See the World Through My Eyes for a Moment

We need to talk about the internal ADHD and autistic experience.

an introduction:

You might be able to manage small talk at school pick up, but they don’t see how taxing it is to remember to smile, and say the right thing at the right time. They surely don’t see the shutdown you have at the end of the day. Your hyperactivity might not be visible to others; but you’re very much aware of all of the many thoughts floating through your mind (not even speaking of the 24/7 soundtrack). Your speech might be straightforward and clear, but those around you can’t even imagine the vast collections of connected ideas that you’re holding, too.

ADHD and autism have for a long time been defined by external factors, by what can be observed, and by how disruptive¹ the behavior is to others. In the last few years, the conversation has shifted to exploring what ADHD and autism feels, sounds, and looks like on the inside.

It’s an important shift and has allowed so many of us to make sense of our own experiences. I want to take it a step further and explore how we can open up to each other; how we can get curious about each other’s experiences; how we can practice empathy; how we can listen to each other; how we can share our experiences; how we can support each other.

I invite you to take your time with this, to reflect.

Whose kaleidoscope are you curios about? Whose view might you expand by sharing yours?

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In case you missed it: I’m hosting a book club series starting next week. 8 chapters in 8 weeks. Now is a good time to get the book and start reading it you haven’t yet! Learn more here:

Book Club Series: Unmasking Autism

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see the world through my eyes for a moment.

“No, you slept! You looked calm and peaceful,” he retorted when I insisted that no, I hadn’t fallen asleep in the lawn chair one sunny July afternoon. Calm and peaceful couldn’t have been further from my truth.

my truth was this:

hyperaware of all of the noises: cars driving by, neighbors chatting, birds chirping, bugs humming, dogs barking.

the beautiful July afternoon sunlight too bright; painful; trying (and failing) to find the perfect position to block out the light with my arm.

noticing the stillness of my body, my shell while simultaneously digging my nails into the palms of my hand; an attempt to focus on the physical sensation and to quiet my mind.

calm and peaceful? I wish.

instead,

the heaviness of my masks weighing on me;

my body and mind exhausted and tired from the lack of sleep;

yearning for my quiet, dark room, the soft blanket on the firm mattress of my own bed;

wanting to escape the pressure of social demands;

feeling tense and alert;

craving my robust support system, barely hanging on, my lifeline a friend who is only a text message away;

not wanting to be a burden, which I know I’m not, but I don’t have the capacity to remind myself of that fact;

and how do I even begin to ask for what I need?;

both relieved and anxious to know that travel is near, knowing I will be breaking down in tears from exhaustion when I get home;

dreading the additional demands on me that I’ll have to endure for a few days until I can actually lay down in bed and just be.

So, no, I did very much not fall asleep in the lawn chair that sunny July afternoon. My body was still, maybe, but far from calm and peaceful.

I wish you could have seen the world through my eyes for a moment.

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i’m afraid to see the world through your eyes, even if just for a moment.

I’m afraid to see the world, myself, through your eyes, even if just for a moment. My shoulders whole upper body is tense as I’m typing the words, my eyebrows furrowed, my jaw clenched. Holding on to the way I see things feels safe and protective; I’m afraid you’ll mess with my clear and predictable, neatly arranged patterns. If one item shifts, moves out of line, changes shape or color, the whole picture shifts; the pattern is no longer the pattern. I can’t trust it to rearrange itself. Does that idea feel unsettling to you? It does to me.

And also, I want joyful and colorful and flexible. I am curious to see myself from a different perspective, your perspective, more clearly nuanced, in more colors;

like a kaleidoscope.

I don’t want chaos and random disorder, but constellations; connected but constantly shifting and re-arranging themselves without the whole structure collapsing in onto itself;

like a kaleidoscope.

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let me see the world through your eyes for a moment.

In School’s Out For the Summer - With a Twist You Don’t Want to Miss, I wrote:

Tears are streaming down my face now.

I cover my ears as hard as I can, trying to block out all of the noise.

I want to scream; but I won’t.

I focus on the movement; it helps a bit. At least things aren’t getting worse.

I need to get out of here.

It takes all of my determination and strength to make my way up and walk to my bedroom.

It felt dark and depleted and empty. “This one gets dark. Please do whatever you need to do to take care of yourself,” I warned.

And then I received this comment from

Lexi Merritt

":

“When I read that note and your caption, all I could think was "Actually this sounds VERY loving." It reads like a note from someone who loves themselves enough to advocate for their needs and loves their people enough to communicate those needs clearly. What a beautiful example to offer your little ones.”

When I see my world through your eyes, I see a fuller picture when my own view is skewed and limited. It doesn’t take away; it doesn’t mean I was wrong; or that my emotions weren’t true. It does add nuance and depth and more color. It’s spinning that kaleidoscope with its many tiny mirrors to show that there’s more to be seen.

Thank you for letting me see the world, me, through your eyes for a moment.

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P.S.: Yes, I have been listening to Chappell Roan on repeat.

P.P.S.: Your support means the world. Here’s how you can support me: Share this publication, like it, comment, send me message (I want to hear from you!), restack it! Thank you!

P.P.P.S.: Momentum Muse now comes with a 30 minute body doubling sessions every Monday! Subscribe here:

1. yikes, I know!