ADHD women: don’t think of it as a global pandemic; think of it as a fleeting opportunity to be in the majority.
Consider this: now no one’s sure of what day it is! We’re not alone anymore.
This morning I looked at my toenails after my shower and sarcastically thought, “guess it’s time for my mani and pedi.” I chuckled to myself. Out loud. One does that when one lives with a cat, plants, and ADHD.
And then it dawned on me. No one is getting manicures and pedicures these days. I’m not alone anymore!
Yesterday, I noticed several co-workers with dishevelled, longer-than-usual hair; many were just not as “put together” as they used to be. As a disorganized, time-management challenged woman with ADHD – this is my usual state of affairs. Having spent 47 years pre-diagnosis – many of them without the benefit of a non-ADHD parent or other capable adult to dress and groom me appropriately for school, social gatherings or the board room – I now appreciate the fact that I am no longer the most unkempt person in the room. Fitting in by default might not be call for celebration, but hey, I’ll take my victories where I can get them.
Similarly, the peculiar moods, meltdowns and melancholy of most these days let me know it’s not just me and other members of the tribe who experience the full range of human emotions on a daily basis – sometimes within the same hour. Mood swings have become de rigueur as everyone unleashes their inner drama queen in grand style.
I’m not alone anymore. And neither are you.
Legions of self-isolators are sitting at home in their sweats or pajamas at all times of day. Sound familiar? Even as I type this, I’m thinking of loosening off the drawstring on my black sweatpants because I’ve gained at least five pounds from living on nothing but chocolate and chips for the last three weeks. Granted, that’s not unusual for me. But now I’m not alone anymore.
And if you’re a woman – especially if you’re also a highly sensitive person – this pandemic has proffered some unexpected perks. Do you realize how ahead of the curve we HSP women are? (Not that one, unfortunately.)
Take, for example, my perennial pet peeve of having to wear a brassiere to work to be deemed socially acceptable. For a quintessential “princess and the pea” type – you know, those of us who cannot abide tags, itchy fabrics and the like – I have made an amazing discovery amidst the throes of this pandemic – at least amongst my North American, bra-wearing, non-ADHD friends.
The genesis of my discovery occurred as I drove home from work last week (I’m now an “essential” worker, but more about that in a future post). As I drove, I realized my chest felt so tight I couldn’t get a deep breath. Panic began setting in – until I remembered I was wearing a sports bra.
When I shared this story with a friend, she laughed.
“I can’t believe you were wearing a bra,” she said (my friends know me really well).
In her state of self-isolation, she confessed she no longer wore one either.
So did another friend. And another.
Where legions of feminists and decades of protests have failed, a global pandemic has suddenly – and unexpectedly – liberated us, en masse, from our underwire.
Now, if we could only do something about those pesky masks.