One of the things I am learning to manage is the sensory input around kids. I teach all day, and even though my position is ideal, it is still a lot.
Children are loud. Some are very loud.
Then I come home to more noise. The washing machine. My 5-year-old’s little Legos are scraping on the chair as he plays with them. My 11-year-old screams, singing another super catchy, KPop Demon Hunters song. My husband is whistling and watching a video on his iPad.
I know I can manage the noise; I can go to my room and put the pillow over my head. But for the days when everything feels extra hard for my AuDHD brain, removing myself from my life welcomes an interesting sort of grief.
The loudness of the world around me will go away, this I know. So I manage it like the pain I managed from contractions when giving birth. I take deep breaths and know that I can do anything 10 seconds at a time.
But what I am still learning how to manage is the frustration I feel with myself for not being able to live my life with joy and ease.
When everything is too loud, I am reminded that I can’t handle it…and therefore, there must be something wrong with me.
That is the story I am trying to rewrite. Actively and painfully trying to rewrite.
When everything is too loud, I have to tell myself that it is okay to be sad and disappointed. That life would be easier if I didn’t mind all the noise. But that doesn’t make me wrong in any way. It simply makes me different.
The washing machine is still going. The legos have been moved to the kitchen. The singing is still happening, just not so loud anymore. The whistling has stopped, and so has the video.
And that voice in my head that tells me I’m wrong is slowly quieting down, too.