The Burden of Lists

I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was four. That was 26 years ago. A have a very close family member (name and title withheld) who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Another very close family member enables this person’s crap. Not cool. Not cool at all.

When I first had A1, I was told to put her on a schedule, and I did. As with most new moms (and some veteran moms!), my own schedule went out the window. I have completely lost sight of certain things now that A2 is here. Sweet Brown’s famous one-liner is now my motto: “Ain’t nobody got time fo’ that!” This is because Mama J feels like she ain’t got time fo’ anythang,

Back to the origin of the post—lists. I’ll make this succinct.

When I lived with my parents, my mother, a former SAHM, was Grand Master Listmaker. This is fine, if you’re a neurotypical (NT) or don’t have anxiety, which makes everything overwhelming. I also have documented (while I was still in school and a part of the special education system) math disability. Multi-step problems, like algebra or those dumb ass story problems about Jimmy being nine years older than Bob, who is 6 years older than Tommy, then how old is Dick? problems make my brain shut down.

This is partially true with the myriad of thoughts in my head. When I put them on a list, I feel relegated to the stupid thing. It is bad if I don’t finish them. I have failed. &c. This certain family member made me feel like a failure for being unorganized (no, it’s not my mom). “Organization is the key”, “Failing to plan is planning to fail”, “I’m not always right, but I’m never wrong” are the mantras this person fed me. This is incredibly damaging to children. This is why I have fits of rage when I have anxiety attacks sometimes.

So, yes. I hate lists, and I think writing them sucks. Why am I discussing this topic? Because it’s practically necessary that I make lists of other things I must do, aside from child care, to fulfill my duties.

In addition to dealing with ADHD, anxiety, depression, and social anxiety (<——not as much as in the past), I have postpartum depression. PPD is a hellhole. I've had certain people who've kicked me when I've down, and one of them (who is only related to me by marriage) tell Daddy J, "You'd better hope your wife doesn't get PPD." (She also was diagnosed, by the way. Isn't she special?)

It gets easier with time. It is hard to have people who may know me on here who will now know this. I always hope, in many circumstances, that I am not judged in real life. ND problems—they are awesome.

I am going to write a dreaded, yet scary list that I will try to follow. Everything is fine, everything is fine, everything is fine….

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