The hardest part about coming to terms with having a neurodevelopmental disorder is realising you have spent a large part of your life blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control.
Along the way, you have collected harsh criticisms as titles that you pull out when you are experiencing the difficulties that your peers seem to not.
Wow, I am extremely lazy today. I was terribly absent-minded this week at uni. I am just such an unmotivated person.
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Three weeks ago, I was sitting in the waiting room of a highly recommended psychiatrist, waiting to open up my vulnerable mind and surrender it to his opinion.
I’m completely comfortable around medical professionals... usually. Firstly, I’m married to one. Secondly, I have met hundreds over the years through my mum’s health struggles.
I have been the person discussing her mental and physical health for over six years and the medical environment just doesn’t phase me anymore.
Until it really hit me that for the first time in my life; I was in this hospital to talk about myself and my own wellbeing.
So, with tears streaming down my face (I have never cried in public), I tried to reassure myself there was no harm in this. I was just inquiring.
I still don’t know why I was so emotional. Was I scared of being told I don’t actually have what I suspect I have? Or worried it was something else entirely? Did I not want to discuss painful memories from school and childhood? It was probably all of that, and more.