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Writer's pictureJennifer Edgecomb Odom

ADHD

Updated: Dec 23, 2023

Dear Elli,

You came home from school today, set your bookbag down, pulled your mask off, smiled your most beautiful happy smile, and said "I feel like a whole new person, Mom!  My medicine is finally working!  I'm getting things done.  I'm motivated to complete my work.  I can even put sentences together better when I'm talking!  It feels really good!"  

Well, shit.  This is a damn good day!  And it's been a damn good week.

We just recently emerged from a multi-month shitstorm of ADHD hellfire.  I honestly don't even know how long it lasted.  ADHD shitstorms kind of sneak up on us.  They start off so slowly and mildly when your medicine stops working correctly that we don't even notice it's raining at first.  Until one day it doesn't work at all anymore and holy shit there's floodwater rushing in through the windows and we have to climb up on the roof to save ourselves.  It truly sucks. 

This wasn't our first ADHD shitstorm, and it likely won't be our last.  But for awhile, the storm is over.  Finally.  Praise Jesus in Heaven!

I don't talk a lot about your ADHD in mixed company.  It's not a secret by any means, but it's also a topic I feel defensive about sometimes.  I'm not a defensive person by nature, but you're my kid.  And ADHD can be a controversial subject.  But I'm writing about it today because you gave me the green light to do it.  You said I should.

I used to think ADHD was some kind of bullshittery.  Not that it was totally fake, but I thought most of "those kids" just needed a few swift kicks in the ass and some structure in their lives.  I still think "those kids" need that.  But I also know now that ADHD is very much a real thing.  I learned that four years ago, when you were diagnosed.  "Those kids" very quickly became "my kid".  Well, sonofabitch.  Humble pie has an unpleasant taste, but it's good for all of us to sample from time to time.  Including me.  

Four years ago you were in second grade, and you could barely read.  My daughter with the amazing vocabulary who loved books couldn't freaking read them.  You were in classes to help.  We worked with you at home.  A lot.  We did everything we could think of.  Something was wrong, and I knew it.  So we took you to your pediatrician.  

After a multitude of tests and questionnaires and lots of discussion, we received your diagnosis:  ADHD, inattentive type.  

It's hard sometimes to think of you as having ADHD.  You aren't the stereotypical ADHD kid.  You're not crawling around on the floor or jumping up and down like a wild creature.  You have no problems sitting or being quiet when you need to.  You're perfectly calm most of the time.  But your mind is never still.  It is never quiet.

You have an extremely difficult time focusing your mental energy on a single task.  You fidget almost constantly.  You draw elaborate pictures during math class.  You talk when you're supposed to be listening.  You look out the window and contemplate the meaning of life when you should be doing a science worksheet.  There is no filter between your thoughts and your vocal cords.  You come up with complex abstract answers to very straight forward questions.      

Your brain doesn't work the same as most other brains.  It moves at a breakneck pace, almost constantly.  And in second grade, you couldn't slow it down enough to focus on the words in a book.  You couldn't really read.  

So in addition to our regimen of a few swift kicks in the ass every now and then and some structure in your life, we added medication.  But of course I obsessed and beat the hell out of myself and said I was a terrible mother and was convinced you were gonna become some Ritalin-infused zombie kid before we finally made the decision to try it.  I gave you fish oil supplements and removed sugar and certain artificial dyes and anything else anyone told me to try from your diet first.  Yeah, that didn't help.  Medication helped.  

And guess what?  During the second half of second grade, you began to really read.  By the end of second grade, you caught up.  In third and fourth grade, you excelled.  And in fifth grade, your school sent home a letter telling me they have identified you as "gifted" in Language Arts.  Go ahead and put that in your pipe and smoke it.  That's the type of shit great stories are made of right there, kid.  Epic stories.

It's not always easy for you.  Shit, it's never easy.  We have doctor's appointments and medication changes and meetings at school and even in the best of circumstances when everything is working really well, you still have symptoms to manage.  They never go away.  Sometimes they are really hard to manage and sometimes they aren't so hard, but they are always there.  

Sometimes you go through multi-month ADHD shitstorms that include three hours of struggling through homework every night while I ride you like a crazed drill instructor until we can get your medication on point again.  There is frustration and arguments and lots of tears.  For both of us some days.  You have to tell yourself over and over again to keep going and never give up.  And I have to tell myself the same thing.  

It's hard, kid.  And I'm so proud of you.  I'm proud of you because it's hard.  And yet you never give up.  You fight, and you win.  Every single damn day.  You're a warrior.  And that's the type of shit good stories are made of right there.  Epic stories.

Days like today are the absolute best, though.  Because for awhile at least, the struggle isn't so fierce.  For awhile, you can relax a little bit.  We both can.  

I love you, epic story warrior girl.  You got this.  

Mom

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