Celebrating Neurodiversity

Being diagnosed with ADHD well into adulthood is a fascinating experience and one I’m glad I had. My understanding of what ADHD is has changed a lot over the years. I was vaguely aware of the concept during my school career - it was something ‘naughty boys’ had and manifested in an inability to sit still, disruptive behaviour in class and bad grades. This didn’t apply very neatly to me, so it didn’t occur to anyone as a possibility, as far as I’m aware. I was easily distracted and chatty (a word I’m sure was used exclusively to describe girls), but not ‘badly behaved’. I was brilliant when I put my mind to it, if I do say so myself! The issue seemed to be whether or not I wanted to put my mind to it. I did well at school and university, except in anything too mathematical, but I learned to do well by the seat of my pants. To use creativity and caffeine to pull me through year after year of slightly left-field essays finished at 4am. To sound like I’d read a book after skimming through it on the bus. I eventually learned better study skills and time management capabilities but it was an adrenaline-filled journey getting to the stage of ‘reasonably sensible adult’. 

During my MSc, my main area of study looked at how young people educated outside of mainstream school due to ‘social, emotional and behavioural difficulties’ self-identified. More specifically, how young men and young women* internalised different messages about their struggles. Most of these young people had ADHD. Safe to say, at this point I had no idea how close to home my studies were. I was then of the belief that ADHD diagnostic criteria were far too blunt an instrument, that it was over-diagnosed and that we were pathologising children for not fitting into an education system that was not designed to meet all learners’ needs.  I still believe there’s some truth in that last point, but learning more about ADHD as a neurological difference in the years leading up to my diagnosis made my views on the rest a little more nuanced. 

It feels more positive, here in 2020, to be discussing Neurodiversity as a term to describe, for example, ADHD, Autism Spectrum Disorders and Dyslexia. The word is celebratory, with ‘diversity’ seen as something to be achieved and delighted in. An acknowledgement of all the different ways that brains can work and that this contributes to the many different skills and traits that make up a well-rounded society. Of course, they are still described as ‘disorders’ and still, in many cases require treatment, be it medical or psycho-educational. I’ve been reframing the language of ‘disorder’ for myself by looking at some of the traits and tendencies that can present challenges, and how they so often seem to have a ‘mirror’ trait that is an advantage (like the struggle to think clearly through a task in ordered steps, vs. the creative thinking that gave me the edge in those 4am essays). Still, a society that, just like the school system I remember, is not designed with Neurodiversity in mind can be an exhausting place to navigate.

I have found that body work, be it singing and humming, breath work, yoga or more active forms of meditation are hugely helpful in terms of bringing me back to focus and clearing my busy head. I’d previously put times when I was especially distractable, fidgety or struggling to regulate my emotions down to other causes - did I have anxiety? Was this unprocessed trauma? This is by no means black and white - having a diagnosis doesn’t mean that every road leads back to ADHD. And while it’s true that feeling anxious, stressed, over-tired or otherwise ‘out of whack’ is likely to exacerbate symptoms, I hadn’t realised that there was an underlying cause. But even before I knew the terminology or the layperson neurobiology, I knew what resources worked well for me. Although at first, I struggled to settle into a routine with using them, the more I did it, the more progress I saw. Training as a practitioner gave me even more opportunities to sing, breathe and get in touch with my body. This time of crisis that we’re living through really intensifies the challenges we already face, meaning that it’s more important than ever to stay on top of self-care and connect with our bodies, as well as to stay out of shame when we have a less ‘functional’ day.

A relatively high percentage of the people I’ve worked with over the years have been Neurodiverse in some way. This, along with my own experience, has led me to get really interested in finding out what links and overlapping traits might exist between, for example, ADHD, trauma and attachment (watch this space!). Academic interest aside, it’s been a privilege to be on this adventure together - using my skills and clients’ expertise in their own lives combined to figure out what works best for each amazingly unique person.

*I was quite unaware of the concept of non-binary gender identities at this point! 

Beyond the silver linings

It’s almost four months into the Covid-19 crisis and, in the UK, we’re four weeks into lockdown. At this point, I feel things edging past the initial stages of fear, moments of optimism and finding creative and comforting ways to amuse ourselves and nest. A month of lockdown means that a ‘new normal’ is emerging, along with questions about what habits, rituals, skills and emotions will be carried into the post-pandemic world.

Having written previously about a need to find space for the hopes and fears, joys and despairs present in our current situation, I have now seen first-hand examples of all of these. Things that I will never forget because they were so bleak and impossibly sad, and things I won’t forget because they were perfect examples of how we’ve evolved to seek connection and cooperation, to create and adapt. I wonder how this will be preserved in both my own and our collective memory. What will stick? What will we look back on in disbelief? What will be filtered out for denying our established world view?

As we experience a collective trauma, I’m struck by the different ways that we all attempt to make sense of insane situations. This attempt is a go-to trauma response: ‘if I can just find the bigger meaning, I can move on’. In a world-changing event reminding us that we can’t escape from our biological nature, there isn’t always a neat box or an accessible ‘why’ to help us process the trauma. I stand by my determination for this crisis to lead to a collective re-think of how we want to organise society; and yet, this feels a bit glib in the face of the stark reality of the loss, grief, fear and isolation that is being experienced by so many right now. The best I can hope for in that regard is that our actions now are helpful to ourselves and others wherever possible, and that most of the big learning will come with hindsight and be turned into action. It’s been said so often already, but the old ‘business as usual’ is no longer a possibility, whether we’d like it to be or not.

So with all of this in mind, how do we start to look beyond our much needed silver linings, the day to day practice of building routine, finding distractions and creating ‘safe enough’ nests for ourselves? How do we go about healing from a collective trauma? 

Part of my vision in setting up Live and Breathe involves developing the tools to build communities that foster social justice and direct, wholehearted communication. No small feat, but a vision is about dreaming big! Somewhere to start towards this is normalising vulnerability. Covid-19, it is said, ‘does not discriminate’ and is here to remind us all that there by the grace of God/the universe/insert your ‘big picture’ belief here… go we. While it’s true that a virus does not care about  who you are, it does affect some communities disproportionately. That’s an important point for another day. But health inequality aside, a pandemic is certainly one of those rare situations that forces us to stare down our vulnerability and our mortality, regardless of how wealthy, healthy, hardworking or virtuous we may be on the surface. I can feel the ripples of a sea change creeping in, as formal emails suddenly contain opening gambits like  ‘I hope that you and your loved ones are safe and well’ and Zoom calls involving ‘hardened’ business folks start with a wellbeing check-in. This chipping away at the facade of stoicism and invulnerability is how we start to grow and I hope it persists. Permission and encouragement, when required, to start a work meeting with ‘I’m having a shitty day, I’m using my resources and I’ll be ok, but here’s what I need from you’. The courage to get in touch with that old friend you haven’t seen for years and were worried about contacting again in case it was awkward. Using our experiences of having to give up our routines and re-learn how to work, socialise and live to enable us to be honest about when we don’t know the answer to something. Vulnerability is something I have struggled with showing for years. And I’ve done years of work on getting comfortable with it, though there’s still so much room for growth. So here’s an intervention if ever I’ve seen one - a horrific situation that exposes our common humanity and demands our vulnerability and compassion. 

When we’re feeling too vulnerable and too exposed to go analysing a crisis or thinking about what we can do to help, our job is to breathe, self-soothe (I recommend putting together a go-to collection of soothing sensory items in advance - fluffy blanket, hot chocolate, favourite smells, music, whatever works for you) and to find connection and support, even if it’s ‘just’ remotely watching Netflix with someone who cares about you. And when that difficult moment passes, our job is to find ways to name and express our feelings. I hope that this brave new world is brave enough to let us all admit that sometimes we’re vulnerable.

Breathing through a pandemic

These are strange, scary, illuminating times. My voracious love of dystopian, post-apocalyptic literature, films and TV did not prepare me for the reality of living through a life and world changing crisis like Covid-19. Like so many of us, I find my days drastically altered and have time on my hands with which to worry, reach out, create, reflect and breathe.

It strikes me that it’s important to neither succumb to despair, nor to allow ‘toxic positivity’ to take hold - there is room for the hope and fear, the heaviness and excitement at new prospects, the boredom and creativity. Most of us will have unexpected time on our hands and in this brave new world of staying indoors, a need to find ways to occupy ourselves. The pressure to learn a new language, write a novel, redecorate your home, grow vegetables and record an album in your living room may be lurking in the background, and a testament to the creativity and adaptability of humans. I fully support all of these endeavours - taking time to slow down, create, express and make your environment safe and comfortable is something I often encourage for myself and my clients! However… it’s okay if none of these things happen in the end. It’s okay if all you achieve today is to inhale and exhale.

As a busy professional with ADHD, I’ve sometimes found it challenging to consistently practice what I preach by keeping a long standing, daily self-care routine going. Don’t get me wrong, I am skilled at using my resources when needed to get to a place of calm, ‘unblock’ emotions and connect to my creativity. And at times, I’m also skilled at making excuses for being too busy to slow down and consciously breathe each day. This tragic global situation has a few silver linings that call us to do things differently, both in terms of the small choices each of us makes and on a bigger, collective level. I am out of excuses to keep running so fast, and this reminds me that breathing and connecting with my body is the basis for being creative, keeping perspective and connecting with my most adult self.

Beyond that, I am encouraged and moved to see that aforementioned adaptable human nature kick in as we play, sing and share thoughts with each other via video call, find creative ways to help our neighbours from a six foot distance, get in touch with long lost friends and feel grateful for connections with our loved ones. I’m more aware of my privilege than ever - for many, lockdown in unsafe circumstances and poverty lead to potentially more serious danger than the virus itself. There are some ways we can help indirectly if we are able to - by donating to projects working with the most vulnerable, by supporting small businesses, by looking out for each other and offering support. But this pandemic inescapably highlights a need for global change that gives people and planet a fighting chance of safety and wellbeing - for those fortunate enough to have time, space and capacity to breathe and reflect, there is an opportunity to focus on what we can do to contribute to a better post-pandemic world. We may be in this for a while though, so for now, inhale, exhale, slow down.

Finding my voice

This is a cliché like the ones you hear on those ubiquitous TV talent shows, but I can’t remember a time when singing wasn’t part of my life. Although for me, that’s not strictly true – while I’ve been singing since I was quite wee, there were a few years of  vocal wilderness around a decade ago. It started with a bad bout of bronchitis and progressed to surgery and vocal rehab. A combination of bad luck, stuck emotions and a lack of rest resulted in temporary disaster but would ultimately have a happy ending.

Singing and speaking are the main things I’ve always instinctively turned to in order to process my emotions and express who I am (not to mention how I made my money – supporting people mainly through talking). Being unable to really use these resources was both devastating and shame inducing. Who was I if not a singer and professional voice user, and what was I supposed to do with all these inconvenient feelings that had nowhere to go?

This is where I may get a little evangelical about the tools that helped me get back on track and that I now have a passion for sharing with others. The NHS took care of the physical aspect of repairing my vocal apparatus but I needed to address other factors and this is where I first encountered a psychological and body work approach to vocal coaching. At Noble House, I learned about vocal rehab, an understanding of trauma and conscious breath work. I knew it was the right place for me, and still my carefully crafted defence system fought this recovery process every step of the way… until it all started to fall into place. I made leaps and bounds as a singer and a human. I belted out impossibly cheesy songs in my bedroom until my flatmate and I had fits of emotional giggles about this new development. I talked about things I’d never talked about before and felt the improvements come thick and fast.

The obvious next step in this adventure was to start training as a practitioner. It’s been a long process and an eye opening one too. While this has been going on, I’ve continued with my job supporting young people through various challenges in their lives and later, managing a small team of wonderful people who do likewise. I’ve been, and continue to be involved in various bands and music projects. I believe that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been encouraged by a friend to sort out my vocal problems. For most of us, our voices are one of the most important aspects of our identity and ability to participate in communities, to stand up to injustice and to express our feelings. I may be a little biased under the circumstances but I’d say that taking care of this aspect of self and being aware of how closely it’s connected to our emotional world and our health is of vital importance.

‘Tell your truth, find your voice, sing your song’ (Anon).