I haven't been diagnosed with ADHD. But watching my daughter, who has, I would put money on my having it too. Her 8-year-old activity level mirrors my own memories of being eight. But I've learned to (mostly) manage mine because I wasn't diagnosed with it as a kid. I was a girl in the '90s who changed school on the regular- who would have seen it? I was used to conflict in myself and distraction. I just had to "work harder" and "tell my brain to focus." All those years I just thought I was stupid.
I wasn't stupid, I was just left behind.
Now as an adult, I have other diagnoses. I see the labels on my medical paperwork- Hypothyroid. Anxiety. Borderline depression. Post-traumatic stress disorder.
And some labels aren't on the paperwork- solo mom. Widow. Girlfriend. Daughter. Sister. Niece. Cousin. Granddaughter.
Heretic. Catholic. Queer. Pansexual. Ally. Friend.
I live in my labels, I wear them like a blanket. I talk about my struggles with therapy and medications and worries that never end. But I had to learn to talk. I had to learn to accept that "happiness" isn't one thing all the time. I had to learn to be okay with not being okay or fine or perfect.
I see myself with all these labels and today I accept them and the baggage that comes with them. Yes, I have anxiety. And I need help managing it. Yes, I have PTSD, and I have to own up that I can't fix the world. Yes, I am part of the queer community, but that isn't something I've identified with until the last year. I've known I'm not heterosexual for decades (god I'm old) and been an ally, but stayed on the fringe of the identity by choice. Why does my sexuality matter when I'm dating or married to a man?
My labels help me see the world and keep my feet in place in it.
I'm not lazy all the time- I'm burned out from overstimulation of endless tasks, responsibilities, lists, and needs of being a solo parent and being "on" all the time.
It took Bob's absence for me to realize he was right (and I'd never admit this to him lest his head get too big). He married me, not some version of me he liked. All my anxieties, all my worries, all my dreams and hopes and insecurities- they made me. My 30 thin beaded bracelets, large hoop earrings, and Star Wars t-shirts. My perpetually smudged eyeliner. I miss that younger version of myself sometimes, the one who didn't know grief like I do now.
But I'm okay with who I am now. I have fewer piercings and more tattoos. I drink less but use pot more (but smoking it is gross). I'm more accepting that the path I want to live might not be the path I get to live (but I don't have to like the changes). I've made it through those changes though, and I can step into the light with all my labels.
Heretic AND Catholic.
Widow AND girlfriend.
Solo mom AND queer.
Ally AND friend.
Because I wrap myself in the blanket of my labels. I can feel anxiety and PTSD and depression and light. I can hold space for myself and what I need. It's okay to be exhausted after 4 hours with my kids and their endless inquiries than 8 hours when they're in school.
I couldn't accept this five years ago.
It's okay to not identify or notice all my labels all day every day. But when I need them, they are there to help me realize why I feel the way I do. Sometimes sleep, food, and water aren't enough. Sometimes I need more help than that. We all do.
I wish I could show Bob this woman I am now, but I've had to recognize the events that brought me here. I don't see in black and white like a child anymore. Nothing is truly fair.
I see in the murky overlapping colors of a prismatic rainbow cast on the wall.
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