Summary

A working mother reflects on her lifelong struggle with obsessive thoughts, comparing her experiences from twenty years ago to her present-day retired life, and muses on whether her behavior could be attributed to ADD or OCD.

Abstract

The article presents a personal narrative of a woman who, two decades ago, grappled with persistent, often intrusive thoughts that disrupted her sleep and daily routines. These fixations would consume her during moments of stillness, leading her to question whether she was unconsciously avoiding introspection by staying busy. Now retired and with grown children, she observes that despite having ample downtime, her tendency to overthink remains. She has found writing to be a therapeutic outlet, allowing her to explore her thoughts and accept that she cannot control everything. The author concludes that while there may not be clear lessons to draw from her experiences, resilience and self-compassion are key to navigating life's challenges.

Opinions

The author acknowledges her mental preoccupations as a form of obsession, particularly when she should be resting or focused on tasks like driving.
She admits to possibly using constant activity as a means to escape from her racing thoughts, hinting at a fear of confronting her inner turmoil.
The author reflects on the phrase "Idle hands are the devil's work" as a potential explanation for her mental busyness during downtime.
She has come to terms with not being able to manage or foresee every aspect of her life, finding solace in writing as a form of self-therapy.
The author suggests that the energy and anxiety she once felt about life's minutiae can be constructively channeled into creative pursuits.
She emphasizes the importance of enduring through difficult times, even when balance and self-forgiveness seem out of reach.
The author implies that time and age have provided her with a new perspective on her experiences, allowing her to embrace her current lifestyle and the opportunity to reflect and write.

Obsession, or Something Else?

Maybe I Do Actually Have ADD Like My Kids Think

I wrote this article years ago and am revisiting it through a new lens: older, maybe wiser, me. Always a lifelong learner, I’m still learning a lot about myself. After the original article, I’ll share some thoughts about my current perspective…I think younger working people can relate to the original article and older readers will related to my reflection on it.

I feel like this is an opportunity to address that age-old question, if I knew then what I know now…

Blog Post by a Working Mom, AKA Me Twenty Years Ago

This morning when I woke up at five, an hour before the alarm was supposed to go off, my brain was already going a million miles an hour. This happens to me fairly often, and it occurs at different times of the day and night.

Sometimes it will happen when I am driving in my car. I openly admit, and only because it is not illegal and would be difficult to prove if it were, that my daily twenty-five-mile commute is done by robo-me.

What I mean is that I get in my car, pull out of the driveway, go deep into my head and “come to” as I’m getting off of the highway thirty minutes later two blocks from work. During that thought-coma, I ponder all of the things that worry me or that I want to change, or I rehash conversations and events that happened recently, or I imagine conversations that I should have had or wish I had had.

It’s a little scary when I realize I have arrived and have no recall of actually making the drive. I always say a little prayer of thanks to the gods of auto-pilot and swear I will never do it again. So far, my prayer has not been answered.

Often this same type of mental gymnastics happens when I am trying to fall asleep late at night, with the six a.m. alarm looming. Just knowing that can make it even worse, since I then get frantic as my brain won’t shut off and the hours of sleep slip away.

Occasionally, and this is the worst, my brain will wake me up in the middle of the night and not shut off. I know that at 2 a.m. there is nothing I can do to solve problems, talk to people, complete tasks; but it doesn’t stop those worries from chasing themselves around like my two cats are doing right now.

When this happens, I wind up think-yelling at myself: STOPPPPP, STOPPPP, SLEEEEEP, SLEEEEP…and after a while I can sometimes doze off again.

I have decided that these thoughts are actually fixations. This is me obsessing over the little things in my life that I cannot contemplate while actually living my life; and so they wait on the sidelines not too patiently shoving each other to get to the front of the line and as soon as I lie down or sit down for a quiet moment, BAM! The party starts.

“Idle hands are the devils’ work?” I think this is a cute old phrase that means downtime is obsession time. Do I keep myself so busy on purpose, unconsciously, so I don’t have time or energy to spend on thinking? I don’t like the idea of that- the idea that I am running from my thoughts and worries by constantly doing stuff.

I prefer the mantra “I will sleep when I’m dead” to explain how I can still go go go at my age without winding up in a mental institution.

I just wish there were more hours in the day, so I could do everything I want to do and still have lots of downtime to think about it all. Hmm, let me ponder that….

Okay, This is Me Pondering Almost Twenty Years Later

I’m retired, the kids are long grown and gone, and I have not set an alarm clock in years. I don’t have a daily commute and I no longer am so busy that I don’t have down time for thinking about the minutiae of my life. But…

I still do the same type of overthinking, especially when I’m running. When I lace up and get in the zone, I have entire never-going-to-actually-happen conversations in my head, parse out issues with plots for my novels, solve a challenging Wordle, make plans, and go over a million things that have happened in the past.

So, is it ADD or OCD or some other acronym? Truth is, it’s too late to care. I made it this far without shaking into a million pieces, and I honestly don’t think I could have done it any other way back then.

I now channel my energy and anxiety about the people in my world into my writing. It’s therapeutic to do what I call “writing my way to meaning” and it’s a relief to understand I’m not really in charge or, or responsible for, EVERYTHING that happens. It’s also a wonderful luxury to have the time to do this, and I’m embracing it hard.

Conclusions?

There are probably none to draw, no lessons, except maybe one: When you’re in the thick of things, do your best to survive, find balance and cut yourself some slack. If none of that works (it didn’t for me), just hang in there.

This, too, shall pass.

*******************************

Thanks for reading! Here’s another article you might enjoy and check out my Amazon author page too…

The Twelve Days of Grandkids

Being a grandparent takes life to a whole new level

medium.com