I just wrote this poem as I was listening to Air. Something to share.
My mind was firing yesterday, like a it had a million marshmallows to toast. It was FULL of ideas on what I wanted to write about.
That was yesterday.
And that happens. A lot. And I don’t seem to learn that when I have an idea, or a topic to contemplate over, WRITE IT DOWN. I wait. Thinking the bouquet of inspiration will follow me into a new sunrise. However, it seems my ideas are very mindful and stay in the present moment, not part of my tomorrow or yesterday.
Since discovering I’m an ADHDer in this diverse averse society, I’ve learnt this is kinda common ADHD behaviour. Ideas come like butterflies to my sweet smelling flower mind. But then… fly away little butterflies!
So, before my I passed my ADHD test with flying colours, I hated my no idea days. “What the hell, I had a bunch of things going on in my brain yesterday, I was ON IT! I was happening, I was vital!” And of course, a few days later I’d be firing with a different set of ideas and ON IT. And then, maybe the next day, ALL gone. Yep, totally exhausting and I believed something was kinda wrong with my wiring. OR, I didn’t even think about my wiring and just sat on no idea days and rotate words in my head like ‘useless’, ‘stupid’, ‘CAN’T DO ANYTHING’. It became a habitual cycle. And so, of course, I did nothing on a lot of days because LIFE JUST FELT A LITTLE CONFUSING.
Now, life still feels a little confusing BUT on a no idea day, I see it as just that. A no idea day! And, actually a little rest for my hamster wheel brain. I’m learning how to be me, with ADHD. Slowly. Very slowly but for an ADHDer, doing things slowly and patiently is BIG work!
I’ve not written in a LONG time as, well, writing is HARD! And you may not be one-tincy bit bothered as who am I but an occasional writer of stuff who rocks up every now and again on WordPress. And the hard time I’ve given myself about NOT writing as much as I’d set out to at the beginning of my not-quite-writing career has been mega. So, I gave up the concept of writing as I thought ‘writing is HARD so it can’t be natural for me to do it therefore I am NOT a writer.‘
Turns out, writing isn’t the hard thing. Concentrating is. Because turns out, I’ve ‘got’ ADHD.
I’m 39 so this is a later in life discovery for me. and I’m not one for labels and a few years ago I would have literally turned my back to any ‘diagnosis’ as I was living in a deep ‘I’m so fucking spiritual’ world.
OH MY LORD. The past 18 months has been wild, for everyone. I don’t know a single soul not influenced and effected by what’s been unfolding. And for me, it’s been spectrum realisations. And also letting go of ‘I’m so fucking spiritual’ because reality check, I’m just as spiritual as a fly and flea.
In the last year my dad has discovered his Autism (which brought its own healing) and consequently this led to MUCH hyper focused research on my part into neurodiversity as, well I like to feel like I’m knowing something about something. I felt like a nodding dog when reading the stories shared by women who also had a later diagnosis of ADHD. ‘Wait, that’s ME! I bloody align with everything they’re saying!’ HERE.is.my.TRIBE.
And the thing it, it’s not about needing the label of ADHD. It’s about a discovery of WHY my life has been sculpted the way it has by me. WHY I’ve felt so much like an alien in many social and working environments. WHY I’ve found committing to any relationship so flipping difficult. WHY I couldn’t hold down a job. WHY I couldn’t complete projects, any project unless I literally had someone holding my ass up telling me I CAN, and that only came through course after course after course. WHY I can’t focus for more than 30 mins without needing to move, get up, sing, shout, stare out the window or do a wee just to see a different set of walls.
Bloody hell, the realisation has been a revelation to say the least. And it goes deeper, much deeper. I had my assessment a few weeks ago and I’ve been ‘diagnosed’ with combined type. And this is what I think I’ll be writing more about, the neurodiversity spectrum. The WHOLE spectrum because as it turns out, nothing I thought to be fixed about me, is. Now begins the process of integration and re-evaluation of my life, my expectations, my self-belief system. It’s ALL different. The grief is real. The shock is real. The excitement about how these shifts will ripple through my entire reality, is REAL.
I don’t have kids.
I’m 39 and I’ve never tried to have children. I’ve said the reason for not having kids was not wanting them but the truth is, I have no idea about my fertility as I’ve never explored the prospect of birthing a little human! Until now.
I can feel my body changing, I can feel my hormones shifting, feeling a little peri-menopausal.
Recently my bleed is doing weird and wonderful things, one day of spotting and nothing for the next few days. This is the case this month, I’m sat here with an ache in my womb and feel absolutely knackered. My womb wants to release, I can feel this need to let the fuck go but it’s not coming easy. I bled a few days back on the new moon for an hour or so and then, nothing. I don’t know if this is lockdown side-effects, it’s been a whirlpool of all-sorts-of-crazy over the last year, of course my body will respond.
It could be the beginning of peri-menopause. This can continue for a good few years before menopause, an initiation into wisdom-hood. This is how I like to see it.
And if it is, babies may not be written in the stars for me. There is a history of early menopause in my family too, which I’m trying very hard to forget.
This is a hard pill to swallow. As a woman without a partner, I don’t have the ‘let’s try and have a baby’ option. I don’t know ANY men to ask if they want to co-parent and the route of IUI or IVF is way out of focus, having little £££ to my name. I never thought I’d opt for the medical route to get pregnant but honestly, if I had the money, I think I’d try. I don’t have a house to re-mortgage or a rich family member to go to for a loan. Life panned out VERY differently to how I’d imagined in my early 20’s. My mental health took a nose-dive in my late 20’s and it’s been a long road to recovery, which has been the most empowering and incredible journey but not without compromises.
I was able to move back with my folks to recover from severe anxiety and agoraphobia. Dating was NO WAY. I didn’t want to invest in anything other than myself. I’ve been able to write, paint, pray, meditate and move my body to health. This is wonderful but has taken it’s time and in doing so, through my 30’s, when my friends were getting married or having kids of their own, I was healing and craving no distractions.
I consider myself lucky that I’ve had time and space to explore my human make-up and deepen my faith, yet now, I think about having children.
Is there a little soul waiting to be born into existence with me as their mother?
I don’t know.
To be continued, I guess.
I’ve decided to write a poem
Trying hard to make it rhyme
I wanna be good at something
And find a way to pass the time
I’ve thought about many things
The subject? What could that be…
I close my eyes, I focus
Nope, nothing exciting to see
So what, right now, is important
What do I want to say?
Do I want to make a statement
Or brighten someone’s day?
To be honest, I don’t really care
If people are happy or not
As long as they’re ticking over
Not hurting people a lot
But maybe they are hurting people
Maybe I’m doing that also?
Shit, now I think of my life
LOVE… I could have done moreso
Have I said mean things in passing?
Things that were not meant to hurt
Have I triggered a response
Like flight or fight in the dirt?
What a quandary I find myself in
this turmoil, it’s thick and fast
I just wanted to write a poem
Not question ways of my past
So here, I’m writing these words
Caring little if it rhymes
As I seem to have quickly discovered
It’s distraction I need in these times
But would you Adam & Eve it
Rhyming ain’t hard to do
So I’m passing the time quite easy
Turns out I AM a poet too.
I think letting go of something you created is the importance of creating it in the first place.
That you’re not creating something to keep hold of it, you’re creating something because if you don’t, you’ll go a little loopy. Just me?? Ok then.
There’s this sense that when you put your ‘heart and soul’ into something, you have to have something to show for it. Like nothing is worth doing unless you get something back. That you’re only as worthy as what you can essentially get back for what you share with others.
And us humans have skills! We’re innovative, we’re artist, we like numbers and structure and symmetry and enjoy working within those fields of thought. We want to be seen, like stars in the sky. We want to feel like we’re moving things, like water moves driftwood. We’re attracted to colour and want to show off, like a peacock struts his intricately designed tail. We’re all things natural and Earthly, but there can be a thought pattern that makes you feel you’re not worthy on this planet unless you’re being paid to be part of it. This makes total sense in my head 🙂
My mental and physical sickness comes in waves, and when I feel totally off and my body aches and I can’t think about anything other than how much I’m hating on myself for not being ‘that’ woman who keeps her house and mind and nails tidy and smooth… when I’m on that rock, I have to create. This could be writing, drawing, cooking, singing (alone) or talking to myself like I’m in a film… I truly think my sanity depends on my ‘madness’.
And then once something is created, I have to let it go. Otherwise it all becomes like a smelly pond, and I add more and more until it spills out, wets my feet and I become a damp mess!
And that’s why blogging is so great!
I mean, I’m new to this game and know nothing about how to blog, I picked the simplest layout I could find and tadah! (there’s no way I’ll use this platform to its maximum potential as I just want to write stuff, press publish and be on my way).
It’s the Publish option I love, like I’m writing my own mini novel, every entry. That once I’ve written something, there’s a button that pretty much says ‘and now I’m complete, thank you and goodbye.’
I don’t have to keep it sitting in a folder on my laptop (which I have plenty of, full of unread poems and short stories, I feel I’m hoarding words!)
I’ve been thinking about the whole copyright thing, that if I am thinking something, I can guarantee that someone, somewhere is thinking the same thing. I am not original enough or special to think that I am the only one who has thought a certain idea or created something so specific that it only does and can belong to me. To think that ideas belong to you is like thinking that when you breathe, the outbreath is your piece of air, that any residue inhaled by another is stealing.
I mean, I don’t think we own anything but I don’t want to get too deep 600 words in. I will say that I believe the concept of owning something or someone is one of the biggest illusions us humans hold so tightly onto and creates a whole world of pain.
Death seems to creep into all avenues of our life, and this, what I’m writing right now, is a fleeting thought. I’ll soon press the Publish button and tomorrow, I’ll have something new bubbling up… and now I’m thinking too much about this entry and should I press publish, or delete?!
And now I’m complete, thank you and goodbye.