Finding Me Behind the A.D.D

Jonah Rogers

I was noticing others noticing my secret. It was exhausting (trying) to keep up with conversations. It was even more exhausting faking it. Nodding and excessive eye contact worked. Until they didn’t. No matter how much I tried, though, I couldn’t pretend anymore because my faking was no longer fooling myself. The truth: I couldn’t follow simple conversations — even when I tried.

Growing up with Attention Deficit Disorder, I was always aware of this reality. And so, I learned to just be quiet during conversations. It was better not to draw attention to myself. Not to ask ‘What?’ or ‘Huh?’ Especially for the fifth, sixth, or tenth time in a single dialogue. This silence wasn’t because of an inability to understand the content; it was because of an inability to keep up with the present moment. In verbal conversations, there is no rewind button. No way of revisiting the previous sentence. Though, I would try.

Often three or more sentences behind the speaker, I was stuck in the past, trying to decipher what was said moments earlier, trying to catch up to the now. A place where I desperately wanted to be, but couldn’t. Always a step behind. Or worse, a step forward, in the future. A place where anxiety abounds with ‘What if’ questions: “What if they can tell? What if they can tell that I have absolutely no clue what they are talking about? Whatever you do, just keep making eye contact and nodding.”

My life continued this way until I learned about working memory, the mind’s capacity to store and use information in real-time. I learned about the connection between a poor working memory and Attention Deficit Disorder. It suddenly became clear to me why I struggled with listening during conversations. Why I didn’t speak or write articulately. Why I struggled with reading. And the game-changer: Why if one of these four verbal skills improves, the others indirectly improve as well.

So I set out to improve my working memory through reading, hoping that it would have positive implications for my listening and speaking skills, too. I didn’t enjoy it; reading was a chore.

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It. Took. Forever. Sentences littered with commas (I hated commas, I hated their rules.) — or worse, dashes — both of which introduced additional information (as if there wasn’t already enough in the main clause!), were difficult to read. Rereading was often required if I wanted to reach the period with at least some idea of the sentence’s meaning. After a long year of doing this, I was reading more fluently and these punctuation marks no longer posed the same threat to my memory as the trash bin does to a first draft.

Reading provided me with what conversations did not: that rewind button. That ability to revisit a previous sentence that had escaped from memory. And as my working memory increased, I was not only reading those long, comma-laden sentences without needing the rewind button; I was writing them. It felt freeing — like all of my feelings, emotions, and thoughts that had been suppressed were finally being assigned to syntax and entering the world of expression. And the best part: I now (genuinely) participate in conversations and am no longer silent.

Deciding to learn how to read last year — at the age of thirty — was one of the most impactful decisions I’ve ever made. Communication is at the core of all relationships, and so, when I became a better communicator, I also, more importantly, became a better friend, a better husband, and a better father. Human connection, human expression — this is why we listen, speak, read and write. To understand, to feel, and to love.

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