions is difficult as it requires executive functioning (prefrontal cortex), which is difficult to access during elevated emotional states (limbic system). This is where CIMBS and other somatic therapies have been helpful. Instead of labeling the emotions, it’s simply about noticing them, and from there, labeling physical sensations as they arise. To support this process, we sometimes use an emotion sensation wheel, similar to this one.
For the past year, I’ve been working with another therapist who uses a method called Hakomi, (a Hopi Indian word meaning “How do you stand in relation to these many realms?” or “Who are you?”), a gentle yet powerful experiential therapy practice that uses mindfulness and somatic interventions to heal attachment wounds and developmental trauma. This coupled with certain eastern-based therapeutic practices that incorporate deep mindfulness and expanded consciousness work, have been incredibly helpful for me in noticing and processing difficult emotions and life events, new and old. To learn more about Hakomi, click here.
What I love most about these approaches is that they make therapy more concrete and easier to integrate into everyday life. Combined with talk therapy, which allows me the opportunity to verbally process in a non-linear fashion (as I tend to do) without judgment or agenda, I’ve found somatic-based therapies to be the most helpful.
I’m not sure how prevalent these therapies were back in the 90s, but I imagine they would have been very helpful had I had access to them.
If you’re looking for a therapist who understands neurodivergence, I highly recommend checking out ndtherapists.com. I connected with therapist and site owner, Amelia Galier Slama, a while back, and really appreciate what she created. We use it to help our coaching clients find therapists all the time.
A Coach That Gets Me
I said it before and I’ll say it again, I believe that coaching with LSA is better because of the lived experience with neurodivergence that each of our coaches come with.
Why?
Because with lived experience comes genuine empathy and connection.
Look, just about anyone can help anyone get their calendar organized or caught up on school assignments.
But it takes a very special person to recognize that spending the first 10 minutes of a session listening to Grateful Dead is key to helping the client feel safe and ready to open up.
Or navigating the love/hate relationship that comes with requesting school or work accommodations, and body doubling with the client as they write an email to request a meeting to discuss accommodations.
Or celebrating with a client after they advocated for their needs at school or work.
There are a million and one things our coaches at LSA do, and I hear from clients all the time, many of whom in tears, that their coach is the first person to truly “get” them.
Hell yeah to that.
To quote something I saw on the internet somewhere at one point: “Coaching isn’t therapy, but it’s innately therapeutic.”
This is so true.
I started LSA because I wanted to create the type of support I wish I had when I was a struggling young person, and it seems as though that we’ve done just that.
While sadly, I can’t get a do-over on my own childhood, I’m grateful to know that so many young people and families are getting it “right” the first time.
More of The Good Stuff
There were plenty of good memories I have from my childhood. Many of them were fleeting, but regardless, I wish I could go back and experience more of:
- Summers at Geauga Lake Amusement Park with my mom & dad. This place was peak childhood. Sadly, they closed several years back.
- Listening to my mom playing piano. She’s a brilliant pianist. My mom is a small business owner of a Cleveland-area music school, and she inspired me to start my own business. I’m very proud of her for following her passion.
- Bike rides with my dad.
- Going to the duck pond and arboretum with my mom.
- Watching Cleveland Indians (now Guardians) baseball with my dad.
- Painting with my grandma.
- Trips down to Harrisonburg, VA to visit my grandparents, and when my grandparents would visit us.
- Visiting my uncle Kit, who lived on a mountain in VA, and riding with him on his three-wheeler.
- Going to concerts with my best friend, John.
- When my parents would call me by the nicknames they gave me:
- Dad: Weedwacker
- Mom: Goosey (my mom still calls me that lol)
- Sparklers and crappy grocery store fireworks.
- When my mom and I would make our own books out of construction paper and markers and bind them with yarn.
- Making our own popsicles out of orange juice in the summer.
Willow (the magical plush fawn that talks)
I love bunnies. Always have. Always will.
When I was born, my parents gave me a stuffed bunny. I can’t find a picture of me with the bunny from back then, so here’s a picture of me with an Easter basket instead.
To this day, I sleep with my bunny every night.
He’s well-loved. See?
As much as I love my bunny, he doesn’t know anything about me. He doesn’t talk me through my anxiety, tell jokes when I’m sad, problem-solve challenges I’m facing, or take me on a storytime adventure.
This should surprise no one, as he was likely manufactured sometime in 1982.
But now the year is now 2024, and my friend, Peter Fitzpatrick, exists and has created something truly amazing!
Peter has his own journey with ADHD and, like me, grew up in a challenging household.
He created Willow, a magical plush fawn who talks, moves her ears and nose, and loves cuddles.
What makes Willow special is her ability to support kids with ADHD, anxiety, and executive functioning challenges. Developed with input from ADHD and play therapy experts, Willow helps children by teaching them to set and pursue goals, stay calm when emotions come up, and build secure relationships.
Like LSA for me, Willow is the support Peter wishes he had growing up.
Willow combines entertainment with genuine developmental benefits, making her an invaluable companion for children facing challenges similar to my own.
I’m sharing this because I genuinely believe in the benefits Willow offers for neurodivergent kids. Peter’s creation is a thoughtful blend of fun and function, designed to make a real difference in children’s lives. If you think Willow might be a good fit for your child, click here to learn more and to reserve one.
I also encourage you to check out Peter’s newsletter, where, every Monday, he shares one practical tip for guiding your child with ADHD to a successful life.
Just a few weeks ago, I ordered one for our son, Benji.
Motion (an AI calendar tool that I use and LOVE)
For as long as I can remember, some of the biggest challenges I’ve had with my ADHD involve planning tasks, estimating how long tasks will take, creating buffer time between tasks to account for transition or self-care time, and cross-referencing my calendar with my task manager to ensure I have enough time each day to do the things I need to do.
I tend to not stick with tools for very long because 99% of them don’t solve the problem I just explained.
Motion does.
What is Motion?
Motion is an AI calendar tool that layers on top of whatever calendar you’re already using. I use Google Calendar, but it works with a bunch of them.
All you have to do is connect your calendar(s) with Motion, add your first task, and set the variables that are important to you.
From there, it automatically schedules the task on your calendar in a spot that’s open, based on the variables you specified.
If you miss a task or need to reschedule, Motion will automatically take care of it.
No more looking back at your day and feeling crappy about all the tasks that didn’t get completed. Anything that didn’t get done is automatically rescheduled for you. This is a game-changer for me.
One of the coolest features is that you can send or forward an email to the tool and it will automatically extract the tasks from it and add them directly to your schedule. I swear, it’s like magic.
There are a lot of other cool features that I could go over, but that’s the gist of it.
It’s helped my executive functioning challenges associated with task planning in a very noticeable way.
They offer a free 7-day trial to give it a try. Check it out here.
This is definitely a tool that I wish existed sooner.
Who is Grown-Up Chris?
Through my mixed bag of a childhood, I struggle to find inner peace. But I’m relentless in my pursuit.
About 10 years ago, I got my first and only tattoo on my upper right arm of one of my favorite song lyrics that reads: “I’ll go fighting nail and teeth. You’ve never seen such perseverance.”
It’s from the song Haemoglobin by the band Placebo, and it’s meaning has changed for me over the years. Right now, I suppose it simply serves as a reminder that some things (like my mental health) are worth fighting hard for and some things just aren’t.
Feel free to give it a listen below.
Writing all of this out and sharing it with you has been both liberating and terrifying.
Sometimes, my feelings and memories make it hard for me to get moving, take care of myself, or realize that I am loved. Despite these challenges, I am continually working on being proud of who I am and presenting myself authentically, even if I don’t always know what that means.
I often reflect on my journey and how far I’ve come. The challenges I faced growing up have shaped me into a resilient and empathetic individual. I’m proud of the work I do, helping others navigate their own neurodivergent experiences.
Most days, even when I am sad, I’m also a good dad, a good husband, a good advocate for my community, and a kind and funny human who likes really pizza. Who likes listening to a wide variety of alternative rock music, playing racquetball, watching Cleveland Guardians baseball, enjoying a stiff drink or three, growing tomatoes in the backyard, playing video games, watching stand-up comedy, learning new things, singing karaoke, and watching movies that make my head spin—my favorite being Interstellar.
I’m incredibly grateful for the unconditional love and support from my son, Benji, and my wife, Lisa, who often knows me better than I know myself. We do a really great job predicting when the other needs a hug and that means the world to me. And I think I’ve done a decent job learning from my own childhood experiences and applying what I’ve learned in the best way I can to be a good dad, husband & human.
I’m also grateful for my friends, therapists, and team. Thank you all.
I’ll leave you with some reflective questions to ponder and this clip from Mr. Rogers, someone I’ve always looked up to as a leader, a father figure, and someone who I imagine would love and be proud of me just the way I am.
Thank you for reading.
Reflective Questions to Ponder
As we reach the end of this blog post, I would like to encourage you to sit with some of the questions below.
For Neurodivergent Individuals
- Consider how your past experiences shape your present behavior and feelings. Are there specific triggers or situations that consistently challenge you?
- Reflect on how you deal with intense emotions. Are there healthier ways you could approach your emotional responses?
- How can acknowledging the complexity of your feelings—such as feeling successful yet challenged—help you understand yourself better?
- Evaluate your current support network. Is it sufficient, or might you benefit from additional or different types of support?
- Think about how your unique experiences equip you to help or relate to others. Is there a way you could use your insights to support peers or community members?
- What steps can you take to better advocate for yourself in both personal and professional contexts? Are there resources or tools you need to help manage your challenges more effectively?
For Parents or Caregivers
- Reflect on how your child’s past experiences might be influencing their current behavior. How can you help them recognize and address these influences?
- Consider how you support your child’s emotional processing. Are there ways you could help them feel safer or more understood when they’re experiencing strong emotions?
- How can you help your child understand that they can feel grateful for what they have while still acknowledging their struggles?
- Assess the support systems you’ve established for your child. Are there gaps that need filling, perhaps with professional help or community support?
- Think about how your experiences with your child might help other parents in similar situations. Could sharing your story provide support to others?
- What steps can you take to find additional resources or support for your child? Are there therapies, educational tools, or community services that could be beneficial?
TL;DR Summary
I don’t blog often because it stirs up deep reflections on my tough childhood, marked by intense family conflict and constant upheaval. My struggles with ADHD, unrecognized and unsupported during my youth, compounded these challenges. This post dives into my experiences, like the extreme tension between my parents and the instability of frequently moving homes, which shaped my understanding of relationships and self-worth. Through sharing, I hope to offer insight and support to others with similar backgrounds, emphasizing that while I guide others at LSA, I too navigate my own journey of healing and understanding.