auDHD Thriving

I have always admired those that find joy in their senses. Their senses laid out beautiful experiences and guided them into magical moments in life.

Mine… well, mine don’t always play nice with my brain and body. There are rare moments where the three can negotiate well enough to gift me wonderful experiences but typically they are in battle. Usually, I can enjoy them more as a memory than in the present.

When life has been full, my brain seems to want to operate independently from my body. It shuts off everything so that I can’t notice if I’m hot or cold, if I am hungry or need to use the bathroom. Food is either too flavorful or sufficiently bland to not register at all. There is an on/off switch, where sounds, images, scents, everything is only noticed if they are incapacitating.

I want to live life. I want to go out and not be paralyzed by the music playing at the cafe or shop. I want to dance and not feel assaulted by normal touch or the weight of air. I want to share a meal with others and notice the flavors and textures while also enjoying the company. I want my body to enjoy a hike without having a stress response to every unpredictable rustle.

Decades ago, I decided I wanted a life that I enjoyed, a life with simple daily pleasures that enriched my existence because I could not hold off for vacations and big events (these were another issue all together). I was able to cultivate this for many years until I started to share my space with a partner and then children. My brain and body forgot all the progress we had made over this time and reverted back to their more comfortable contentious stance. Therapists assured me that this was their way of protecting me, which I suppose made sense. Yet, it doesn’t feel like protection, it feels like captivity. I didn’t want to live in a cage, in a bubble. I want to experience life to whatever breath or depth that is accessible to me.

I am lucky to have people that care about me. They encourage me to go out more and do more. Their well meaning comments silently scream, “it’s easy and you are just lazy.” They remind me that I am a walking paradox, a fraud. Yes, I traveled and had my share of adventures but they were all at a cost. They are not aware that they have never had to understand the currency and have no concept of taxes.

I have to step away from the noise to let my body and brain reconcile. I need to have the time, energy, and space to mediate and facilitate collaboration. People don’t understand why I withdraw. They tell me that isolation is deadly and worry that I might be depressed. I don’t want to spend my currency on explaining to them that I need to retreat in order to care for my body, brain, and self. This non-negotiable sacred time and space is what allows me to be whole again. Then, and only then, do they let me show up to this fleeting life.