When I was born in 1933, neurodivergence (along with jet aircraft, the atom bomb, and plastic bags) had yet to be. If a child’s behavior did not comply with the norms of the time, as was the case for me, it resulted in punishment, not psychoanalysis.
And so I grew up thinking I was naughty, talkative, lazy, untidy, and slow. I prayed to God every night to make me “good.”A year ago, when I was 89, my psychiatrist said to me after an evaluation, “You are definitely ADHD.” In true neurodivergent style, I blurted out, “At last — I know I’m dotty.”I sought an evaluation after I learned, years prior, that ADHD could be inherited.
My son had been sent to the school psychiatrist at the age of 7 and diagnosed as hyperactive (the term ADHD did not yet exist).
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