A*D*D doesn't mean B*A*D

This morning I made the mistake of telling a "friend" that we medicate my almost 8 year old. I should have known better; at least from my own experience, than to open my mouth up to yet another disbeliever. She made me feel like shit about my our decisions. This was a decision that I had a hard enough time making on my own... I didn't need her f'g two cents making me feel like I was a rotten mother for doing so.

I grew up an awkward child. I never really fit in anywhere and I had too much energy to save my life. We moved around a bit. Each time I would start to become comfortable with my new surroundings my dad would get transferred and we would move again.  A new school.  A new home.  A new bully.

Life didn’t come easy for me.  I was always saying the wrong thing or doing something to piss someone off.  I couldn’t concentrate in class to save my life.  I was a chatterbox.  I was socially awkward.

Around the time I started High School I realized I needed to be away from the classroom in order to successfully take my tests.  I asked for help and what resulted was a battery of tests in order to get me “qualified” for the Resource Program.  It was a program within the private school that would allow me to escape the rigorous and torturous classroom.  And so it began…  my new life with a new label.  It was called ADHD and I had no idea what it really meant.  Except for the fact that I got to take medicine and that I was different. 

My mother began by telling me that this was in no way something I could use as an excuse to get out of responsibilities or doing homework.  That I was just like everyone else; my brain was just wired differently.  Back then no one really knew what it was really about and no one knew what it was called.  This was back when Ritalin was the main med and there wasn’t a thing at school they could really do for you except label you and move on.  I took the medication and noticed an immediate change.  I was patient.  I could focus. 

I had several experiences over the next few years that made me realize I was better keeping it a secret rather than be truthful with people.  One that sticks in my head to this day was the time I became friends with a girl and her mother told me that I wasn’t allowed at her house unless I took my medication.  Needless to say I didn’t go over much after that.  I was made to feel unwelcomed.

When I became pregnant with Mason I begged pleaded and prayed for God not to give him my burden.  I didn’t want him to have to go through what I did.  After he was born there were little things that would make me think that maybe he and I shared more than just DNA.  He was a restless baby.  He didn’t sleep well at any age.  He was bored easily.  He was easily over stimulated.  He had sensory issues. 

When he started Kindergarten his teacher and I did not get along.  I think she was trying to tell me in so many words that something was going on but she just wasn’t straight forward with me.  She was always talking in circles and trying to avoid the topic.  It was like she wanted to say something but was too afraid to do so.  She just blamed it on Leland and I and assumed we were horrible parents.  YES; his teacher accused us of being horrible parents.  We had him evaluated and immediately began natural supplementation.  We saw an immediate difference…  but the tests said we didn’t have anything to worry about.  I felt it was interviewer error!

Then first grade began.  His teacher was wonderful.  She is patient and kind and met him at the door with a smile.  He was gun shy from his experience in Kindergarten.  His mother had just found out she was pregnant.  His father had just lost his job.  And his 4 year old summer friend had just died in a horrible pool accident. 

We began counseling a few weeks later upon the recommendation of the Guidance Counselor.  Little man was going through so much we thought it was attributing to some of the behavior difficulties he was having in class.  It was minor things.  But they were keeping him from being able to learn.  And I thought having to adjust to no longer being the only child was attributing to some of this. 

He’s just like me you know; fierce!  No need to be like anyone else.  Marches to the beat of his own drum.  Sees beauty in everything.  Doesn’t like injustice.  Loves babies.  Tenderhearted!

I cried my eyes out the week we decided to put him on medication.  It was a year ago this week.  The social worker stted that until we were able to get his “ADHD” under control that she would be unable to help him with the death and family change issues.  I was floored.  It took a lot for me to face that demon.  I cried the entire way home.  I also cried for entire week. 

But when that first week came and he was on medication for the first time we saw an immediate difference.  Just like I felt that first time I took it.  It gave us both clarity. 

Considering my child’s impulsiveness could possibly kill himself or another person I feel that it’s my duty to make sure he takes his medicine daily.  It’s not just about his behavior at school.  It’s about him learning how to train his brain to slow down. 

It kills me that people have such a negative stereotype for kids like me and Mason.  We TRY!  We honestly really do.  We want to do good.  We want to make the right decisions.  We want our thoughts to flow in one congruent direction.  We want people to be proud of us.  We want to be accepted. We don’t want people to see us as nuisances.  We don’t want to be trouble.

Our awkwardness is a gift.  We can get a hundred things done at once.  We are determined.  We are bright.  We have wild thoughts and crazy ideas.  We can be the life of the party.

We aren’t BAD…  We just have ADD!