I talk a lot about being late-diagnosed ADHD and how being able to identify the reasons I struggle with certain things has given me peace and enabled me to become more proactive in my approach to life in general. Who knew that discovering you’re “special” could be so liberating?
And while I’m grateful for the tools I’ve been able to put into play, there are still aspects of being neurodivergent that remain difficult to circumvent. It’s like playing life on hard mode, but without the cheat codes.
One of the things I’m currently struggling with is called ADHD burnout. Because apparently, my brain decided regular burnout wasn’t exciting enough.
The gift of being neurospicy is the ability to absorb a lot of information on a particular subject when we’re in hyper-focus mode, but the downside to that supercharged focus is the inevitable crash and burn that happens next. It’s like being a human firework – spectacular, but short-lived.
I do a lot of things; I wear a lot of hats. My closet is basically a haberdashery for my personality.
Most days, I juggle the chaos with grace and efficiency—some days I even impress myself with how I’ve boss-babed myself through multiple challenging tasks that would’ve left most people overwhelmed.
On my good days, I’m on top of the world, shouting from the rooftops how awesome I feel about my accomplishments. And, man, do I get a lot done. I’m practically a superhero, minus the cape (it would just get in the way).
But then the pendulum swings and I drop into the dark days.
The days where I can’t handle even the simplest of tasks. Where I retreat into myself, close myself off from friends and family, my thoughts flipping on themselves, and I can feel myself curling inward like an African violet that doesn’t like to be touched. I become the human equivalent of a sad houseplant.
On those days, I take the hottest showers, the relentless scald on my skin the only relief from the emptiness I feel inside. It’s like trying to fill an emotional void with second-degree burns.
When I was younger and didn’t understand why I went through these hard swings, I sank to dark places. I floundered, desperate to find my footing when the ground suddenly disappeared from beneath my feet. I didn’t know how to articulate how I was feeling, so I internalized what I perceived as a failure on my part, which is a toxic mix to swallow. Turns out, I was just marinating in my own special blend of neurochemical soup.
Now, I understand that my brain is trying to regulate a serious deficit in dopamine, and I need to take care of myself in ways that are supportive.
I need to prioritize my to-do list, eat good foods, love my body, and give my brain time to recalibrate. It’s like a spa day for my neurons, minus the cucumber water.
Because this too shall pass. Like a kidney stone, but hopefully less painful.
And when it does, I’ll be back on my insane grind with a grin on my face and an attitude that I can do anything I put my neurospicy mind to.
Until then, you can find me zoning out, playing sad music, and using all the hot water.
Kim Van Meter is a former full-time reporter for The Oakdale Leader, The Escalon Times and The Riverbank News; she continues to provide a monthly column. She can be reached at kvanmeter@oakdaleleader.com.
