Tag: teaching

I grew up in the 80s, when kids who couldn’t pay attention, or sit still, were just plain “badly behaved.” I did not identify with this at all, in my elementary school days; in fact, I did pretty well – I got good grades (not stellar, but not bad, either). I didn’t stand out from the crowd for not being attentive, my parents never had to worry about getting a phone call from a teacher. I was creative! I loved reading – even though I did recognize that I did take a little longer to absorb what I read – and that spilled over into a love of writing poetry and short stories. Language, art and history were my thing; I had an easier time remembering something if it had a story to it. My teachers often commented on my positivity – I was always smiling and happy! When it came to my mood, things just slid off my back – I never was one to hold grudges or take things too seriously.

I trudged along through high school, working part-time, and getting ok grades. I dated boys, and I had amazing teachers that I looked up to. They encouraged me to apply to university, which I did.

This is when I really noticed how different I really was: I took languages and literature and memorizing was just too hard for me, my memory seemed like a sieve. I failed my first year, which was devastated, but I was determined. I learned to borrow notes from my classmates, and compare them with mine – noticing how much I really was missing – then I made better notes. But that wasn’t enough – I learned to live with my weak memory by instead relying on really understanding concepts – and making myself visuals. I struggled to develop skills to deal with my challenges, I was on my own.

I distinctly remember buying a Bescherell grammar and seeing the grammar trees and cognitive maps – and all of a sudden it all made sense! That didn’t help my grades much, but it made me feel better, because I knew I understood the concepts.

After university, I started teaching. My first years of teaching were the most challenging: I just didn’t get how everyone else seemed so organized, and with-it. I was a notorious procrastinator, which made my stress levels double, and my mood often plummeted. I asked colleagues for pointers constantly, and applied some of their strategies, and slowly started to improve my own. I am eternally grateful to those colleagues that were generous enough to share, and I strive to do the same to help others, any chance I get.

Life went on, and those that knew me, knew that I was a creative, passionate person (that was my euphemism for my impulsivity): my mouth and actions sometimes got me into trouble; I seemed to have a hard time controlling impulses – and as an adult, that became more prominent in my relationships. I had bouts of depression and anxiety – largely due to guilt over my impulsive behaviour. The inner dialogue was crushing, at times.

Life went on. I had three beautiful children and continued to live in this same way, until my own children began to have their challenges. They were diagnosed with ADHD, one after the other, in their own time. I struggled at first, to accept this, since it surfaced in different ways in each of them – and this was all new to me. Even being a teacher – knowing and supporting my own students with similar diagnoses – being part of the team that helped to get them diagnosed: I never thought it would be something that showed up in my own family. Hearing my kids talk their challenges and how they coped, began to open my mind, I really began to listen, and saw the connections to my own life experience. I am so appreciative of my kids’ patience with my accepting and understanding what they went through. I accept and acknowledge my lack of insight when they needed it most. I hope I have done better, since.

In my own experience, I saw myself jumping from one interest to another, taking courses, loving them, getting hyper-focused on them, then losing interest as the next shiny thing appeared. I grew up with adults who had one career path and stuck to it until they retired, so I continued to see myself as scattered, and imperfect in so many ways because it seemed that even in my 40s, I didn’t have a career focus.

I finally decided to do a free online Adult ADHD questionnaire, out of curiosity, after hearing our doctors mention that often parents of children with ADHD end up being diagnosed, themselves. Not surprisingly, the questionnaire indicated that I was likely ADHD; it was difficult to be honest with myself in answering, after so many years of making excuses. I made an appointment shortly after, to get diagnosed. I was still skeptical, though: I knew that the diagnosis would offer some relief and explanation – and perhaps a way to seek out more strategies, in a more informed approach – but I feared getting stuck in the box that a label puts you into – I was afraid of the sheer paralysis that this could cause. I knew myself and did not want this to become another excuse not to move forward.

A few things have come to my rescue: my amazing children – they have taught me so much about getting past this, they’ve really been my best teachers – my incredible colleagues, partner, and students, who accept and love my insanity, and my yoga practice. The latter has taught me that I am perfect and whole, just as I am. I’ve learned that this is really an amazing gift. I’m curious and creative and yes, I have many varied interests; I dig deeply into them when it feels right – and I have knowledge in so many different disciplines. I can be a scholar and an artist, and a yogi – I can really have it all! There is no limit.

I’ve stopped feeling ashamed of this label – I have taken back my power over it. I share this with my students and it has been so uplifting seeing them know that I really do understand – I am able to really inspire them to go for it, and not be afraid to do all of things, and to ask for the help they need, when they do. I connect with them on a whole other level when I let my humanity show – and I encourage them to do the same, without shame. They know I have a horrible memory – and they see me adopting my own strategies to cope. They look at me in disbelief when I tell them I am disorganized – and I tell them that it is because they can’t see the years of building my own way of dealing with it and developing strategies. I only hope that they can feel inspired to do the same, and that I can be instrumental in their feeling worthy, and smart, and capable – so that they can avoid falling into the mental health spirals that many others fall into, for lack of support.

I hope that I can be of service to my own children, as I learn with them. My wish is that they see me living my life and recognize that there is hope – I want them to really know that they they are enough, that they are perfect, and whole just as they are. I hope that they feel loved, unconditionally.