Work in Progress--Aren't We All?

I have a problem. Well, not a problem. A sidekick. An accessory. An additive.

A.D.D. (And maybe H, but you'd have to ask others about that. I don't see it.)

I realize the diagnosis of this disorder has been thrown around in the last two decades as a "catch-all" for unwanted behavior in children, especially those in a traditional, outdated classroom. It seems that when children get into middle school, many of them are diagnosed with having ADD, both girls and boys, mainly boys. Medication is only one solution. There are also other strategies that have to be learned (and taught). And some may argue that ADD isn't a real disorder. That we all have difficulty "focusing" in this multi-tasking world. That this label is nothing more than excusing behavior that is unacceptable....

I was diagnosed as an adult. Frankly, I was a bit shocked. Honestly, I thought my friends and colleagues were kidding about my being ADD; but, when I told them, their response was one collective: "Did you think we were joking?" Umm....yeah, I did.

Throughout my initial schooling, I coped with a sidekick I've always had but not yet named. In jr. high school, I did my homework at a table in the living room, where no one lived. By the time I got to college, I realized in order to focus, I had to be in the "quiet room" where no one could disrupt me and I couldn't either. There was not any medication because there was no diagnosis.

Understanding an accessory like this means accepting one's limitations and also the gifts that it can bring. I do believe I'm more creative because of it. But the restrictions it places on me at times is what I'm working on to change.

Take Your Medicine!

So here's the funny thing about ADD meds as an adult with ADD. They give you the scripts in advance and date them ahead. You can't fill them until a particular time AND the pharmacy won't hold them for you. Hahahaha. Yep. I forget to fill the script or I lose it. Superb. Sometimes, I believe the meds are unnecessary. And then I take my actual prescribed amount and I am razor sharp focused and incredibly productive. 

What the heck? Why haven't I been taking the correct amount consistently to feel so in control of what I have to accomplish in a day?

I'm working on it.

Public Domain via Pixabay

Reluctant Reader Reads

I confess! I'm an English major who reluctantly reads. Honestly, I read only one novel from 6-9 grades, and it wasn't until high school when teachers showed me that a novel is richer than the basic plot line that I was interested in reading fiction.

I was an active child. I couldn't sit still for TV and certainly couldn't sit still long enough to get into a story. My mother tried. She used to read to me at night when I was a little girl. I would interrupt her and make up my own story. It drove her crazy, and she stopped reading to me. Can't say I blame her. She never understood it because she was such an incredible reader as a child. To this day, she will read a good six books in a week. I'm lucky to finish a book in a month. Granted her reading choices and mine are disparate. She reads books she cannot remember the title of and relies on the cover art to recall whether she has read it; I typically read books recommended by NPR. Sometimes, my mother will check out a book she has read before because the artwork changed. She'll get a quarter of the way through and realize she's read it before. I typically remember the title of the books I've read; however, I don't remember everything about the book. My father told me one time that it was pointless to read something if you can't remember it later. He was brilliant; I'm not in his league. Besides, I like to re-read if it is a complex story; I get something different from a book the next time.

Now, I read all the time, but what I read is in chunks. Twitter feeds, Google News, blogs.

Currently, I'm reading The Dinner by Herman Koch. I have about a quarter more to finish. The action takes place all in one night, and the characters are concerned with something their adolescent children have done. The main character Paul Lohman has serious sibling rivalry issues with his brother Serge and there are ethical/moral choices being deliberated throughout. I am annotating the book (using sticky notes, as I've checked it out from the library). The annotations help me to focus and to analyze. This book is okay. I'm reading it because it was a choice of my book club; otherwise, I probably would have stopped reading it in the second chapter. I have no qualms about abandoning a book I have started. As far as fiction goes, I need the characters to grab me right away or the writing has to be outstanding.

I can't wait for the next novel that comes my way to grab me, or maybe, I'll focus on some nonfiction.

Oh! The Humanity!

When I decided to go back into teaching (I had taken off while my boys were younger), I knew I wanted to teach middle school. They say people who teach middle school have to be part crazy, and in part, they are correct. Really, though, to teach middle school one simply has to appreciate the extreme growth an individual can have over the course of a year. Think about all the types of growth children experience from ages 11-14.

So why would anyone want to teach these kids who are up and down? (It's like teaching manic depressives who are all on varying mood swings.)

My reason was clear: connection

It may sound egotistical, but I really felt that I was meant to teach middle school in order to make at least one year of these students' lives better. I understand how impactful those years are. I wanted to create a bond where students could trust me and know that I care about them. I taught them English, but I was more concerned with how they grew as a person. That's what they would remember most, not the content of my curriculum.

CC0 Public Domain via Pixabay

The Turtle

A brilliant girl in one of my classes slowed her pace considerably in a matter of weeks. She was slipping academically, and it wasn't the content tripping her up. I asked her to stay after class one day so I could speak with her privately. I was upfront with her. I didn't want to see her fail, nor did I want to see her slip further into her shell.

I said to her, "I know something personal is going on with you; I don't need to know what it is. I just want you to know that I understand. What I want you to do is instead of making up all assignments, choose a few that you know you can handle. There is no reason to for you to fail."

The response was unexpected. She cried and opened up about what had been plaguing her. It was profound--that which was affecting her and the trust that she showed me. On that day, we connected not as teacher and student but as two people who recognized the sufferings and joys of the human condition. She was so incredibly relieved that someone took notice of her struggles and didn't pry but approached her with care and understanding. I shared not the details of her pain with her other teachers but generalized it. This was how her teachers could support her--adapt and understand that middle schoolers are not academics; they are children who need significant support and great empathy.

The Next Year

I left the classroom (and my school) and my last group of kids moved up to the next grade. I decided to visit one day during lunch. Students attacked me with hugs. They were genuinely happy to see me. I missed them. The Turtle came at me quietly after all the others had started to leave from the lunch room. 

"Mrs. A? I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me last year."

It was the most sincere, heartfelt thank you I have ever received. I will never forget her, and I imagine, she will never forget me--a connection in experience and memory for us both.

Another brick in the proverbial "Wall"

This time of year for teachers is like walking on eggshells with numb feet. At any moment, one of those teacher eggs may crack and one may never know because most everyone is numb to their stresses. The kids are revved up with knowing there is only so much time left in the school year. Teachers are overworked and stressed with prepping kids for tests that supposedly reflect on what has been taught and what has been learned.  [Insert clearing of throat sound here.]

You can see the teachers trying to keep up their energy, their optimism. And then....BAM! The "wall" comes out of nowhere.

I remember one year when I was teaching seventh grade English, our assistant principal told our grade level to watch out for each other at this time of year. "If you see one of your colleagues losing it, step in. Tell them to walk away for a bit." Students don't understand how exhausting teaching is. Parents don't understand. And administrators often forget because many have not been in the classroom for so long. I can still "taste" my utter fatigue from teaching in the classroom. I haven't forgotten. It's the type of fatigue where you are up late at night, planning, grading, falling asleep with your fingers poised to type on the keyboard or with a pen in your hand pressed to paper ready to write a comment on an essay. You awaken at 3am in the same position you were working in at midnight.

Public Domain from Pixabay

The Wall

It comes in all kinds of forms: Fatigue. Stress. Emotional exhaustion. Guilt. Outside pressures.

Circumventing the Wall

For me, it's knowing I have done all I can do. At some point, I have to go to sleep at a decent hour. I'm no good if I stay up late and have to get up early to "rinse and repeat."

I'm honest with my colleagues, with my students, with my family. 

I accept limitations.

I distract myself from the wall, even if it is brief.

I run. (literally, and not away).

I seek help.

I know that the obstacle is finite; eventually, it will crumble.

Impact

It's difficult to know how my actions will affect others. Sometimes, I know precisely what I've done that may have an impact on another; however, I think most of the time, I am somewhat oblivious of the direct consequences of what I have "done" today and how it may affect someone else's tomorrow.

Today, I've suffered from migraine. I've fought this particular one for three days. Days of being in and out of focus, depending upon how the medicine I take to combat the pain affects me. There are times when I take the medicine and forget entirely that my body is in the background fighting the migraine. I wonder later, "Why am I so fatigued, and it's only six in the evening? Oh, yeah, I had a migraine earlier." The truth is the migraine is still there, running in the background like a network's filtering system. Well, I guess the meds are the filtering system trying to keep the migraine from affecting my hardware.

From Pixabay: http://goo.gl/nXkdnD

Day 3--Relpax, 40mg.

I'm in a state of succumbing to the side-effects of the meds. I've taken an anti-nausea to combat the waves but the Rel-pax gives me that feeling of when one can "taste" sleep. It's lulling me to check out for a while. I can't. I shouldn't. I won't. I did.

I'm in a twisted shape so it is sure to affect someone else's tomorrow. I'm fairly certain that my migraine will lead to confusion of anyone who may interact with me. My language becomes elusive and the formation of words garbled. Whatever I may attempt to convey in conversation today could be misconstrued and cause an awkward tomorrow.

Essentially, if people are unaware of how much a migraine and the medicine can affect a person, their understanding is minimal.

So, let me apologize today for tomorrow.