the lies i tell myself, part 4


Full disclosure, I didn’t have a great picture for today, so here’s one of Jonah that makes me smile.

OK, it took longer than I anticipated to get these four lies out. I suppose the timeline I had in mind was just another to a long list of lies… but if you need to catch the first three, you can find them here: part 1, part 2, and part 3. Which brings us to the final lie (for now, anyway):

I am the only one who feels this way.

Now, I know we are quick to blame social media for constantly showing us glimpses of other “picture perfect” lives. And yes, to an extent, the general public *may* tend to post highs rather than lows, but here’s what I have found. When I’m feeling bad about myself and I’m scrolling through my timeline, I barely give a second glance to the posts that say “today is hard, I need a hug!” I zero in on anything that looks shiny and glittery, anything that makes someone else’s life look perfect compared to my own. But this isn’t even the trickiest thing my brain does: let’s say someone posts a picture of a a family fun day. All of the kids are smiling, everyone looks like they’re getting along, and I manifest this whole story about how this family is better at family time than I am. I read so much into one tiny image that I have suddenly put this picture on a pedestal that I can’t reach. And it doesn’t matter if this family’s very next post is about a baby who never, ever sleeps or a stress overload. I don’t see those. I only see the good.

When people tell you to see the good in other people, this isn’t what they mean.

Or it shouldn’t be.

What do we say 75% of the time when someone asks, “hey, how are you?” “Fine!” “Good!” “Great!” “Can’t Complain!” So when I ask someone how they are, if I only ever hear “good!” I think: I’m the only one who isn’t good. I’m the only one who doesn’t have a cute family picture online right now. I’m the only one who hasn’t showered in four days and has really stretched the power of dry shampoo to the max. Look. I know it isn’t easy to say “actually, everything sucks and I’m really stressed, how are you?” And, you know what? I also know that sometimes things are just good. And you should be able to tell that to people without having some sort of survivor’s guilt for being in a good place.

And so, here’s my radical proposal to stop this lie: just stop. I know. It’s easier said than done. But still —

Stop the comparison. Your life is your life, and you’re doing it better than anyone else can do your life.

Stop the fantasies. Other people don’t have the picture-perfect life you assign them in your mind. Remember everyone else is as real and raw and fragile as you are, when it comes down to it.

Stop setting impossible standards. Treat yourself kindly. Treat yourself like your own child if you have to; make goals that make sense for the person you are in the stage you’re in.

Stop trying. OK, hear me out. This one sounds like basically the opposite of most self-help advice, but here’s what I mean: stop trying to be something new all the time. Stop thinking “if I can do THIS (eat paleo, run a marathon, learn a new language, etc), THEN I’ll be good.” You’re good now. Stop trying to be “better” and start being who you are meant to be.

I’ve talked to lots of human beings, and if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s this: absolutely no one has everything figured out. You may admire certain people, and this isn’t bad on its own, but when you forget that you’re admiring qualities — portions — not a whole — that’s when you run into trouble.

This isn’t a lie that can be overturned by changing how we use social media. It isn’t a problem that can be solved by giving every simple greeting a thirty-minute therapy session on our deepest life issues. Rather, it involves looking at yourself with clear, unbiased eyes (as unbiased as possible anyway, because they’re your eyes so… just roll with me, here). Don’t let someone else’s victory equate to your own failure. Acknowledge the fact that you’re on different journeys, with different milestones, and it isn’t a competition.

But all of this isn’t even the very best way to stop this lie. All you need to do is accept the fact that it is one. Think of the most “perfect” person you know — the person you wish you could be. GUESS WHAT? They get overwhelmed. They feel inadequate. They make mistakes. EVERYONE FEELS THIS WAY — EVERY SINGLE WAY — SOMETIMES. When we compare similarities instead of differences, we find our degrees of separation are much closer than we think.

So, hey. Whatever lies you’re telling yourself? Recognize that’s what they are. If you can’t see the truth alone, talk to other people. Don’t be so afraid to show some of your mess, because other people have mess, too. They do. It doesn’t have to be the same as yours to be real.

“Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” -John 8:32

the lies i tell myself, part 2

the lies i tell myself, part 2

“Hey mama, do you think if you won a national handwriting contest you’d be on the news?”

“Uh, what?”

(Sigh) “MAMA. Let’s say you enter a handwriting contest and you win. Would your picture be on the news? I’m doing a handwriting contest at school, and I’m worried if I win, my picture will be on the news. If a bad guy with a gun saw my picture, he could try and shoot me for my prize money!”

I wish I could write here that I just made this little exchange up. But I didn’t. This was what Boone asked me before going to bed one night, and it caught me totally and completely off guard. I stumbled through platitudes like “we live in a really safe place,” and “no one at school wants to put you in any danger.” He was tired, thankfully, and decided it was OK to participate in the handwriting contest after all.

(I didn’t point out that the winner of a national handwriting contest probably has more thoughtful penmanship than my son, who occasionally forgets the”e” at the end of his name.)

(In his defense, this is some pretty solid cursive.)

Now is where I sadly point out that this conversation about school and guns happened prior to the recent school shooting in Florida.

And so, knowing that my sensitive, anxious child would possibly hear about this tragedy within his own school, it got me thinking. I had just told him no one at school wants to put him in danger. We just said we live in a safe place. How many parents of students at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School had had similar conversations? I had no idea what I’d say to Boone. I had no idea what we would talk about. I didn’t know how to alleviate fears while answering questions, to simultaneously prepare him for and shield him from the world. And it led me to the the next lie I tell myself:

As a parent, I need to have all of the answers.

Growing up, I was privileged to have not only great parents, but also a rich community of caring, invested, intelligent adults. As far as I was concerned, these people did have all of the answers. Logic would only follow that when I was an adult, I’d have all of the answers too. Even as a child, I loved answers. I craved knowledge. I couldn’t wait to have everything figured out.

Hi, I’m Jennie, I’m 33, and I have very little figured out.

So when I sat down with Boone to talk to him about the shooting in Parkland, I glossed a bit over the gory details and reminded him about what to do if he ever sees a gun (go away from it and find a grown up you trust) and if he ever encounters a stranger acting suspicious (again, grown up you trust). I also winced a bit as I talked about what he’d do if he were ever in a scary situation like that at school: listen to your teacher. Don’t tell jokes. Stay quiet and do exactly what the grownups say. He accepted all of this much easier than I thought he would. I felt pretty great about all of my answers. And then…

“Mom, what if I die?”

Oh, blow to my chest.

I said, “Everyone dies sometime. You’ll probably be very, very old. You’ll have lived a full and awesome life. You’ll be ready. And then you’ll go to Heaven! Which is the best place ever!”

“OK, cool. Well, what’s Heaven like?”

Guys, I don’t know what Heaven is like. I’ve never been there. And I could have quoted some scripture about pearly gates and streets of gold, but this is not what Boone was after. I know this because of his follow-up questions:

“And what will I do there? Will I ever come back to earth? Do you think once everybody dies, God will just start the earth over again? Will there be dinosaurs again? Can I see them from Heaven, do you think?”

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know

A small part of me wanted to give him something concrete. I wanted to give an answer for every question, but I didn’t have an answer for every question. So I used an old teacher trick to buy some time: “what do YOU think?” Then I realized I needed to teach my son something. Something that isn’t related to the violence or the afterlife or dinosaurs.

“Hey bud… there are some things we can know the answers to. 2+2 is always 4. Our dog is a mammal. These are facts we know. And then there are other things… things nobody really knows. You can think about those things as you grow up. I don’t know what Heaven is like, exactly. But I do know that I will go there when I die, and it will be better than anything I could ever imagine. And I do know that I will always do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

And we hugged, and we moved on, and I felt halfway decent until I realized tomorrow will likely bring another crisis I don’t have answers for. And when he’s a teen, getting his heart broken? Forget about it. I don’t know anything.

And I think that’s OK. I never want to communicate to my children that we can’t know everything so we shouldn’t try. I want them to know they can be 33 and still asking questions without answers. Learning doesn’t stop when we graduate from school. And I need them to know that not knowing something? It’s never a flaw. It’s an opportunity.

Thanks for checking out this week’s lie, and aren’t you pleased to know I tell myself so many there’s another new lie for you next week?! If this resonated with you, please feel free to like, comment, or share.

focus tips and focus tricks

Hello! Thanks so much for joining me into this look at childhood ADHD. If you’re here for the first time, welcome! This is the final installment of a series on childhood ADHD. If you want to catch up, you can find my personal experiences mothering a child with ADHD here: focus, part 1 and focus, part 2. You can also find a post on ADHD from the perspective of a pediatrician (and a dad) here: focus, md.

Today’s post comes largely from you, dear readers. I sent out requests on social media asking any of you with experience with ADHD (either for yourself or for a loved one) to answer two questions: When did you first suspect ADHD and what made you think it was a possibility, and What did you do to manage it? The responses from all of you were fantastic, so thank you so much for sharing! I’m keeping all of the submissions anonymous, but please know that just about all of these could have come directly from me (but they didn’t!). ADHD seems big and scary, but progress can be made and success can be found — especially in community.

A recent drawing of Boone’s. Intentionally upside-down. Appropriately so, I’d say, give our topic.


Thanks for being in this community.

Without further ado:

When did you first suspect ADHD? What made you think it was a possibility?

“When my son was in kindergarten, he would get completely wrapped up in a TV show, and we would have to physically block his view or remove him to get his attention. He was very impulsive. He has NEVER been a good sleeper, it could take hours sometimes to get him to sit still and relax enough to fall asleep.”

“I could watch my child read a whole book by herself and finish worksheets in no time flat by the time she was in kindergarten, but I could never get her to remember really simple things like bringing her jacket or lunchbox home.”

“When I was younger, I was at the top of my class, but focus was always a struggle. Looking back now, I am so thankful my parents had me tested because it taught me that my mind doesn’t work the same way everyone else’s does, and that’s not a bad thing.”

“My mom suggested she noticed some attention issues with my third grader for a while now, but I brushed it off until his teacher said she was concerned because he is so far behind and he really struggles to say seated and focused.”

“We suspected it at age five. Our child couldn’t do anything that wasn’t very plainly scheduled out. Free time was a disaster.”

“I was diagnosed around age ten. My parents had to remind me to stop, wait, count to ten, and reorient myself.”

“My adult son was diagnosed in seventh grade. He was always hyper as a child, so my husband and I suspected it as early as age three.”

What did you do to manage ADHD?

**Note: I’m not including medications in this list, though several people (almost everyone) included them in some way in their management plans. Medications can and do help, as I’ve mentioned already, but that’s a conversation you’ll need to have with a medical doctor.**

“Structure, organization, verbal rewards for good choices.”

“I needed to create a quiet work space without distractions for my daughter so she could focus on her schoolwork. She also does her school work at the same time each day.”

“Routine, no red dye, cognitive behavior therapy.”

“We would do homework in small increments and pause to literally run around the house a couple times and then back to homework. Also, working toward rewards would inspire him. He would also need detailed instructions. ‘Go clean up your room’ never got him anywhere. ‘Clothes off the floor and downstairs, bed made, vacuum…’”

“I found yelling and getting worked up did NOT help. As frustrated as I would get, I needed to talk to my daughter in a really calm and clear voice, giving simple but direct instructions once she was giving me eye contact. She needed really clear guidelines and structure.”

“We use a board in the morning to help him remember what he needs to do and I’ve started writing reminders on his hand on the key things to bring home from school everyday. L for Lunchbox, C for Coat, etc. We also have a 504 plan (Individualized Education Plan) at school so his teachers are aware of his struggles.”

“I think the best thing my parents ever did was always tell me that having ADHD did not mean I couldn’t do just as much and be just as successful as everyone else; it just meant I’d sometimes have to do things in a different way.”

If you have anything you’d like to add, please do so in the comments! I’m grateful for the dialogue and awesome notes I’ve received from so many of you. This concludes the Premeditated Mama ADHD series, but I’d always love to further the discussion with you one on one! If you aren’t already a member, join the “Premeditated Mama” page on facebook and let’s continue this journey together.

focus, md

This is the third part in a series about ADHD, especially as it pertains to children in elementary school. For the first two parts, see here and here.

Today’s post comes to you from my husband, who also happens to be a pediatrician. He’ll share his thoughts with ADHD as both doctor and dad. He’s graciously making himself available for questions, so leave a comment if you have anything to ask him!

 

BE1FDE7F-FFE7-432C-9853-FC9A71C7E3E5
A father, a (then) three year old, a med school anatomy textbook… the usual.

 

And now, Dr. Jason:

First, a plug for a great resource online in case you haven’t come across this yet:
HealthyChildren.org. This is a website with great articles about many common childhood concerns from healthy eating to mental health issues. It is run by the American Academy of Pediatrics. I agree with the AAP on 99% of issues (happy to discuss the other 1%) and would definitely recommend this resource to all parents.

ADHD

So you’ve got a kid with “behavior” problems. This could be caused by a large list of issues. Poor sleep, from things like undertreated allergies, snoring, etc. can cause difficulties during the day. Learning difficulties, like dyslexia, can show up as problems in the classroom. When I was in first grade I had trouble completing my daily tasks, and was almost held back a year. Turns out that I needed glasses and couldn’t read the goals/tasks written on the chalkboard.

One thing that can cause behavior problems is Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Here I’ll attempt to give a brief overview of what this is and how to recognize it.

What is ADHD?

Different parts of our brain are responsible for different tasks. At the very front of your brain (just behind your forehead) is the prefrontal cortex. This is the part of the brain that is in charge of attention, impulse control and planning. In kids with ADHD, this part of the brain is underactive, relative to the rest of the brain.
If you are on your way to pick up the laundry and get a notification on your phone, your prefrontal cortex says “You need to go get the dirty clothes before you stop and do something else.” If you have ADHD, this doesn’t happen. You get distracted and stop to check your phone. You may end up spending 25 minutes checking Facebook, Instagram and Flappy Bird (apparently no longer supported on iOS 11, RIP little bird.)

In school, kids with ADHD have trouble controlling their impulses; they may get out of their seats at inappropriate times. They have trouble switching their focus and attention and have a hard time changing tasks. They may, like my son did, get up and wander around the room for 10-15 minutes aimlessly.

Symptoms of ADHD

Kids with ADHD can have a variety of symptoms, with some kids having more issues in some areas than others. Hallmark symptoms of ADHD include impulsivity, inattention and hyperactivity. There used to be two separate diagnoses: ADD and ADHD. Currently it is all called ADHD, and is divided into categories such as ADHD inattentive type, or ADHD hyperactive type.

We all have times when our prefrontal cortex is “underperforming.” This is like when you are useless in the morning until you’ve had your coffee or Diet Coke. The difference with ADHD is that this occurs on a very regular basis and interferes with daily functioning.

Treatment of ADHD

It’s counterintuitive, but hyperactive, distractible kids are often treated with stimulants. The idea is to increase the activity in that prefrontal cortex, giving them the ability to focus and control impulses when it’s needed.

There are other groups of medicines that can also be used depending on the type of symptoms the child is having and the response to routine medications. Understanding these meds, how they work and when they should be used goes beyond the basic scope of this discussion. Just be aware that your pediatrician may suggest things outside of Ritalin/Concerta/etc.

Aside from just treating with pills, there is a lot that parents/teachers can do to help kids with ADHD. Primarily, understanding what the problem is and keeping that in mind is a big first step. If your child has ADHD and you keep yelling instructions at them, thinking they just aren’t listening, you could be making their struggle worse. I try to educate parents on how to help a child with ADHD focus and get a task done. Getting the teacher involved is also important. Sometimes an IEP (individualized education plan) is needed to lay out specific plans/goals/consequences.

So when should you try medications? It’s different with every child, but as a pediatrician I always use meds when the potential benefit outweighs the potential risk. This is the case for all medical problems such as ear infections, asthma and ADHD. Some kids are picky eaters and on the low end of the growth chart, so I might be slower to start a stimulant with them, as they can cause decreased appetite. On the other end of things, I’ve seen kids who have seriously needed treatment for mental health issues that parents refused to act on because of the stigma, and my heart breaks for them. So my advice is to be willing to have the discussion with your doctor about what non-pharmacological things you can try, but be open to the use of medication if needed.

Prognosis of ADHD

When recognized and addressed early, kids with ADHD tend to do pretty well. There may be a “transition” period while you figure out what interventions/strategies/meds are right for you. As kids grow up, some of them may outgrow their symptoms or form their career/lifestyle in a way that meds aren’t needed. Some may continue to need some medications as adults.

“When I was your age…”

I have heard many people say they think ADHD is over diagnosed and over treated these days. I don’t have a solid answer for these people. Are there some kids who are having different issues who just get thrown on medications? Absolutely. Are there some kids who struggle longer than they need to because people tend to neglect mental health in children? Absolutely.

What it comes down to is finding a good pediatrician or family physician that you feel comfortable bringing your concerns to, and that spends the time investigating the issue and explaining to you what they are thinking and why.

My experience with ADHD

From a relatively young age, around 3, I noticed my son excelled at many things like language and learning. In terms of gross and fine motor development, he was average. One area he was behind in was attention and focus. This is hard to define explicitly in a 3 year old. As he entered Kindergarten, I mentioned this in passing to his teacher. He was not a “wild child” and didn’t have big issues with hyperactivity, so from a teacher standpoint it wasn’t a big issue. Same thing starting 1st grade, I had my concerns but it wasn’t affecting his daily functioning. My wife, the Premeditated Mama, was maybe starting to see what I was seeing. Then we got an email from the teacher. “Wandering” was the subject. Basically, she was concerned that he often would get distracted and be unproductive.

I TOLD YOU SO

…This is what I silently said. In reality, what I said was “Oh yeah, why don’t we look into that more.”

After getting an evaluation from his actual pediatrician, we started him on a trial of the first-line meds for ADHD, a stimulant called Concerta. I will leave it to Premeditated Mama to describe our experience once we started treatment, both meds and behavioral, for ADHD.

focus, part 2

This is the second part of a two part series. If you haven’t read part one yet, you can read that here.

 

IMG_5411

Once we had Boone’s diagnosis and medication in hand, he and I sat down to chat. He had complained to me about having to do school work before, so I started with that. Our conversation went something like this:

“Hey Boone, you know how  you have trouble getting your work done at school?”
“Yep.”
“It turns out you have something called ADHD. Your brain has a difficult time focusing on things. So even though you know how to do your work, it’s harder for you than other kids to actually sit down and do it.”

Boone was quiet for a little bit after this. I didn’t know if it was just his trademark stoicism, but I didn’t want to let this conversation die. So I turned the tables and spoke about me.

“Boone, did you know I take medicine because I have something called Depression that makes my brain think I’m extra sad sometimes?”
He nodded.
“So it’s almost the same — you’ll take some medicine to help your brain focus, just like I take some to help my brain not be sad. Does that make sense?”
He nodded again, and since he looked like he was digesting this information, I gave him a minute. And then —

“Hey mom?”
I was sure we were about to have a hugely deep moment here. He’d ask tough questions, I’d give clear answers, we’d bond, we’d relate, we’d really share a moment–

“Hey mom, do any of those mosquitoes live in Michigan?”
OK, this is not what I expected. “Um.. what?”
“Those mosquitoes. YOU KNOW. THOSE MOSQUITOES.”
“Um, honey, I don’t know. There are mosquitoes here, but–”
“NO. MOM. The mosquitoes. The mosquitoes that make babies sick if they’re in their mom’s tummy.”

OK our conversation about ADHD somehow turned into one about Zika? What is even happening here?

“No, buddy, we don’t have those mosquitoes here.”
“So one didn’t bite you when I was in your tummy?”
“What? Honey, no.”
“So the mosquito didn’t make my focus not work?”

A part of me wishes I could say I fictionalized this conversation for the purposes of this blog, but I didn’t. My heart broke that he thought this diagnosis meant something was just plain wrong with him.

I told him ADHD doesn’t mean your body made some sort of mistake. It’s just means you’ll have to learn and do things differently than other people, but we’re all different in some way. This is one of the things that sets him apart. It’s not good or bad, it’s just different.

In the end, he agreed to try the medication, which I gave him the very next morning. Here’s where I’ll include that the week we tried the meds, he was in an afternoon camp at a nearby zoo. The first two days of the camp, before we’d started the Concerta, I’d said “Hey! What’d you do today?!” when I picked him up and he would, characteristically, mumble “I dunno.” But on this day, the third day of camp, the day he took medicine in the morning, he answered:

“Oh! It was great! I finished an art project I started yesterday, it’s SO cool, I can’t wait for you to see it. It’s drying. And we played a game called ‘Poison Dart Frog’ which was so fun, I want to teach Jonah how to play it. Except we probably need more people, so the next time we have all of our friends over for a bonfire, I’ll teach it to them. And we fed the budgies! It was a great day.”

And it was my turn to mumble a response.

The rest of the car ride was comfortably quiet, one of us asking or answering questions every now and again.

Since the start of this medication, for us, I’ve seen nothing but improvement. In addition to the medication, however, we have also implemented new methods for his continued success. He has very clear chores expected of him each day, he has a quiet space to work on homework, and for the most part, he stays on a very regular schedule. This is much easier to do in the school year, but that’s where we are, so we are sailing smoothly.

Before I go any further — we are a fortunate case. I have friends who have personally trialed several different medications and have yet to find the sweet spot. Our only negative side effect is that Boone occasionally has a hard time calming down for bedtime. This is still nothing compared to the hard bedtimes we had before medication, but it is noticed. That said, I have seen other kids have emotional breakdowns when they begin medications such as this. What works for one won’t always work for another — all I can share is what we have experienced.

Boone’s biggest accomplishment so far came in an email from his teacher. She wrote, in an email, that Boone was keeping up with his work at school. He brought home papers that were not only legible, they were completed far beyond the bare minimum. Just yesterday, he brought home his snack saying he didn’t want to stop what he was working on to take a break and eat it. THIS IS A BIG DEAL. However, I’m happy to report that he is also still bringing home his fair share of silly comics and drawings. He is still trying to play songs from The Legend of Zelda by ear in between piano practices. He is still our creative, inquisitive, intelligent boy, just with a little extra medicated help.

This makes me reflect on how I, as someone who has taken an antidepressant for three years, am calmer and more at peace in general, but can still unleash a lot of emotions at, say, a church worship set, or a particularly striking Hallmark commercial.

When used correctly, medicine can help us be our best self. It isn’t a crutch, or an “easy pill” — it is simply the missing puzzle piece. 

We are just at the start of this journey. I can’t speak to how middle school, high school, or even upper elementary will look. But right now, for at least a little while, I can see how second grade looks. And I like it.

If you or someone you love can identify with Boone (or me, for that matter), please speak to your doctor and see if there’s something that could help you. It might be exactly as simple as it was with Boone. It might be a heck of a lot harder to find something that works. But if you can have a similar payoff — if you can see this person that you love live their best life — it’s worth it. It’s very, very worth it.

Come back NEXT WEEK to hear from the resident Premeditated Pediatrician (I call him “husband”) who will give you the official doctor-y rundown on ADHD and what it means from the medical side. In TWO WEEKS you’ll find tips and tricks from parents JUST LIKE YOU. We’re all in this together. Share this post and grow our village!

focus, part 1

focus, part 1

When Boone was three, he had some awful bedtimes. During that three year old summer, he would be OK during the day, but as soon as the first hint of nighttime was in the air, it was like a switch would flip. His eyes got wide, his body went tense, and it was like he wasn’t in control of himself anymore.

It was rough. But, I theorized, he was THREE. And adjusting to a new baby brother. And one day, he’d grow out of it.

When Boone was four, the awful bedtimes continued. The same wide eyes and tense muscles, the same nightly stress for his mama. “He just needs to be in school full time,” I thought. “He’ll do much better when he gets worn out from learning all day.”

When Boone was five and started kindergarten, we had some bedtime peace. After school each day, I’d ask “what did you do?” And he would mumble something like “I don’t know” and shrug when I’d ask him where he left his lunch box. Or jacket. Or shoes.

But, clearly, this was an adjustment. He was still adapting, right? Adapting to a full time school day, to school rules, to… everything. I was noticing that other kids were telling their parents everything that happened throughout their day. Boone still wasn’t… but that was hardly anything to worry about, I decided. He was excelling at academics; one of his class’s top readers, top spellers, top workers.

When Boone was six and in first grade, his teacher said to me, “he’s clearly very smart, but his focus is not there.”

Umm… what?

WHOA.

WHOA.

My smart angel precious baby child wasn’t focusing well? At first I dove into some heavy denial (maybe she’s just remembering days he was kind of sick, maybe she’s confusing him with someone else?), but then I thought about the bedtimes. Then I thought about the times he couldn’t tell me what he did during a day of school. Then I thought about all of the lost lunch boxes and clothing items. Then I remembered when my husband Jason, the pediatrician, said, “you know, I think Boone has ADHD.”

I’m very open about my own mental health. Depression, anxiety, and meds are not topics I’ll shy away from.

When they’re about me.

But with Boone… I didn’t want him to bear labels and stigmas so young. He wasn’t at an age where he could “own a diagnosis,” or so I thought, and I did not want to push that on him. And besides, didn’t ADHD give kids unbridled energy? And if he had ADHD, could he do all of the things he does, like speed through novellas and ace spelling tests? In first grade he was doing multiplication worksheets, for crying out loud!

Too cool for school (and focus issues…)?

So, like any reasonable person would do, I cried and stressed out and ate chocolate and avoided making decisions for as long as possible.

But then I realized the problems weren’t going away, despite every “focus hack” I found online or in books. While Boone could sit and read an entire book, if he were told to do something he didn’t want to do, it was an epic battle of wills. It didn’t matter if he was capable of, say, practicing piano, or writing a short journal entry, if he didn’t want to do it, it was a struggle. And not just a little, tiny, let’s talk about it struggle. Nope. It was three year old bedtimes all over again.

So I made an appointment with our pediatrician (who is not Boone’s father, by the way, going for unbiased opinions here) and after some surveys with Boone’s teacher, Jason, and myself, it was clear: Boone’s focus needed help. We had an official diagnosis of ADHD and a plan to trial some low dose medication.

My questions still lingered. Where was all of his energy? Oh yeah… at bedtimes. How could he read so fast? Oh yeah… he was choosing the books he wanted to read. What about the multiplication?! Oh yeah… even though he could solve the problems, getting him to sit down to work on it was a chore, to put it mildly.

I had a little more research to do, but I was ready to help my son reach his full potential in any way I could. I filled a prescription for Concerta, said a prayer, and began to watch and wait.

For part two of this post, come back to this blog NEXT WEEK, Wednesday, September 27.

how my prayers have changed (some thoughts on depression)

I remember when I was in elementary school, I remarked to my friend’s mom that I could make myself laugh. I was an awkward adolescent, and I have no real recollection the context of this admission, but I do remember her response: “Well good, then you’ll never be depressed.”

And well, the joke’s on her.

I want to take a little break from mom-specific things things this week. Yes, this topic is important for moms, but it’s important for dads and kids and everyone else too. If you or someone you know has depression, I hope you know that “depression” doesn’t mean “super Eeyore-sad all the time.” It doesn’t make you start dressing all in black and going in hard on the black eyeliner. It doesn’t make you an invalid… until it does.

I didn’t officially latch on to the clinical depression diagnosis until my second son, Jonah, was born. I realized then that the fog all mothers experience postpartum wasn’t lifting. The bond with my newborn wasn’t forming. But most of all, I think I realized that I was finally in a space safe and easy enough to just call the doctor and request medicine. No one can fault the weary new mom for asking for help when she needed it, right? And about ten days later, once the medicine had time to get in my system and start working, the fog lifted. This call was absolutely the right one for me. My only problem?

That I hadn’t called sooner.

Before I continue, please know that I serve a God of miracles, of compassion, of love. The God of renewal and transformation. The Creator of heaven, earth, and me. I heard, at churches and retreats, over and over again how God answers prayers. How he can save us from the depths. How He is all we need.

The first time I really felt doubt about this was in college. I put on a mask that I had worn for a long time – the “funny one” – and didn’t let people really see me when life got overwhelming. I hid in bathroom stalls and pretended to be asleep to just be “off.” And while off, I prayed. To be happy. Just be happy. Please God, I’m not asking for much — I just want to be happy.

Keep in mind, I had a lot of great things going for me. I had great friends. I went to a great school. I won awards and scholarships for singing – my major – and my future was bright. By my junior year, I was engaged to the only man I’ve ever loved. If you’re waiting for the shoe-dropping moment, there isn’t one. My life was good. My life was good. But I wasn’t happy. Because this is what depression does.

Years passed, college ended, married life and real jobs began, and I still prayed for happiness. My first teaching job brought with it much praise and success, but I still doubted myself so strongly. There were never enough compliments to drown out my own voices of insufficiency.

Please, God, let me be happy. I just want to be happy. I know You can just make me be happy. I know You can. Please.

I believe God had been answering all of those prayers, but I didn’t really listen until I was driving with a preschool-aged Boone and a infant Jonah in the backseat. I was listening to the Barenaked Ladies album, Born on a Pirate Ship (because most of my music comes out of the 90s), and when I heard the words “I have faith in medications/I believe in the Prozac nation,” I knew God was declaring the answer to my prayers for happiness. I pulled into a parking spot and cried. I called the doctor with the strongest voice I could muster (which was still pretty shaky) and the rest is history.

That’s when my ears started hearing pastors urge congregants to pray for miracles. To trust God can fix everything. As I said earlier, I truly believe He can – but I think we need to be careful about how we present this to brothers and sisters in a time of struggle. A previous pastor of mine used to end prayers filled with requests with the line, “we know that You can, God, and we pray that You will.” I’ve adopted this into my own prayers, but I’ve added an extra step. I still pray for the miracle – but I ask God to show me how He wants me to fix the problem. Sometimes He’s quiet and I learn patience. But more often than not, I find that He helps my ears and eyes to remain open to see the answers He’s placing in front of me. I cannot tell you how many times I heard people talk about the power of anti-depressants while I was praying for God to simply take away my unhappiness. Do I believe God could have said “You’re happy now,” and I would have been? Of course. But He created us to live in community, and I think He needed me to find happiness by reaching out to others, by trusting scientists and doctors, and by sharing the journey with those who might need to hear it.

Don’t get me wrong, “I had a problem and God immediately fixed it,” is a decent story too. But what does it say to those who pray and pray and pray without feeling like they are getting a response? “Why did God fix them and not me?” No, I believe that God can and does perform miracles. Sometimes He works alone – He will make a tumor disappear in such a way that medical professionals are baffled. But sometimes, sometimes He’ll take an ordinary human and use them to revive an infant born without a heartbeat. Through medical training and expertise, that baby will live where he otherwise would have died. Surely God could have said “baby, breathe now,” but He wants to use His people.

If you know someone who struggles with depression, share this story if you don’t have one of your own. Pray for them. Pray with them. But ask that God uses His people to heal instead of only requestly He directly do all the work Himself.