The Moment I Knew I Had ADHD

Like Alice, down the rabbit hole I went

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Hey, friends! I am sharing a bonus column for paid subscribers today. This is an excerpt from my memoir; I am nearing the end of my book proposal after finishing the first draft of my manuscript in March, and it’s been surprisingly satisfying to re-read the entire book after stepping back for several months.

To thank my readers for their support, I am offering a $30/annual paid subscription option this summer. I’ve shared a handful of bonus columns for paid subscribers, including this one today, which is a chapter in my memoir titled, “The Last Piece of the Puzzle.” And oh! I added a tab to my menu called “Events and Courses” where you can stay updated on shows I’m producing or performing in, small writing groups I’m facilitating, and workshops I’m leading. Check it out here!

If you aren’t a paid subscriber and you’d like to read the remainder of this column, you can upgrade to a paid subscription below; please message me if finances are a hardship and you’d like to receive bonus content at steph.iz @ hotmail.com

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The Last Piece of the Puzzle

“Don’t forget Mom’s present,” my brother texted me. I smugly acknowledged to myself the victory of having already placed the wrapped box in the “shit to take to Brian’s house” tub by the door to the garage. “Actually, presents,” he corrected. “Victor just reminded me that there are two gifts.” 

The flash of panic and shame hit me head on. Fuck. When I opened the small box prior to wrapping it, the necklace nestled within had jogged my memory of what we’d purchased for her, nine months earlier during a weekend in Santa Fe. I felt the niggling sensation that a scarf had been part of it, but that was the only box I saw in my closet. I’d been so proud of myself for texting my brother right after our trip that I’d placed the gift bag on the bottom shelf of my closet, far right side. ADHD had been on my radar for a while by then, but just a little whisper of an idea that popped up from time to time and then retreated back into the chaotic, murky shadows of my brain. 

I was so proud of myself for remembering where the gift was, wrapping it, placing it by the door. But my confidence was clearly misplaced, along with the second gift. Of course I had fucked it up. My closet was a disaster that I kept pretending didn’t exist, along with the crawl space, downstairs bedroom, linen closet. . . the list went on. The expensive scarf that I’d lost was just one more tick in the ongoing tally of my failures.