When your brain is constantly getting pummeled
with information, memories and thoughts every minute of every day, the outside world can feel overwhelming.
Outside the comfort of home or whatever space we’ve created for ourselves, even the tiniest thing thrown at us can create an overload, or even cause a shutdown.
Traveling and staying in hotels are a couple of examples. A biggie for me is moving.
My husband and I move a lot.
Like every few years. And he’s learned what happens to me every time. I wouldn’t say he’s prepared for it. I’m not sure anyone could be.
He does what he can to be supportive. He really does. But I’m the only one who can make it better, because how could someone else know what I need?
It even took me a long time to understand why all this happens. Getting my ADHD diagnosis helped.
From the time everything gets packed into boxes, until they are unpacked and placed in just the right location, this panic sets in.
It’s not just me feeling out of sorts. I become beyond unpleasant. Ok, I’ll admit it. I turn into a full-on bitch.
The poor guy can’t ask a simple question to get a simple answer. Instead, it’s like he just said the rudest thing imaginable to me and unleashed a beast with a tongue made of razors.
Outsiders probably think a domestic disturbance is about to unravel. Innocent bystanders duck behind the closest large object or cover their faces to protect themselves from flying objects.
This last move to Australia was the worst it’s ever been.
He was thousands of miles away finishing up work in Florida, but he didn’t escape the meltdowns by phone and WhatsApp messages.
It didn’t help that on top of me feeling completely lost for six weeks, our dog Chase, who had to go into quarantine for ten days, was going through his own personal hell.
Life feels more chaotic for me than it does for others. It’s not something I have much control over. But over the years I have made small changes to how I do things without realizing why. For example, I’m intentional about where I place certain things, and protective when it comes to ensuring they don’t get moved.
Like where I leave my keys and sunglasses. How my cupboards are organized. Two baskets of laundry, one for lights, the other for darks.
For me, it creates stability.
Because when external stuff gets added to the chaos already happening on the inside, the simple act of losing my keys, or the olive oil being moved, or my husband not putting his dirty underwear in the right place can turn me into an ogre.
Not a cute Shrek-like ogre. This ogre is mean and ugly and lives somewhere much scarier.
It’s not because I’m not a nice person, I really am.
But in that moment, I’m overwhelmed. I don’t know how to process the amount of information coming from every direction. I also don’t have the same control over my emotions as a neurotypical person.
That’s why I’ve learned, and my husband knows, that the things that I rely on to get me through my day need to have a place. He doesn’t move them, or at least not without letting me know.
So every time we move, I go to work curating a safe space. The way I store my clothes and organize the kitchen or where the phone charger goes isn’t just about what looks best. It has to make sense for my brain, or be a visual cue of sorts.
Once it’s done, I don’t wake up anxious. No more clenching my jaw.
And most importantly, I start acting like me again.
—R. Michael
Your neurodivergence isn't who you are, but it's part of everything you are, and finding out doesn't make the shame disappear.
Unmasked is about going back through those moments and seeing them in a new light. By reconciling with our past and moving on.
From the Archive
