We have set my 7 year old up with therapy appointments.
I’m pretty sure, at this point, that the ADHD comes from both sides of my family, having had the time to reflect on things.
The woman doing my son’s psychological evaluation called me out on my potential affliction because of the way I speak and the way I jump from subject to subject simply by sidetracking myself with a simple, meaningless, comment.
He explained it to me the other day perfectly: “I hate when I’m trying to listen or think and then my eyes get all blurry and I’m just staring somewhere.”
His focus is gone, no matter how much he wants to (or knows he should) listen (or think). And by the time he gets back to the subject at hand, he has no idea what he was even thinking about that distracted him.
It sucks. Trust me, I know.
And I know how much more frustrating it has to be for a kid.
He wanted to go back on his Focalin about 3 weeks ago after the teacher moved the kids’ seats around and he was placed next to other second graders who were already working on multiplication (!!); he said it would “make him smarter.” I let him because I wanted to see how he would do in a new grade, a new school, with a pill on which his former teacher at his former school had said she noticed no change.
I see some changes. Some good. Some just a badly magnified version of what we were already dealing with simply because of fatigue at the end of the day.
There is no easy answer in this ADHD puzzle, and I wish there was.
There are pieces to it that have the same image as the rest of the pieces around it, but the shape is slightly different.
And I can’t force them in.
All I can do is sit and wait for them to reshape themselves through the proper channels of therapy and medication and pray that, someday, they will fit the way they were meant.
The way that will make him happier than he is. More focused. More self-assured.
We will get there.
We have to.