We’re All on One “Spectrum” Or Another

I just recognized a new one. What about you?

I catch myself thinking about raw sugar packets. The little ceramic pot on the windowsill is almost empty. How many, I wonder, will we use before we leave for Paris?

The thought embarrasses me on two levels.

One, I’m aware that pre-measured packets, though convenient for me, are bad for the planet — an inexcusable waste of (my) money and (the world’s) paper and electric power. The only benefit might be that their manufacture puts people to work — unless robots are doing that, too. Regardless, I should buy in bulk and use a spoon.

Two — and the point of this piece — is that the sugar-packet incident is not an isolated example. It forces me to admit that as disorders go, I’m a bit OCD, albeit on the mild end of the spectrum.

Obsessive-compulsive Disorder (OCD) is a syndrome that makes a person feel driven toward a certain obsession or fear. By doing this, they end up repeating a certain behavior.

Oh, my! Another spectrum to ponder. Admittedly, my particular brand of OCD is subtle and sometimes applauded by others. I’m a planner. I mull a lot. I anticipate. I count. I make lists. (I tend to misplace them, but that’s because I’m on another spectrum — more on that later). I’m viewed as either efficient or annoying.

With OCD, the repetitive behavior is designed to quell fear — but never actually does. Oddly for one who’s always had enough, my fear is scarcity.

I’ll run out, or I’ll be caught short. Every food shopping excursion, I buy extras. Packing for five weeks at the beach, I have a whole suitcase of just-in-case items — band-aids, bug-bite cream, glycerin suppositories (don’t ask).

Prior to an international trip, I’m a wreck — simultaneously worried about forgetting and that I’ll bring too much. I believe that qualifies as “obsessing.”

Nowadays, “the spectrum” is an often-used phrase, as if only one existed: She doesn’t look you in the eye because she’s on the spectrum.

The reality is that all behaviors, abilities, personalities, and problems fall along a continuum from mild to extreme. But you knew that, right?

And if you didn’t, you might want to think about your own spectrums — where you fall and how that affects your everyday existence.

My Several Spectrums

As a kid, I daydreamed a lot, a hallmark of ADHD in girls. I was always busy, always immersed in multiple projects — scrapbooks, writing, collections. Forty years later, when a speech and language pathologist explained that my son was dyslexic, I knew where those genes came from.

As an adult, I still wrestle with attention. I get lost in details. But it’s worse now because the culture of multitasking and ever-present stimulation keeps me hopping. Who knows what the main idea is when there are so many floating through your head?

I am mostly grateful for all that is at my fingertips these days. I learn so much. I have access to so much. But this is not always a good thing for me, as you who have gerbil brains like mine already know.

I also fall on the hypomania spectrum, somewhere between mild and middling:

Individuals in a hypomanic state have a decreased need for sleep, are extremely outgoing and competitive, and have a great deal of energy. Unlike with full mania, and its extreme form, hypermania, those with hypomanic symptoms are functional and often actually more productive than usual.

Last year, I learned about prosopagnosia — face blindness — when my next-door neighbor at the beach apologized in advance, “if I don’t seem to recognize you when I pass you in another part of town, it’s because I can’t.” Turns out I might be somewhere on that spectrum, too. I often don’t recognize people I’ve met before, a “condition” I once attributed to poor eyesight.

And now I’ve discovered I’m a tad OCD — obsessive-compulsive. The challenge is always to figure it out, head disaster off at the pass. Not a debilitating condition, to be sure. But issues on a spectrum can get worse. Might my mild OCD someday morph into a hoarding disorder?

What We Can Learn from Our Spectrums

And still, I carry on; I get things done. Most people see me as a well-adjusted, in-charge kind of chick. And that’s pretty much true, even though I’m a card-carrying member of several clubs — to borrow from Groucho Marx — of which I’d rather not be a member.

The following are reminders that help me keep an even keel. Maybe these antidotes will work for you, too:

Know yourself.

Look around; you are certainly not the only one dealing with multiple challenges. The best strategies involve knowing yourself, understanding your syndromes and how they affect you.

Know your traps and what situations are likely to trick you or trip you up. I, for one, know that I do better when I sit at my laptop without a phone or tablet at my side, a temptation my scattered brain can’t resist.

Know that a syndrome sometimes can be more powerful than good sense.

My hypomania convinces me my energy will always be there (a fallacy). Likewise, I repeatedly assured myself that it’s okay to take a 10-minute break to take my turns at Words With Friends and then get back to writing. But a half-hour later, I’m down the rabbit hole.

Diagnosis is not destiny.

The bible of possible spectrums is the Diagnostic and Statistic Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), now in its fifth edition. The DSM is relied on by mental health professionals and insurance companies. To get reimbursed for treatment, the practitioner must supply “proof” that your condition needs to be treated.

But here’s the problem: It’s not infallible, and it doesn’t do degrees. Your condition might not even register if you’re at the low end of the continuum and function quite well. Also, the DSM has been debated and changed since the fifties. Time shifts awareness and priorities. Some bygone “disorders” are now viewed as personality differences and personal styles/preferences. The tortoise vs. the hare.

Remember that “issues” are environmental, not just individual.

For example, say that you (or your child) fit somewhere on the ADHD continuum. Inability to pay attention is rooted “in” the individual’s brain structure and chemistry. But self-image and how well one copes also depend on the school, the playground, and the constellation of adults and children in that person’s environment.

What is swirling around you? What is expected of you? What are the challenges and standards of your context — the locale (say, metropolitan Manhattan vs. rural Kansas), historical era (now vs. 1965), and the available resources or lack thereof.

To wit, before kids were herded into same-age classrooms and seated at desks, ADHD was less noticeable. Education took place in one-room schoolhouses. Students who couldn’t sit still were sent out for firewood and given other chores that made good use of their excess energy. Today, a virtual industry has grown up to service kids and adults who learn “differently.”

Be brave; do what works for you.

Once you know whether and how a system or a situation works against you, try to adjust and make accommodations. One mother who has come to believe that her very active, creative nine-year-old needs a break from over-scheduling and the high-pressure demands of his school, now gives him a day with no structure, no real planning. She gives him opportunities for play and projects that don’t require or involve adult supervision.

Some spectrums work well together, some of the time. Enjoy it.

ADHD doesn’t always manifest as scattered attention. When I finally get past the how-to-not-write stage, I “fall in” to my writing. I’m the kid who can sit on the floor for hours with Legos. Words are my building blocks. I craft them together and build with them. Time disappears. A bomb could go off; I wouldn’t notice.

My particular cocktail of neuroses also serves me well in the kitchen, where I cook by feel. I experiment with delight and abandon. (Someday, I’ll tell you how to make Minna Chicken. Expect to be surprised: It starts by marinating chicken in Snapple Diet Peach Ice Tea.) I stand at the counter, chopping, mixing, tasting, smelling, and my ADHD mind takes me on a wild carpet ride to the Land of Stories I Will Tell (this being one of them).

Of course, this doesn’t always happen, so…

When a spectrum works against you —and you feel stuck — tell yourself the truth.

“Tell Yourself the Truth” is a simple strategy I learned decades ago in a course designed by Robert Fritz, whose goal is to help others “create the lives they want to live.”

If I had to name one single strategy for success that I’ve discovered and doled out to others, it’s “Tell Yourself the Truth.” I included it in my 2014 book, Family Whispering, as a vital tool for parents and partners. But the three steps work in any situation where you feel “stuck.”

• Look around you. What’s really happening? Did the phone ring? Did your stomach growl? Did you sit down at your desk with the intent to finish writing what you started yesterday, and now you’re answering emails and paying bills instead? If your paralysis is not about a chore, but about a relationship, ask yourself the same kinds of hard questions. What triggered you? What’s now and right in front of you? Has this happened before?
• Tell yourself the truth. Are you hungry or tired and need a break? Are you preoccupied or worried about something else? If it involves another person, are you trying to change him or her? Can you actually do something about it? Or are you wasting energy on things you can’t change?

• Move on. Do something. Once you know what’s really going on in this moment of being stuck/uncomfortable/disappointed in yourself/upset with someone else (or your pet), you can take action. You can satisfy your hunger or take a nap, and return renewed to the task at hand. If you’re mired in work, a walk might clear your head. And if you’re ruminating about a relationship, call a friend to get it off your chest or send an email to the person who wronged you. Just do something — even if it’s just to accept that you’re having a rough day or are in a bad mood. It’s okay to do nothing about it — as long as you do something else.

Telling yourself the truth won’t remove you from a spectrum or cure you of whatever symptoms you’re experiencing. It won’t change your situation or the person who’s driving you crazy. It will only get you unstuck. It will get you out of “stinking thinking,” as they call it in twelve-step recovery programs.

Be kind to yourself.

We’re all human. We come in varieties too numerous and too different to actually categorize. No need to beat yourself up for the little or the big quirks. We all live with something.

But even more important, we’re better for our imperfections, our disappointments, and our failures. They help us adapt, grow, and get better at life.

One final thought: This piece is what I think of as a “tell-on-myself” story. I hope it resonates with you. If not, what can I say? I’m on the spectrum!

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