Have you ever knocked a big pile of papers off your desk and not bothered to pick them up? Have you ever spent more time working on a to-do list than actually performing the tasks on the list? Do you need a good laugh, followed by a helpful bit of advice? Check out this short video over at Totally ADD.

My question for the Totally ADD guys: Did they have to stage the video, or was there a desk all ready to go, stacks of papers and all? (They could have filmed the clip at my place right now, no preparations necessary!)

Have you ever checked out the comments section of an article about ADD/ADHD? I don't really advise it if you're trying to maintain a little serenity. People go head-to-head in the most nasty way. Meds versus no meds. Disorder versus gift. Does ADD even exist, or is it a plot perpetrated on our children by Big Pharma? Sheesh!

It can even happen on NPR's website. Here's what someone wrote in reply to a comment of mine once: "Seriously, this is a dark ages approach to mental illenss. Might as well just call the excorcist to get the deamons out!"

I've always assumed that many of the vitriolic statements come from people who don't have ADD in the family. Who think about ADD in sound bites. Who find it easy to judge people but don't really know what they're talking about. Seems to me that once you start learning about ADD, you begin to understand how multifacted it is. But the mom of a son with ADD suggests the opposite in a nice essay in Philadelphia Magazine:

We chose not to put Jake on Ritalin. Nearly a decade later, would I make the same choice if I could go back in time? Of course I would. Because Jake’s life has been an unqualified success? Not hardly (though don’t get me wrong; I’m proud of the young man he’s becoming). I’d make the same choice because I couldn’t bear to find out what might have been better … different … more of a gift … if we’d chosen to medicate.

That’s why those battles inevitably rage in the comments section of every new report on ADHD. Parents are compelled to defend the choices they’ve made as loudly as they can. Otherwise, you allow the possibility that you did wrong by your child—and who can live with that?  

I think she and I are both right. And, by the way, I had that NPR piece open on my desktop, but I just closed it. I was starting to read the comments all over again, but I'd rather hold onto a little bit of serenity right now.

If you're wondering how much research has gone into alternative treatments for ADD/ADHD, check out this short video by psychiatrist Kenny Handelman (it's video number 3). In 12 minutes, he gives a nice overview of three treatments that have some basis in research: fish oil, dietary changes, and neurofeedback.

I thought video number 2 was interesting as well. Handelman goes over why doctors aren't always keen on alternative treatments, and he makes suggestions on how to evaluate alternatives. This video is 10 minutes long.

By the way, one of these days, I'll post about my own neurofeedback experience. I've had a post about that almost ready for, um, a few years ...

I was mad at myself the other day as I drove to the trailhead. It had been a gloriously sunny afternoon, but here I was heading out for my daily hike as the sun was setting behind the foothills and a few drop of rain were starting to fall.

It wasn’t the first time I’d procrastinated on hitting the trail. I often find myself slipping in a hike just before dark. And kicking myself for missing out on a dose of sunshine.

But check out what I saw on my last-minute hike. (Blog post continues below.)

Rainbow over snow

Trees at sunset

Cool clouds

Clouds in puddle

Dramatic clouds

Totally spectacular clouds plus moon

Seems like my last-minute hike should be a metaphor for something: Like, wow, look how great it is to procrastinate! Um, no. I think it’s something more like this: If you’ve procrastinated, don’t give up. Jump in and do what you can with the time you have left. You might end up with something even better than you dreamed of. 

My daughter went on a five-day school camping trip last week (wolves! snow! sand dunes!), and I wanted to get a lot done while she was away. I was accomplishing less than I thought I should–nothing new–so, of course, my internal critic was hanging around a lot.

I decided to capture the experience in a movie.

The scene: the inside of my brain (I know; it looks a lot like a sauna). The characters: me, all vulnerable in my bathing suit, and my internal critic, looking all prim in a trim suit. I think I held my own pretty well. See what you think:

The house was a mess last Sunday, and our Easter bunny had done exactly nothing to prepare for Easter. However, the bunny—in consultation with my daughter (who's old enough to converse with the Easter bunny these days)—decided to create an egg hunt, clutter and procrastination be darned.

She (our Easter bunny is female) ran upstairs and printed out a bunch of Easter-themed pictures gleaned from thumbnails on Google Images. (Daughter's favorite: ad for Pirates of the Caribbean egg-decorating kit.) The bunny labeled each of the photos as worth a small amount to spend at the local craft store or on iTunes. She stuffed those into plastic eggs and hid them.

And, hey, it turns out that a cluttered living room makes for great egg hiding places! See if you can find a few:

 

 
In a pile of my daughter's artwork

 

 
In a pile of folded laundry on the couch

 

 
Under some homemade valentines on the mantel

 

 
In a pile of clean but unfolded laundry

 

 
In the open desk

 

 
In a new shoe

 

 
On the coffee table among more art projects

 

 
In a jacket on the floor

 

 
In the putting-practice, ball-returner thingy that used to be my grandfather's

 

 
Among items we brought home from my daughter's birthday party and left on the floor

 

 
In a box of stuff from my parents' old house

 

 
On a dusty surface

Maybe our Easter bunny's been a bit busy and overwhelmed lately. She may procrastinate some, and her memory's not always the best. I have to say, though, that she did not get caught up in the shame thing. Instead, she demonstrated her resourcefulness at the last minute. She came up with an inventive way to fill the eggs, then made use of the clutter to camouflage them. She also took nifty photographs and helped write this blog post.

I think our Easter bunny has ADD. (Our tooth fairy too.) But we can still have a totally fun last-minute egg hunt. And, in the process, we can use and even celebrate our creativity.

Ordinarily, I wouldn’t go out to hear a panel of experts on ADD/ADHD on a school night when my daughter’s at my house. So when I found out that one such panel of local experts was going to be both televised and streamed on the computer, I thought, "Yippee!" My daughter, a sixth-grader, was sure she could do her homework upstairs on the computer while I listened to the panel on the TV downstairs. For an hour and a half.

You can see where this is heading.

The panel was excellent. Plus, one presenter said he thought my daughter’s middle school is a good fit for kids with ADD (I agree). He also recommended that certain ADD kids get “less homework” written into their 504 plans. I liked this guy.

Meanwhile, upstairs, my daughter opened The Phantom Tollbooth (one of our favorite books) to check the spelling of Dictionopolis and Digitopolis for her book review. Immediately hooked, she spent the rest of the hour and a half in Hyperfocusopolis, reading the book again.

Downstairs, the headache I already had got worse and worse. Panel over, I dragged myself upstairs. My daughter sweetly brought me ginger candies and an ice pack for the back of my head. By then it was bedtime.

I wasn't mad at my daughter. I had chosen to try this as an experiment, even though I was pretty sure I could predict the outcome. She needs a body double to stay on task with certain kinds of homework—notably, anything that requires writing. (Big exception: creative projects. Scale model of a clownfish, complete with slime coat? She's on it.)

I admit, though, to some panic and even resentment. Can’t I watch one panel on one weeknight, I thought, without my daughter getting all behind in her homework?

Once my headache eased and my stomach settled down, however, I could think more clearly. My daughter will catch up. We can track how much time she spends on homework. If it's really taking too long, we can talk with her teachers.

If necessary, we can even negotiate a less-homework clause in her 504 plan.

By the way, the last thing I learned before I turned off the TV? That a copy of the presentation would be archived and available anytime on the computer.

You can watch the panel too! Visit Boulder Psychological Services and look for "ADHD: Diagnosis, Challenges, and Treatment," from November 1, 2010.

The plume of smoke this past Labor Day was gleaming in places and eerily dark in others. It wasn’t there when I went on my morning hike. But it loomed over the north half of town by the time I came out of the grocery store a little bit later.

Turned out to be from a wildfire—a big one. It had me unsettled all that week. Here are some scattered thoughts on fire and ADD/ADHD. 

 

It's all so exciting. The smoke. The news on the radio and the Internet. People’s stories on Facebook and list serves. The slurry bombers and helicopters flying overhead.

It stimulates those sluggish frontal lobes.

I was on a wilderness search-and-rescue team for a few years, down in New Mexico. My bum knees often kept me working the radios in base camp during searches. So I heard it all: Strategies made. Family members comforted. Terrain covered. Speculation. (Is it a body search now?) No problem focusing as I stayed in touch with teams in the field and kept a log.

A lot of people with ADD seem to end up in professions that provide that kind of built-in stimulation. ER docs and paramedics. Police officers. Military personnel.

Firefighters.  

 

It was worth paying some attention to the fire. Even all the way down here in town, certain neighborhoods were advised to get ready to evacuate. I learned which of my usual hiking trails were closed. And I found out who might have lost their homes, and who finally did and didn’t.

But I’m learning how to tell when useful information gathering and natural curiosity veer into, well, pure distraction. Into hyperfocus without a purpose. And I’m learning how to stop when there’s nothing more I can do or learn. 

 

 

One thing I found out was where to donate stuff to people displaced by the fire. The perfect way for a person with ADD to contribute, right? Get rid of some clutter and help someone else at the same time.

After a basement cleanup this summer, I even had a bunch of stuff all packed up, ready to donate. I’d gotten it as far as the car but had taken it back out before a camping trip. Pop-up play tent and stove, little-kid box games, pink and purple girls clothing, a yellow plastic toy track—it was all back in the basement.

But some people opened up a vacant storefront as a place to bring donations. Families displaced by the fire could shop there like at a thrift store, but everything was free. I loaded my stuff into the back of the car again.

But by the time I got to the store, it was all stocked up—no more room. The stuff rode around in the back of my car for a few more weeks. I finally dropped it off at the local hospice thrift store.

I didn’t donate (at least directly) to fire victims. But if not for the fire, all that stuff might still be in my basement.  

 

I chose a couple of my hikes that week based on the possibility of having a view of the fire. I was thinking maybe I should be ashamed of that urge. Not that I was going to be in the way of emergency workers—not even close. I do know better.

But I thought a little more about it. Sure, wildfires can destroy property and worse. (No fatalities or serious injuries from this fire, thankfully.) But wildfire is also an interesting and beautiful natural phenomenon. I even studied a little fire ecology in college.

I think people with ADD are skillful at holding disparate thoughts in their heads at the same time. I can understand the danger and also appreciate a photo of flaming ridges under a starry sky. I can feel genuine sadness for people who have lost their homes, but I can also be in awe of the plume of smoke billowing quietly above my own house. 

 

More than one person has suggested that I toss a match into all my boxes of old papers. There’s some appeal in that. A quick solution to a big problem. The chance to unburden, to begin again, to travel lighter. 

But, besides the obvious impracticalities, there’s too much good stuff in those boxes. Stories of my grandfather’s childhood on a ranch in Utah and my great-aunt’s time in a Japanese prison camp during World War II. Anguished journal entries about anxiety and infertility and failing marriages. Photos of loved ones eating crab on Christmas Eve, hiking above tree line, nestling in my arms just after birth.

The real solution isn’t a quick one. But I’m visualizing that lighter load. And working toward it one step at a time. Thank goodness. 

 

Be ready to evacuate, suggested the Office of Emergency Management to residents in the northwest part of town. People got the cat carriers ready and packed photos and computers, paperwork and artwork.

I don’t live in that part of town. But it made me realize how hard it would be for me to pack for an evacuation. Photos, home videos, financial paperwork, my writing, my daughter’s artwork—they’re everywhere, and they're often buried. 

It’s a reminder to think about what’s important as I continue to declutter the house. In part to be ready for an emergency. But, in part, to help decide what to keep and what to pass on. What would be worth throwing in the car if sparks were flying into the middle of town? And what would be best left to burn? 

 

For ideas on how to prepare for an emergency evacuation from someone who understands disorganization, check out "FlyLady's 11 Points to Preparedness for Evacuation."

My thanks to all the emergency personnel, both with and without ADD, who worked on the Labor Day fire—and the two wildfires our area has had since.

People need to learn how to manage failure so it's informational and not demoralizing.

—Stanford psychology professor Albert Bandura

I've failed at plenty of things in my life. I failed a class on animal behavior in college. I failed to put up the produce fast enough at an organic grocery where I once worked. I've failed at two marriages. And I've failed at times to remain calm when my daughter rolls her eyes at me. If you or your child has ADD/ADHD, chances are you've bumped up against failure at some point as well. 

Turns out we're not alone. Think Charles Darwin, Winston Churchill, and Walt Disney. Socrates, Elivs, and Tolstoy. I got those names from this nifty and inspiring list of people who failed. It's worth perusing.

What helps a person who fails succeed in the end? Those of us with ADD might need a little extra help. But check out the title of the list: "They Did Not Give Up." We don't need to, either!

Still think you're nothing but a failure? Check out this Wall Street Journal article on failure, self-efficacy, and success: "If at First You Don't Succeed, You're in Excellent Company."

As usual, Ned Hallowell is the voice of reason, balance, and love in a beautiful blog post called "Their Beautiful Minds." It's about taking a strength-based approach with children who have ADD/ADHD or learning disabilities. The post touched me as a parent, and I highly recommend it.

But Hallowell's advice is not just for kids—or it doesn't have to be. We adults with ADD can apply his advice to ourselves as well. I'll do just that with a few passages from his post:

One of the great myths many parents buy into is that school performance predicts performance in adult life. It does not.

Hallowell is certainly right in my case. I was a high performer in school, all the way through two master’s degrees, but I’ve had trouble putting together major aspects of my life outside of school. Here’s my latest thought, though: Maybe our performance as young adults or even middle-aged or older adults with ADD—especially with undiagnosed ADD—doesn’t have to predict our performance in the future.

By far, the most dangerous learning disabilities, what truly holds people back in life, are not ADD or dyslexia. The dangerous disabilities are fear, shame, loss of hope, broken confidence, shattered dreams, and a feeling of being less-than.

Check, check, check ... OK, I've just diagnosed myself with all of those dangerous disabilities. I think that’s pretty typical for a person with long-undiagnosed ADD. But I've actually come a long way, thanks to therapy, support, and education.

Ironically, knowing about my ADD has been a good antidote to fear, shame, and the rest. It’s hard to deal with the dreadful feeling that you’ll never be able to get your life together in the most basic of ways like everyone else seems to be able to do, never mind following through on dreams. On the other hand, you can deal with ADD. You can look it up and read about it and get treatment and support for it and celebrate the positives of it.

The model I advocate is a model that identifies talents and strengths first and foremost, and only then looks at what is getting in the way of developing those talents and strengths.

Strengths first. Then look at what gets in the way. I think I've been doing this backward a lot of the time. Not too late to try it the other way!

Be sure you are working with a professional and a school who can help you develop the talent, not just address the problems and struggles. You need to do both simultaneously–develop talent and address shortcomings–but in an atmosphere that is free of shame and fear and full of hope and positive energy.

I've been thinking it would be helpful to me to work with an ADD coach. The above passage pretty much defines what I'd be looking for. It's good for people to identify their talents, even as grown-ups. And hope and positive energy are as healthy for us as they are for our kids.

Today we have more ways of unwrapping these kids' gifts than we have ever had before. From medications, to exercise-based treatments, to neurofeedback, to nutritional remedies, to specialized coaching and tutoring, to mindfulness training, we have a vast and potent armamentarium from which to draw.

I've been struggling some lately and have realized I need to make use of more resources, as opposed to beating myself up (which is not effective) or just trying harder (not effective either). Besides coaching, I'm thinking neurofeedback booster sessions and a stepped-up meditation practice.

The most potent treatment of all, bar none, is love.

We love our kids with ADD despite their foibles. It's important to love ourselves, too—our beautiful minds and our lives in all their imperfection. Consider it part of the treatment plan.

Again, I strongly recommend Hallowell's post, which expresses so much more than I've excerpted here.