Growing up, I was the trophy kid. I wasn’t too smart to win loads of awards, but I was smart enough.
I didn’t like school that much,but I didn’t struggle either.
Well except when it comes to math. Math hated my ass, and if I’m being truthful, the feeling was mutual.
I always knew I wasn’t the same as others kids,it felt like my brain was broken somehow.
I would forget things that I shouldn’t. Till now I can’t trust myself to keep something in a place for 5minutes without getting a picture to make sure I remember.
I would get overwhelmed by a lot of people being in the same space and take breaks in the toilet.
Ps; I still enjoy staying in the toilet, it’s like my safe space.
I had a lot of energy,at the same time I didn’t.
Having all these problems as a young girl in an African household whose sole responsibility was to read ,write and attend church on Sunday, life can be a little intimidating.
So I quickly learn to mask it all. Blame nonchalantness for my brain’s inability to hold on to temporary information.
In a world filled with forest, tinkers and make believe,the outside noise doesn’t seem to be more than a background noise. My books became a safe heaven.
The world was finally liveable.
But sometimes,we do grow up, and the broken child becomes a broken adult.
Except worse than they start off.
Love becomes a harder concept, because what do you mean that I’m expected to give someone my heart and hope they don’t break it. Missing people can be a chore, because sometimes the memories are enough.
I remember my very first thought when I finally graduated from university was ,so my family are finally going to know that I’m not normal.
That I can go days without sorting things out ,and have to figure it out in the last minute. That I generally don’t hate but also don’t want to talk to anyone. That I have to do things a certain way to be able to function. That their high flying achievers daughter was Broken.
Not by a man, or person,but from birth.
That their daughter,is not perfect! Grasp in disbelief!
Prior to this,I had gone on a self discovery journey and was finding ways to navigate the world healthier without loosing myself, but nothing tests your self discovery journey as family.
It’s being almost 2 years of being in the outside world, learning that I have ADHD.
That I was not stupid for forgetting the questions to the exam I had just written.That not being able to deal with too many people and noise is as a result of overstimulation.
Honestly some days are harder than others ,but every single day,I remember to give myself grace .
Not accepting that I’m a victim,but finding ways to navigate my life inspite of my limitations.
That as a first born African daughter, I’m not less of who I’m meant to be.
That I can thrive despite the fact that the first person I told that I had ADHD said “God forbid"!
As If that removes the symptoms from my existence.
That I’m indeed not faking the signs, and that ADHD is different in men than women.
I’m dealing with brokeness by understanding that I’m enough, even on days when I don’t believe it .
