Forever a Square Peg

“Like a square peg destined to be perpetually forced into a round hole”; this is perhaps the best way I’ve found to describe my experience living with ADHD for nearly a half-century now. Now I know that this metaphor likely conjures up persistently painful image of existence - one that often transports those in my generation back to toddlerhood, sitting on the floor with a wooden block in one hand and tiny mallet in the other.  While at times that can certainly be the case, it fails to do justice to the full range in which the experience can manifest itself.

At its worst - imagine a worn & discolored glob of chewing gum long ago spit onto a patch of Time Square pavement. The hard soles of hurried souls by the millions forever pressing, pushing & flattening, spreading you thinner & thinner - forcing you into the cracks amongst the porous concrete, though never quite deep enough to escape the never-ending barrage of footsteps.

At its best, the pressure can feel akin to an annoyingly enthusiastic series of pats on the head from a beaming grandparent, proud as all get-out that their little pookie-bear was able to spit out their ABC’s without assistance for the very first time.  Granted, it doesn’t really hurt - but it sure doesn’t feel comfortable and I doubt few would sign up for a lifetime subscription to this experience, no matter how long the free trial period might be or how steep the discount.

It’s not to say that the ledger is strictly in the red when it comes to living with ADHD. There is beauty (and a lot of hilarious, meandering and I’m sure confusing-to-most stories) that come from the unique wiring schematic each neurodivergent brain uses to process and make sense of the world around us. I also believe it’s imperative to understand that each person living with ADHD’s experience is entirely unique - something that I’ve only come to realize over the last couple years as I’ve grown more comfortable discussing my diagnosis and experience with other afflicted folks. While there are certainly some common themes and bylines, I’ve truly been amazed by how varied the impact, influence and sentiments have been. I’m going to do my best to explain my experience in the best way I’ve found to organize my thoughts about it all—an almost assuredly dated pop-culture film reference: “The Good, The Bad and the Ugly”.

THE GOOD

Over the past decade or so, I’ve often heard ADHD referred to as a “superpower”.  While I understand and can appreciate the sentiment - this description never sat well with me. It gives off a little too much Apple “problem is a feature” spin for my liking. As someone who spent much of my childhood with my nose buried in comic books, I don’t remember too many superheroes lamenting that their mutations, divine powers or alien abilities were keeping them from reaching their goals and inducing intense insecurity and/or hypersensitivity.   Every time I visualize some neurodivergent hero - my mind immediately conjures up the image of “ADHD Man” using X-Ray vision to scan for some purse snatcher on the subway only to get distracted by puppy videos on a random passenger’s phone, ultimately letting the perp slip away.

It was only with growth and an amazing therapist with a penchant for treating those with ADHD, that I was able to really recognize the benefits of this diagnosis.  Through this process, I can admit that my affliction comes with sometimes-useful abilities that might be less common amongst neurotypical folks: unparalleled productivity whilst in hyper-focus state (though this is sadly not an on-demand feature) or how my mind (being compelled to explore the never-ending world of what-if’s) allows me to be a creative and adaptable problem-solver.

However, I have to say that I’m most grateful for the depth at which so many of us ADHDers experience emotions. This can obviously be viewed as a double-edged sword as this depth is not limited to positive emotions. The valleys can be devastatingly deep and extremely difficult to climb out of— but to me, the highs make that climb worth it every time.  When we dream, we dream bigger. When we love, we love deeper. The good times feel so much happier, nearing euphoria.  Music, art and film seem to move me so much more than my neurotypical counterparts. When something interests me, I can dig deeper and learn more faster than nearly anyone else.  This character trait is what I attribute so much of my professional successes to: being a “jack of all trades” has allowed me to collaborate and contribute to a wide variety of companies, specialties and roles throughout my career.

THE BAD

It should come as no surprise that unlike the benefits above, the items residing within the “bad” folder came much easier to mind and could fill far more paragraphs or even pages.  The ability to dive deeper into emotions also means traversing the trenches of insecurity, hypersensitivity and guilt. This can lead me to replay every awkward moment, gaff or random comment from a stranger on loop 24/7—the same way you’d see the same highlights replayed again and again on Sportscenter between midnight and 6am.

Surprisingly enough, I don’t know that I’d consider this the headliner of the “Bad” World Tour. For me, that honor falls to what I refer to as “the chase”— the never-ending search for novelty (aka dopamine), which often feels more like an impossible search for contentment. No reward or accomplishment ever feels quite good enough for quite long enough.  All too often, before the box, wrapper or tags have made their way to the trash can or the ink has dried on the offer letter, the novelty has already worn off and I’ve come to realize that this thing, gift or accomplishment, sadly wasn’t the elusive missing piece of my happiness puzzle.

Of course, this endless dopamine safari has some inherent dangers that have impacted my overall mental and physical health: impulse spending, overeating and borderline substance dependency among the more obvious challenges. However, for me, the most dangerous manifestation is something that is much deeper and existential: the sense that nothing will ever be enough, and I will never truly find happiness. At its worst, this has caused a downward spiral into depression, I mean what else is there to do but be depressed when you realize there’s nothing you can buy, make or take that will suddenly remove the lifelong unease and restlessness you’ve experienced and magically unlock the ability to flip the satisfaction switch within your soul?

Luckily, through growth and the therapy I’ve mentioned previously, this is where I’ve made the most progress. By being 1,000% honest with my therapist, family, friends and most importantly, myself— I experienced my “It’s me. I’m the problem, it’s me!” Taylor Swift realization. Put another way, the realization that there is no magic external solution to my happiness - but rather I am simultaneously the cause of and solution to 95% of all my problems. This moment was both the most liberating and terrifying moment of my life.  Liberating to know that I’m the one that holds the key to my own satisfaction, terrifying because I’m constantly losing my damn keys...because, you know: ADHD! In all seriousness, knowing that “the cavalry isn’t coming” and satisfaction doesn’t come with Prime two-day shipping, but must rather be earned through a lot of hard and uncomfortable work is a scary realization, but a necessary one that, once embraced has had immensely positive impact on my life.

THE UGLY

I suppose it’s important to explain why (other than fitting my nifty Clint Eastwood film reference) I isolated and elevated something from the bad category.  I do this because this is the challenge that has caused the most strife, required the most work to get to the point I’m at now and will likely continue to be a focus point for the rest of my existence.  That is a reduced or, at times, seemingly absent sense of self.  Admittedly, there’s likely some other environmental factors at play in my case— but based on my anecdotal conversations with other ADHDers, this seems to be a common sentiment.

You see, when you spend your life feeling like that square peg being constantly forced into that round hole— you can’t help but try to bend, flex or re-shape yourself in whatever ways you can. It was clear from a very young age to anyone who knew me that I thought, talked, interacted and behaved differently than most of my peers. Thinking back to the excitable bundle of kinetic energy I was— living in a perpetual flow-state of conversation, interests, hobbies and emotion, I know how exhausting I must have been to those tasked with working with someone like me. As I grew older and more intelligent, the annoyance I caused became painfully evident— even amongst those that worked hard to hide it (most did not). Looking back, the best way I can describe this realization is to describe it as being in love with the world, and the world being completely and utterly exhausted and annoyed by that love. From a young age, I began to work hard to suppress the bits of myself I noticed stretched nerves thin, caused deep sighs or led to quick exits from my presence.

Lil Kurt, circa 1989

Not long after my first ADHD diagnosis

Over time, through adolescence and adulthood, as I grew out of or learned to harness/suppress the more obvious quirks— the annoyance became internalized. “Why is it that I just can’t seem to force myself, no matter how hard I try, to finish that assignment, complete that chore, make it to that appointment on time, stop awkwardly oversharing or do any other number of things that are required to be a functioning member of society?” Compounded by an abundance of productivity and time-management tips from well-meaning friends, family and colleagues, it eventually got to the point where I just wanted to shout at the top of my lungs “OMG, why didn’t I think of using a task list, calendar, journal or planner? Why have you guys been gatekeeping all these useful tools? All my life’s problems are solved now thanks to you!!!”.

As a result of a lifetime spent trying to change who I was in hopes of operating in the same manner as my neurotypical counterparts (muggles, as some of us in the neurodivergent world like to call them) - I slowly but surely lost bits and pieces of those unique quirks, habits and mindsets: Kurtis-isms, if you will, that made me, me.  I found myself languishing in my late thirties without a true sense of who I really was, what I truly wanted or thought I could accomplish with my life. It was a painful realization that had a profound impact on both my personal & professional life— pushing me to the precipice of losing my job, wife and perhaps the chance at a meaningful relationship with my children.

POST-CREDIT SCENE

Alright, I think we can all agree that were the film to end in that moment we’d both want our money back.  Luckily for both of us, that’s now how the story ends.  In the time between that scene fading out and today, there’s been a lot of story written.  Through therapy, medication, introspection, a ton of uncomfortable but amazingly fruitful conversations, and learning to advocate for myself; I’ve learned not only who I am - but also to accept and love that person. Through that sometimes painful, awkward and slow process, I find myself today in a job that feeds me creatively, personally, and literally (through my salary).  Through the deliberate and methodical hike through the forest of my conscious and subconscious, each step of the way learning more about and connecting with pieces of myself - I’ve been able to share more and more of who I am with my wife and children, building deeper bonds than I would ever have guessed possible prior to this journey.

Ultimately, I believe that what neurodivergent folks most need to understand is that this world was made just as much for us as it was for our neurotypical friends —that continuing to fit yourself into that round hole is not only unnecessary but also unhealthy as a long-term strategy. When you learn to accept, embrace and share those things that make you unique with the world, rather than hiding them or lamenting the challenge, you can truly begin to learn to love yourself and live the life you’re meant to live. It won’t always be easy, but I can promise you it will be far less lonely and far more fulfilling.