Attention Deficit (Hyperactivity) Disorder, also known as AD(h)D, has been a feature and a bug since my early childhood. I’ve often called it my superpower, and have been lucky that my long teaching career shielded me from its negative effects for most of my adult life, but since the pandemic disrupted the whole world, it’s come around and become a bit of a kryptonite chain around my neck. Distressed by my own distress and of the belief that if curiosity kills the cat, I have eight more lives to go, I went off in search of answers to mitigate the rise of anxiety and frustrations and fell upon a magnificent book by Gabor Maté called Scattered Minds: The Origins and Healing of Attention Deficit Disorder.
We have made great progress as a society with issues of mental health in the last few decades, and now largely recognise that conditions like depression, anxiety, bipolarity, and AD(h)D are not caused by inherited or genetic traits but rather are the results of experiences that mark us and affect our neural pathways. The only “genetic” component that unites all of those who develop these conditions is something called “sensitivity" which can manifest in environmental or food allergies, but the triggers are in our experiences and not our DNA. In the case of AD(h)D, it is the protective reaction of an infant to the circumstantial distress of a parent who is not able to attach and bond fully; if we do not learn to pay attention, we save ourselves temporarily from painful experiences and also simultaneously protect our caregiver from having to also see our own reactive hurt. The drawback to this defence mechanism is that it doesn’t allow us to learn the skill of attentiveness and to build and strengthen those neural pathways, and we end up deficient at this ability in other situations.
My first reaction to the discovery of my AD(h)D origins has surprisingly been a flood of compassion and understanding for my mother, and for what I now realise she was enduring when I was an infant. There is no blame or anger, just a sadness for how difficult it must have been around her in those early years. It’s honestly liberating and what I appreciate the most about the book is the focus away from guilt, and towards a compassionate understanding and a desire to heal and grow.
The most useful parts of the book were in learning where other seemingly unrelated traits come into play with the condition, namely my empathy and anxiety. The fidgeting (lifelong nail biting and hair twirling),obsessiveness, and abilities to focus on what interests me were no surprise, but the idea that my sense of social justice and empathy towards others stem from the same source were rather revelatory, as was the statement that my stubbornness is reactive rather than assertive. The biggest shock really, was finding out that the root cause of much of my manifested behaviours is a lack of self-esteem, mostly because I’ve always felt that my low confidence was due to lifelong weight struggles and not my brain miscues.
I’ve taken consistent steps in recent years to mitigate some effects, which has included maintaining a decluttered physical space around me, time spent in nature and doing mindful activities like gardening and yoga, and taking care of myself with daily exercise and a healthy diet. The book reaffirmed that these measures are helpful, and has helped me understand why I am calmer near water, whether it’s on a beach or a colder shore, or in the stark landscapes of the Scottish Highlands. It’s explained why protein crashes are so detrimental to my moods, and why despite my wandering brain, I was able to focus and complete a four-book series of rock fiction novels. The hardest realisation was that AD(h)D has been the driver of my empathetic reactions not only to the suffering of strangers and animals, but also when those I care about are going through difficult times and situations. It has sometimes overwhelmed me because of a tendency to feel and to want to absorb some of their pain to my own detriment. There are healthy ways to be compassionate and kind towards others, and I need to find a better balance to help those I love when asked without drowning in the process. The last area of concern is the fact that AD(h)D is linked to low dopamine levels and tendencies to be easily bored; this sometimes causes me to seek excitement in dangerous places and to take needless risks, and to make impulsive choices that I later regret. It also ties me to my cell phone in time wasting scrolling, which I’m working very hard to limit and move away from gradually in favour of reading and writing books again.
It is comforting and optimistic that changing the plasticity of the brain is possible with therapy and/or medications, and that one can heal the wounds of the past with an approach of finding self-acceptance and self-love. I am working towards that goal with a medical referral so that I can rebuild my neglected neural pathways and put my destructive habits behind me. If you’ve been on the receiving end of my anxiety-driven needs to save or fix you, I promise that I am going to try to overcome that and become a more balanced and caring friend; the love that I feel for my family and dear friends is genuine and deep, and I want to be supportive in more productive, healthy ways because I do know that you are all fully capable of solving your own challenges without me needing to come to the rescue. None of my issues are on any of you any more than yours are on me, and I am getting to work fixing my own shit so that when we are all healed, life will be even more beautiful for all of us.
I leave you with the ending of the book, which I found so touching:
To love is to extend oneself toward another or toward oneself, says Dr. Peck. It so happens that this is also the precise meaning of giving attention to another person or to oneself. The origins of the word attend is the Latin tendere, "to stretch". Attend means to extend, to stretch forward.
If we can actively love, there will be no attention deficit, and no disorder.
