The Two Words That Never Work

On running out of words, and the person who learned to read the silence.

“Calm down” are the two words most guaranteed to make me lose my mind.

Not because I’m being difficult. Not because I’m performing. Because when my ADHD is redlining and someone says calm down, it’s like throwing a bucket of gasoline on a fire and being surprised when things get worse.

I’ve been called dramatic my whole life. And honestly, fair.

There’s a gay dramatic flair I’ve fully embraced and can turn on like a light switch when the moment calls for it. That version of dramatic is a choice. It’s fun. It belongs to me.

But there’s another kind.

The kind where I’m not performing anything. Where my brain is just... full. Overloaded. Where the noise inside my head has gotten so loud I can’t find the exit.

That’s not drama. That’s just ADHD doing what ADHD does.

And for most of my life, I didn’t have a way to say that out loud before it was already too late.

Know someone who gets it without being told? Send this their way.

A Joke That Became Something Real

My husband Cade and I were somewhere in the middle of a very long travel day when we stumbled onto the solution entirely by accident.

We were being ridiculous with each other the way you get when you’re too tired to be serious.

Cade, being caddish in the best possible way, brought up Queen Elizabeth… how she used to move her handbag from one arm to the other as a signal to her staff that she was ready to leave a situation.

Discreet. Elegant. Completely understood by the people who needed to understand it.

We laughed. And then we thought: wait.

What if I had something like that?

I went down a rabbit hole of famous signals. The kind you only fall into when you're exhausted and slightly punchy. Googling famous secret gestures used by historical figures. Looking for something cheeky.

Something that felt like us. A little theatrical. Nothing that would read as distress to a stranger in the room.

What I landed on was simple. I rest my chin in my hand, two fingers along my cheek. The Thinker. When Cade catches it, I tap my cheek twice.

That’s it. That’s the whole system.

We started using it almost immediately, half joking at first. But something happened that I didn’t expect.

It felt like relief.

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What It Actually Means

When I tap my cheek, I’m not saying I’m broken. I’m not saying fix this. I’m saying: I’m approaching my limit, and I trust you to help me before I get there.

It means different things depending on where we are.

In a group conversation where three people are talking at once and I’ve lost the thread entirely, it means: take over. I’ll just nod and breathe.

In a restaurant where the menu has somehow become an unsolvable problem, it means: give me two choices and let me pick one.

When someone has cornered me in a conversation my brain has completely checked out of, it means: I need an exit. Create one.

When we’re navigating a transition, packing up, moving on, figuring out the next step, and the sequence of tasks has collapsed into one big wall of overwhelming, it means: just tell me the one next thing to do.

And at home, when I feel a sharp response rising that has nothing to do with Cade and everything to do with the fact that my brain is already full, it means: I’m not mad at you. I’m at capacity. Give me five minutes.

That last one might be the most important use of all.

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The Part That Surprised Me

I’ve spent a long time feeling like I owe people an explanation when my ADHD gets loud.

Like I need to justify why I’m struggling with something that looks simple from the outside.

Like if I don’t explain fast enough, I become the difficult one. The dramatic one.

The signal changed that.

I don’t have to find the words when I don’t have the words.

I don’t have to manage how I look while also managing what’s happening inside my head. I don’t have to perform okayness for the room while quietly drowning.

I just put my chin in my hand. And the person who knows me best does the rest.

That’s not a small thing.

For anyone who has ever felt like too much, like you’re asking for too much, explaining too much, needing too much, having one person who just gets it without the explanation is everything.

You don’t need a diagnosis for that feeling. You just need someone paying attention.

—R. Michael

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