"You" Problems, "Me" Problems, and the Way My ADHD Works...
I have learned to be upfront about my ADHD over the years. So, when I begin a partnership or work relationship, I disclose my ADHD and the symptoms that may manifest while we know one another.
“Before we begin, I need to discuss something with you. I have ADHD. No, it’s not just about little boys and Ritalin. My ADHD is the impulsive and inattentive type. It manifests in my time blindness, hyperfocus, and other issues with executive functioning….”
My spiel is a variation of that. Sometimes, the person, or people, listening will have questions. Usually about the time blindness and the “inattentive type” part. Eventually, we get to the moment where I tell them what to expect from me as we embark on the project.
One of two things happens next.
The person makes a mental list of what I’ve shared and works to remove any obstacles that could inhibit me in my work. For example, my dept heads at Waubonsee Community College (where I taught classes when the pandemic struck) sent me templates and links to resources that would streamline a lot of the “busy work” of putting a class together. Much of it was copying and posting jargon so that I wouldn’t waste time spinning my wheels to make up new, yet unnecessary wording. These are the bosses I love.
The person ignores everything I said and then proceeds to treat me like an abled worker. Then, when I slip past deadlines, forget tasks, or hyperfocus my way toward burnout, they get angry. At that point, the person acts as if I lied about my qualifications and/or experience. In one teaching position, my dept. head said that I was not capable of teaching a course that applied writing to real-world situations. This is despite the fact that I was the only one there who had made a living writing outside academia for over a decade prior to teaching at the college level. These are the bosses I loathe.
The same thing happens with writing partners, colleagues on projects, etc. It played out again in 2021 with a podcasting project I worked on with a group of creatives. The results were the same as always. However, this time, I learned a valuable lesson. That sometimes, things fail. And, when these relationships come to an end, the result may not be a problem that I should shoulder into a new project.
Not My Circus…
Have you heard the saying, “Not my circus, not my monkeys”? It’s one I first heard years ago in a group of moms gathered to pick up kids from school. My oldest was in 3rd grade and her sister was in first. They were to come out the southwest door and wait for me to meet them. On good weather days, I would stand at the curb with some of the moms just soaking in the gossip.
On one of those warm days, the doors flew open and kids piled out into the day. Some ran toward the cars and into the street—where traffic was still flowing. I tried to yell stop as I was nowhere near the next group trying to run behind the last who somehow made it across in one piece. Finally, one mom stood at the flow into the street and stopped the kids, while I went to go get a teacher. Turns out, the teachers had an afternoon of meetings and substitutes were running the school. And that meant they all clocked out the moment the bell rang.
The sub I caught on the way to her car looked at me, upset mom dragging two kids behind her and gesturing toward a thinning herd at the southwest doors. She looked at her watch and then up at the sky as if she were taking a moment to pray. She then said, “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” and got into her car. She gestured for me to step back before moving out of the lot.
I was horrified then, but a month ago, I knew exactly what that woman was on.
In Case of An Emergency…
We are conditioned to take on the blame for anything that stems from work-related duties. Imagine working as a writer of perfume descriptions for the bottles and boxes on the store shelves. You turn in the descriptions and begin the next batch. The next day, your bosses come in screaming because production has stopped. Your descriptions were too long. They don’t fit. you must rewrite them. Everyone is in a frenzy. WE MUST GET PRODUCTION RESTARTED!
No one, not even you, takes a moment to think about how this happened. If they did, someone would discover that no one told you about the print setting limitations. You were never given character count limits. They just told you to “keep it short”. You did your job. The boss approved it. So why are you taking on all the blame when a catastrophe happens? Because in America, the motto always is “the worker did it”. It’s an impulse that gets so many incompetent bosses out of trouble.
But, anyone who has taken a plane ride understands that taking responsibility for the behavior of others is the wrong move. You must put the mask on yourself and then help others. This goes against our conditioning. ADHDers have had a special kind of training. Being the odd, weird, awkward, choose your adjective for neurodivergence, means that we are blamed for so much. We stick out and not all of us want to. So, we take on the blame in an effort to abate uncomfortable situations, to get the peace train rolling again. Learning to put on our own masks first takes years of therapy and living to retain.
How the Fire Started
The last few decades of my life have included some serious therapy. I’ve also learned a lot more through living each day as a neurodivergent in this world. I guess it all just sort of “clicked”. A podcast project that I was a part of imploded—I still don’t know why. I do have some theories, but that’s not the point of this missive. The project was one I started a year ago, asked by this group to help them create something new out of a shared love of comics.
Yes, the key people in this story sought ME out. On our very first meeting, I laid out my “spiel”. I also added that I work hard and fast. In the past, people have taken that to mean I was bossy, pushy, or trying to take over. I was open about my process, my limitations. Everyone agreed to share duties. It was a group project. That should have been my first red flag. My people do not fare well in group projects.
We started strong, building a reputation, showing everyone what we’re capable of. Then, work slowed and veered off because a member had an issue with me. Turns out, it was one of the very things I mentioned in our first meeting. I was demanding too much, too harsh, and pushing too much. They needed breaks. Or so one member thought. Remember the two scenarios in the opening of this piece. This project was squarely in the #2 space, pun intended.
But as an American Black woman with ADHD, my conditioning was still in effect but fractured. I pushed all the way back. Stood my ground and reminded the group of what I was capable of. One of the few allies I had stepped down. The ones left were people I truly trusted, but it went unreciprocated. The work we started was over. The podcast became about fanbro rants and dudes playing games. By August I started pouring myself into my writing projects, which I had neglected since the previous December when I began working with the group.
Burning It All Down
Soon there were rumors of improprieties and the project was not even close to what I signed up for. Someone started leaking information that, as a journalist, I was duty-bound to keep out of the public eye. I spoke with the person in the group who managed things. We agreed that I would step down a few weeks before Thanksgiving.
It was just as well. My work had started to finally pick up again. I was flown to LA to cover a story that included a short interview with Beyonce’s mom Tina Knowles-Lawson. The moment I set foot in LA, my social media had caught fire. The people who had sought me out a year before to start something great were sharing private information and slandering me on social media. My friends stepped in to defend me and were trolled to no end. It was so sudden and out of nowhere. I was sad for a moment and took on blame for a problem that I still could not identify.
Then, on the flight home, it hit me:
None of my former partners had tried to call, email, DM, or even WhatsApp me prior to spewing vitriol on the internet.
My last encounter with the so-called head of the project was amicable.
I hadn’t so much as attended a meeting for the group since early fall. I didn’t even know what the agenda was.
All of this led me to one important realization—none of this was my problem. I had friendly messages from every member the week of this whole issue. I was no longer a part of the project. No one bothered to contact me. Thu whatever had occurred had nothing to do with me. That’s when I started categorizations that I will carry into 2022.
“You” Problems, “Me” Problems. and Circus Monkeys
This was not a “me” problem. It was theirs. And as such, I shouldn’t apologize, grovel, or beg them to tell me what I did to bring on all of this. It was clear that none of it had anything to do with me. Other than dragging me on social media, these people hadn’t had enough contact to even allow me to botch anything.
What I suspect is that the problems of the spring were never reconciled as I was told. They festered and came to a head when I stepped down. Again, not my problem, because I disclosed everything—all my foibles and tendencies in our first meeting. The fact that they did not listen is again, not my issue. I can’t make people accept my neurodivergence. I am certainly not responsible when their nonacceptance leads to misplaced and unmet expectations.
And thus I leave 2021 like that substitute teacher, walking to her car as the students ram roughshod all over the school grounds. This is my last look back. In the next few days, I will get into my car and drive myself back into my own business.
Not before triumphantly gazing at the podcast project in shambles and the members still razing my name on the internet. I’ll say, “Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
I urge you, dear subscribers, to take this same lesson into the new year.