A Bit About Me

I thought I had better write something about me, as a person, just to give a bit of background about why I am concerned about my life enough to seek help.

I am a 40 year old female, with a husband and two kids. My daughter is 13, and has generalised anxiety disorder (GAD) and was only a couple of symptoms short of an Asperger’s diagnosis. She is the quiet worrier in the family. She likes routine and the familiar, and is very young for her age. My son is 14 and has ADHD. He is the live-wire. He is sociable, intelligent, and inquisitive, and is generally mature for his age.

I don’t remember much from my early childhood. I was a tomboy, and I loved being outdoors. I also liked reading, and used it as an escape from boredom. I was a daydreamer right the way through to when the kids came along (when other things took over my thoughts!!). I always found school easy, and I loved to learn (and still do).

I have two younger brothers, and the one closest to me shows all the signs of ADHD. He was very hyperactive as a child and teen. He hated school, was terrible at school work, and dropped out as soon as he could. He has had many, many jobs, due to boredom, but has never been without one for long, as he can talk his way into and out of anything. He has been in trouble with the law for traffic offences, and has been involved in drug use. He is the accident prone one out of us all. If someone was going to hurt themselves, it would be him. And he had some inventive ways to do it!!

My father is more like me and my son – many unfinished projects, procrastination, piles of stuff everywhere, poor memory for things, very clever and curious, but absent-minded. He is also like me in that we both have anxiety issues, and so are quieter and more tentative at times than my son is. Anxiety seems to curb some of my impulses, though certainly not all.

My childhood was full of the outdoors. My hyperactive brother and I spent hours playing in the creek, often falling in. We rode our bikes everywhere, and would have competitions to see how fast we could go down the hill that we lived on. We made flying foxes using stuff stolen from Dad’s toolshed, and I remember the adrenaline rush of discovering the hard way that we had used stretchy rope by mistake (it was a rapid plunge to the ground that resulted!!). We jumped off the house roof, climbed trees, made go-carts, played with fire, and cooked (and ate) all sorts of imaginary things using plants (it’s a wonder we survived, as we had an Oleander tree in our yard until my parents discovered how poisonous they were). I was usually the one with the inventive ideas, and my brother was the one who tested them out first!!

At school I did well. I was given extension work at times, to keep me busy. However I do remember, even as far back as my primary school years, having problems with large amounts of written work (such as essays and projects). I recall mum writing out the info that I was supposed to put in my work, and then I would copy it into my book. Usually I would get sick of it and she would finish it off for me (she was amazingly good at imitating my writing). As I got older, I began to have more problems with organisation and motivation. Homework was boring, for the most part, and so was revision. Essays were often a struggle, as I found it hard to move beyond dot points and get some depth into my writing. And I was always being told off for rushing and making careless mistakes. I still did well though, as I was gifted with intelligence and a love of learning that kept me from failing miserably. But I still know I could have done so much better than I did, and I have moments when I regret that immensely.

I developed some social anxiety as I grew up. I felt that I didn’t fit in with my peers, and I think much of this started when I moved to an all-girls school, where my tomboy nature found the “make-up and clothes” focus of most girls to be alien. My intelligence was threatening, and I think my impulsive nature also meant that I said and did things I shouldn’t have without being aware of it.

My favorite subjects were in the maths and science arena. I disliked anything that involved a lot of writing, and loved practical, hands on stuff. I was one of those kids that people love to hate – I was good at nearly everything I tried, and was quick to pick up anything new. But once the novelty wore off, and the hard work began, I often gave up. I have seen the same in my son, who has tried many different sports and hobbies, and who has the same natural talent for learning and the same dislike of putting in effort 🙂

I eventually finished high school, with pretty average grades considering my potential, and was accepted into a Bachelor of Science at uni. I had applied for engineering, but wasn’t accepted due to my lower than needed marks. At uni I learnt how hard study could be. No teachers to breathe down my neck giving me reminders of assignments and tests, and lots of due dates to keep track of. I managed to pass one subject despite not handing in a major assignment, but I failed two others. By second year, I really had no direction in my life and was staying at uni for want of something else to do. Part way through the first semester, one of my lecturers told us all how many years of study she had done to get where she was, and that did me in. I quit uni there and then.

After a year away from study, and some life skills under my belt, I had learned more about myself, and about the employment arena. It made it easier to decide on a career, and I chose nursing. I planned to be a midwife or work in paediatrics, as I loved children and babies. Study had more meaning to me then, so I did much better. I still had trouble keeping track of due dates, and things were still completed in a mad, last minute rush, but I did okay. And I finally made the mental connections needed to be able to write a decent essay.  I didn’t do so well when it came to the hospital placement side of things though. I remember having no idea how to plan my day. I was completely unable to wrap my mind around it. I had never had to plan and prioritise things in that way before. But I got there in the end, and finished my degree.

I ended up getting graduate work in a rehab facility, and I am still there after 15 years. I found I enjoyed the work more than I thought I would. The patients are there longer, so I could get to know them, instead of having to cope with new patients every day, but they are not there long enough that they become “same old, same old”. There is enough routine in the job to keep me on track, without so much that I become bored. It did take me a long time to get my head into the “planning” side of the job. I think my co-workers wondered how I had ever managed to become a nurse, but my difficulties were probably blamed on the transition of nursing training from the hospitals to the universities, rather than any personal deficit of mine. Especially since I obviously knew a lot, despite my poor planning ability. And once I had found my feet, so to speak, I was fine.

I married the same year I started in my nursing job. My husband is very organised. He keeps his things tidy, and keeps track of his belongings (mostly). He manages our money, because I would fail miserably at it (I couldn’t save money or chocolate as a child!). He also files all the important paperwork – my only problem lies in losing it before I can give it to him to file 😦

The kids came fairly soon, and I found I was more organised than I had ever been, because I had to be. Kids also drove away those days when I felt edgy, bored, and irritable – I was too busy for such feelings to creep in. I loved being a mum, and I felt complete with our “pigeon pair”. My daydreams were replaced by musing on what the kids would be like as adults, and how they would go about their growing up.

While I managed to be a good mother, I fell flat as a housekeeper. My husband and I have had many an argument over the untidy state of the house, and my inability to act on things unless I am nagged constantly. There have been times when I feel lazy and useless, and I hate my lack of motivation and persistence. I have regular bouts of intense stress, due to procrastination followed by a last minute rush (and the anxiety of knowing I have an incomplete task yet to do), and as a result I have bouts of dermatitis and mouth ulcers to accompany the stress. But things get done, I have learned to live with my failings, and I enjoy my life for the most part.

So why seek help if everything’s okay?

I guess that deep down, I still feel that things aren’t quite right. I am sick of having grand plans that never come to fruition because I keep putting them off, or cannot save the money to make them happen. I hate myself for the pain I cause my husband when I forget to wish him a happy birthday or ask him about his tennis match. I fear the return of the edgy, irritable, bored feeling I used to get at times when I was home alone, because I will be alone much more often once the kids grow up. And if I don’t make some changes, I worry that I won’t be able to bridge the differences between my husband and I once the kids are no longer at home. Anything can be overcome in a new marriage, but it takes more work as the novelty wears off. And I don’t know if I have the persistence and motivation to do so.