It's been pretty much exactly 20 years since a psychologist first suspected I have adhd. I finally got a Ritalin. The mixture of grief and elation I'm feeling is indescribable. I was robbed of so, so much in my teens and early-mid twenties, but I can finally begin to live my life.
Story if you want it: my mum took me to a child psychologist when I was 7 to get an opinion of whether it'd be a good idea that a skip a grade. I only know this because I overheard her telling it to friends as a funny story, and going like hahaha as if MY child is disabled/r-slur (where I live, people use disabled as a derogative, both for the disabled and as a generic one. Similar to how some people say gay as an insult. So, idk an accurate translation, it's inbetween). This was when I was maybe 12? I googled (at school, didn't have my own PC) and more or less concluded I have adhd, and that it wouldn't be safe or worthwhile to bring it up with mum.
As soon as I moved out (at about 19), I went to my GP about troubles focusing that I'd had my entire life. I think that's how I put it. She referred me to a neurologist and did bloodwork, but I never went, because the GP office gave the diagnostics and referral to my mum when she went to the office (it was her doc too; I've switched since). Mum gave me shit. My health insurance ran through her because I was a full time student, so, while it wasn't legal to show her my diagnoses, she would've seen what doctors billed my appointment through her insurance.
I struggled a bunch both with physical health and depression in my early twenties. So an adhd diagnosis wasn't the first of my worried. I did go to a psychologist who did a mini adhd test and concluded I had it. I must've been like 23? So I took her diagnosis to my psychiatrist who was treating my depression. Psychiatrist basically said that that's ridiculous, because I've graduated high school and even have a bachelors in a difficult area. I went back to the psychologist to get a recommendation for a new psychiatrist. Took about 3 years to get an appointment (not really their fault; they're suuuper booked out and kept telling me to call back in two weeks, and I kept forgetting because, well, adhd. I kinda just tried again every few months when i remembered.)
New psych is great. But I couldn't immediately get meds because they're a little hard on the heart, and so is my autoimmune disease. Had to get some ultrasounds, ECG, bloodwork. Would've taken probably a week or two as doctors usually aren't as booked out here (unless they're the only non private psych who treats adult adhd) but i suck at making appointments, so that was another few months.
I finally got the ok from all of them, and I got my prescription. I cried. At first from relief and joy. And then I actually tried them. And I cried again. This could've been how I felt my entire life? So much hardship and pain that could've been avoided. So much disappointment and 'but you're so smart!'. I mightn't even be depressed if I hadn't suffered this much every single day of my entire life.
If you made it this far, thanks so much for reading all that! What's your adhd story?
My Mom was a teacher. Her opinion was that bad teachers with poor classroom management skills were causing ADD hysteria. In a way she was right. I didn't have discipline issues, so nobody at school pushed for me to get treatment. I had this story about myself. I was lazy and apathetic. That's why I had trouble doing homework. That's why I failed out of college. As an adult, realizing that I suffered from untreated ADHD, that my life could have been easier...its hard. Coming to terms with the injury that our parents inevitably cause is uncomfortable. I try to remember that fallibility is the human condition. I know I'm making mistakes with my son. I just hope that I'm getting more right than I get wrong.
Yeah I've heard before that in some place, adhd was just a label slapped on unruly kids in some places. That's certainly part of where the stigma comes from and why some parents are so against their child getting diagnosed. But adhd is a genuine issue, and two wrongs (misdiagnoses and refusal to diagnose those who actually have it) don't make a right.
I don't know you, but the way you're wondering about it seems like a sign you're a good parent. Especially in combination with the knowledge of what your parents did wrong (whether or not they meant to).
Exactly. I won't be making THAT mistake, but certainly others that my parents didn't. Who knows how it all adds up.