Calm Down, Woman!

Neurodiversity, drugs, hormones and, what it means to be a woman in your 40s.

Soon after an awful meltdown last weekend, I found myself at my therapist’s office. I’ve been watching my diet, working out regularly, taking my vitamins, practicing self-care so even after all that if I can’t regulate my emotions, I must be going mad, I thought to myself.

Shame and guilt, my old buddies, take no time to show up.

“I’m an awful wife, an awful role model to my kids,” I cried as I booked the first available appointment.

A year ago my (male) therapist said he could see signs of ADHD in me but refused to give me a diagnosis ‘given how far I’d come in life’. A 43-year-old woman who’s sustained a long marriage, raised two children along with juggling a fairly decent corporate career, did not merit a ‘label’ as he saw it.

It can be hard to diagnose ADHD in perimenopausal women because of strikingly similar symptoms like - forgetfulness, emotional dysregulation, lack of motivation, indecisiveness, mood swings, etc.

Apparently, certain drugs are a foolproof way to confirm a diagnosis. I’m told, those who do not have ADHD may experience a slight boost in their everyday performance, if at all. But, those with ADHD, would find a noticeable difference in their focus, emotional regulation, productivity, and motivation.

My belief system did not rely on medication to treat my condition, and, being a typical overthinker, I worried about becoming addicted to it. My doctor, on the other hand, did not see a reason to diagnose me if I was determined to leave my condition ‘untreated’. Fair. I left his office without a prescription or a diagnosis.

Until last weekend's meltdown, which occurred as I recently turned 44, I found myself reaching for a drug that suddenly seemed like a magical pill.

Will it relax my overthinking? Will I stop feeling as fiercely? Will my brain go quiet? I needed to calm down!

I’m still on a week’s trial so it would be highly premature to comment on the effect of the drugs on me and my ‘condition’. However, with sickly International Women’s Day celebration everywhere, my mind’s been racing (and raging) with thoughts (36g of dopamine didn’t do shit to calm down my mind that was zooming at sonic speed).

So, like all times when I’m restless, I decide to write. With my beloved cup of freshly brewed black coffee.

What got me wondering was my personal coach (who has known me for a good few years now) asking me:

“Your condition appears multi-faceted. Why do you want a diagnosis? What do you want from the drug?”

She had me thinking why is my ‘condition’ unbearable for me? Or, is it really unbearable for ME?! Also, could there be other factors at play?

Other than wanting to be more productive so I can spend better weekends with my family, most of my embarrassment about my ‘condition’ has been associated with not feeling perfect.

I’m easily distracted, and quite forgetful, my ‘extreme’ emotions mean I can be highly reactive and, my disability to remain organized at all times means I’m an inefficient homemaker. I procrastinate like I breathe - All. The. Time! Which means, I can be painfully slow to get things done.

Having changed jobs thrice in four years, I’m constantly grappling with shame for not achieving the career curve that I’m told I’m so capable of, I’m always guilt-tripping over my disinterest in preparing delicious meals for my family, and I’m forever making a list of things I haven’t done for my kids.

Above all, because I really try hard to fight against this clumsy me, I’m always tired. I’ve spent half of my life trying to escape in my sleep. I need at least 10 hours of sleep and three cups of coffee to recover from this daily self-humiliation to function in a basic manner.

I called at least four other female friends of mine who told me they’ve been put on anxiety medication which is supposed to help them ‘calm down’ too.

It made me wonder, did their doctors ask them if they tried magnesium? How was their sleep pattern? Did they have any regular physical movement? Are they happy in their job? In their relationship? Do they get help at home? Could childhood trauma have affected their everyday executive functioning?

I then asked myself the same questions.

My friends mentioned their symptoms were aggravated due to them being perimenopausal and the drugs were a straightforward solution.

I can’t blame perimenopause alone for my struggle, though. For 44 years, I’ve been waking up every morning, wearing my superwoman mask, and facing the world like I’m absolutely fitting in it. I kept telling myself to keep trying, they’ll never know.

Here’s a thought though. What if I don’t have to keep trying? What if my ‘condition’ is not a condition?! So what if they know?!

I drive 240 km for work, get in my car at 6:30 am, return home at 5:30 pm, and hit the gym at 6 pm, without fail. I return home by 7ish pm, have a pleasant chat at dinner with my husband, and spend some lovely time with my kids and cats - all without needing drugs. It takes a lot of hard work from my end, but, I do it.

My recent obsession with my writing will see me attend writing workshops during weekends or even weekdays. Despite having a full-time job and being a mother of two, I’ve never missed assignments.

I’ve completed workshop sessions - whether it was 3 months long or like the last one requiring me to wake up at 2:30 am in the middle of a work week for 5 weeks! I have worked on my writing non-stop for five hours AFTER a 3-hour long workshop, only taking bathroom breaks.

I’m not lazy. I’m driven when I’m drawn to the task. I can sustain a job when I find it exciting enough.

I may feel in the extremes, but it is this intensity that makes me accept my family and friends just the way they are - with their positives and not so positives.

I’m mad enough to love my people in their entirety.

My clumsiness and forgetfulness are embraced with laughter and banter by people who love me for who I am.

I can’t focus on my everyday routine, because my mind’s busy absorbing the beautiful intimate nuances that others miss so easily. Like noticing who smiles with their eyes. And then getting lost in those mesmerizing eyes!

My ‘noisy’ brain inspires me to write the way I do.

My ‘restlessness’ is a fountain of my creativity.

As for my hormones? I think we’ve given our hormones a bad name for long.

I truly believe the 40s could just be the time when your tolerance for bullshit starts thinning because, it is a time of radical transformation not just in your body, but also in your mind and soul joining it in alignment.

You reach a point where not only do you see the lies you’ve been told all your life, you also begin to acknowledge your truth.

The journey to self-realization can be excruciatingly painful. The lies need to die their deaths for your truth to come alive. The ability to find the courage to stand with your truth can be scary as hell. Plus, many of us were never conditioned to trust our inner voice. No wonder we think we’re going mad.

The stronger your self-realization gets, the lower your threshold for nonsense becomes.

It is a privilege to be able to discuss mental health and neurodiversity today. My mother’s generation could never even fathom going on a public platform and declaring you need therapy.

However, while we women in our 40s could give therapy and the drugs a chance, we may also want to sit back and introspect - is it really us who needs to ‘calm down’, are we really going crazy?!

Or, could this also be a midlife awakening and a time to stand by your truth?