Somewhere in the blogosphere, I came across a prompt: Who was your disruptive ancestor? I forget where I found this, because I . . . well, read on and I'll explain.
I'm using the term "disruptive" to indicate the child in your family who might have been the one bouncing off the walls or the one who was often off in his or her own world; the one who struggled with school, with getting projects done; the one with the explosive temper. Who was that person in your family?
I want to let my descendants know: I was your "disruptive" ancestor.
I lost my temper; I felt things deeply, whether that was things that made me mad or things that made me happy. I struggled to get things done. Often I did get them done, but at a psychic price, because managing a project is difficult for me. I was impulsive; I would blurt out comments without thinking first. Often, I embarrassed myself by doing so, and felt shame. I had memory problems and difficulty with time management. If an object fell out of my immediate field of vision, it was instantly forgotten. My room was a mess. I was criticized and judged, and elders in my family tried to "fix" what they perceived as my flaws, emotional and physical. Therefore I developed a flawed and negative self-image. Despite all these challenges, I excelled in academics because that was all I had on which to build my childhood and teenage identity. I wasn't pretty; I wasn't popular; I wasn't your typical girl. I was a tomboy; I'd rather have climbed trees than gone to a dance, where I felt terribly awkward. I was what was called at the time a "late bloomer." That academic success did not come easy; there was a psychic price. Accomplishing anything -- doing homework, doing science projects, writing papers, taking tests -- required an expenditure of energy and effort that was three times that required for most other kids to get done.
The 1950s were not a great time to be a nonconformist. It wasn't a great time to, by my nature, go against the established norms for behavior of a highly patriarchal society. It wasn't a good time to be an oddball in a traditional family. It didn't help that, having read Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique at 14, I became a feminist in a family that bought into the patriarchy lock, stock, and barrel.
I have Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). I have only recently found this out. I'm 78. I've had this condition all my life. Learning about ADHD through online forums and support groups (such as Attention Deficit Disorder Association), I have found that my life finally makes sense!
I've read that there's considerable evidence that it runs in families. I think my father, who died when I had just turned 7, was my ADHD parent. Mom told me that he had "flunked sandbox." That is to say, he got kicked out of kindergarten. That would have been somewhere around 1915. That was another time when being different was not exactly acceptable. He probably had no choice but to buckle down and behave as he was expected to; certainly he didn't have a choice during his college experience at the United States Naval Academy. Discipline in those days was often physical.
Other nuclear family members either have been diagnosed with ADHD or suspect they may have it.
ADHD has definite physical elements: Our brains are wired differently from most folks, referred to as neurotypicals. Those with ADHD, and others whose brains work differently, are termed "neurodivergent." We do not see the world as most people see it. We do not relate to the world as most people do. We have lower levels of the neurotransmitters dopamine and norepinephrine. These chemicals are vital to what are called the executive functions of organization and planning. This means those of us with ADHD aren't good at project management.
ADHD is all-pervasive, influencing nearly every aspect of our existence. October has been ADHD Awareness Month. Please become aware; and do a little learning to see if perhaps that "disruptive" relative of yours might have ADHD and might be in need of diagnosis and treatment in order to live their best life.
