October is ADHD Awareness Month 🧡
A blog post from Josée Lewis.
When I wrote about my diagnosis last year for the Step Teachers Blog, I thought it would be a cute little train of thought that a few people would read. I wasn’t expecting to have colleagues, teachers, teaching assistants and friends reach out after reading it to share their own experiences and to discuss the diagnosis process – sometimes because of their experience of it, sometimes because it was a route they were looking into. I felt honoured that they felt able to share these with me.
This year, I could make it easy and post about the amazing things my ADHD lets me do; I could post about how creative I am, and how I have learnt so many skills over the years because I love the novelty, the challenge, and learning something new.
"ADHD was a big part of why I became a teacher."
Watching children learn skills was always an amazing feeling. I could post about how it meant that our wedding was 50% “do it yourself” where the orders of service, bridesmaids’ bouquets, confetti and a myriad of other bits and pieces were handmade and homemade - just because I felt like making things!
"Learning new skills and making new things; ADHD can be joyful."
While my ADHD traits can bring me so much joy, and make me a bit of a Jill-of-all-Trades, it's always harder to be open about the bad days, especially in a world where social media wants us to believe that perfection is possible, and almost demands it of us. It’s hard enough to share with your nearest and dearest that some days it feels like the world is too much; it’s even harder to share it with the internet.
So what better time to face it, than during ADHD Awareness Month? Let’s be open about some of the bits I’d normally mask, hide, or try to ignore.
The days I’m talking about are the really hard, overwhelming ones. Ones where terms like “executive dysfunction”, “overstimulation” and “cognitive load” start to flash in big, neon letters. The days where it’s a struggle to find the “oomph” to get out of bed, where just getting dressed and leaving the house feels like the confetti cannons should be firing and the party poppers popping. The days where I park the car, look at myself in the visor mirror and try to bolster myself up to push through the rest of the day. Days where focus is hard-fought for, and sometimes feels like it’s never won, where the to-do list feels like it never gets shorter, and no matter how much gets done, by the time the day ends, it can feel like I’ve been on a treadmill – constantly running, but never moving forward.
Those evenings feel equally as tough, where the very last thing I want to do is to sit with my husband and share “how my day went”. Where, despite every good intention, the washing doesn’t get done, food gets ordered in rather than cooking, I am snappy and short when my husband is just trying to be his usual supportive and caring self, and the guilt of “not doing enough” eats away when I just. try. to stop.
The most frustrating thing about those days, is that if anyone asks what caused it, there isn’t a “thing”. The morning was fine, the day wasn’t any more or less arduous than any other, the evening wasn’t difficult or taxing. To the rest of the world, it was an “OK” day. The feeling of irritation and annoyance at knowing I “should” be OK is difficult to describe; my brain is 100% aware that the day wasn’t as bad as it feels.
Imagine one of those spinning fairground rides, where you stand, unsecured, and you’re pushed out, stuck to the wall as you get higher and higher. While on it, it feels like you’re spinning at 100mph, and are at the mercy of forces you have no power to overcome. From the sidelines, it’s fast, yes, but not that fast (according to Google, it’s about 30-40mph…) and you can see the operator stood there with their hand on the dial; it’s not out of control at all, it’s not overwhelmingly fast, nor entirely unstoppable. And when you’re riding on it, you know there’s an operator, you know that it’s safe. Logically, all is OK. But it doesn’t stop the adrenaline. It doesn’t take away the nervous excitement. That’s probably the closest I can come to how one of those days feels, compared to what it looks like from the outside – and what I know it to be.
I am lucky. On the days where the executive dysfunction, task paralysis and overstimulation set in, and the world feels like it’s made of treacle and I am not equipped to trudge through it, I have an amazing support network. My husband has been by my side for the last 11 years – he has seen me through the highs, the lows and the many in-betweens, and is my safe place. He is home, he is comfort, and he has always been there when I have felt adrift. Our life paths have helped us – I used to teach children with various SEND needs, and he is responsible for supporting both students with SEND and the TAs that support them at a secondary school. We have a greater understanding of ADHD than some, and even then, it can be tough.
(Above) My wonderful husband, and I.
My colleagues are fantastic at checking in on those harder days. The whole “our office is like a family” thing is a cliché, I know, but it’s true! Some people might not know that we’re in the office 45 hours a week with each other, but we are! So it really does become a home-away-from-home. I know that if things are just a little too much, I can turn to any of them, and they will be there. They understand that sometimes I get overwhelmed, and that five minutes away to decompress is needed. They give me that little thumbs up as I come back in, and I appreciate the quiet check-ins.
Jamie, my boss, has been great at adapting to my ways of working, and my quirks; breaking down terrifyingly huge tasks into smaller, less frightening ones, and nudging me along if I get caught up in a task rabbit hole (those are sneaky and very easy to fall into!). The Primary team as a whole (Jamie, Sonia and I) have an amazing capacity to have entire conversations in a glance, and sometimes that’s all it takes to know that we’re good; we’ve got this.
(Above) The East Anglia Primary Team – Christmas Edition!
I have the best group of friends I could hope for. I am an avid gamer – of the tabletop and live-action variety, and this escapism with my friends (and husband) is such a great way to support my mental health. Being able to disappear into a fantasy world and tell a story together is both freeing and collaborative, and the LARP (Live-Action Roleplaying) field has been so important to maintaining my health and happiness now, for over 12 years – and even brought my husband and I together in the first place.
(Above) Roughly what we wore when we met…!
The hard days are hard, even when I can’t put “why” quite into words. But they aren’t insurmountable, because I know I have the strongest safety net I ever could have. I’ve had to learn that my ADHD is an intrinsic part of me, and that it has informed every interaction I’ve ever had with anyone. I don’t always appreciate it – those hard days can be awful – but it’s meant I have found a band of friends, colleagues and loved ones who really do “take me as I am”. I hope that, in time, anyone who has a diagnosis of ADHD, or any other neurodivergent condition, is able to find a crew of people who are as supportive, present, and empathetic as mine. It makes a world of difference.
- Josée Lewis, Education Recruitment Consultant in East Anglia
Josée's 2024 blog can be found below:
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