Kara S. Anderson

Homeschool connection, not perfection.

ADHD: There’s just one kind now, but not really

by Kara S. Anderson Leave a Comment

I mentioned in the first post of this series (yes – I’ve decided to write a whole series and maybe even a book about ADHD and homeschooling! I’m back, baby!), that I was initially operating under some kind of outdated info about ADHD.

For one thing, when I first started trying to find a doctor to diagnose ADHD, I kept referring to it as “ADD or ADHD.”

I would then add a high pitched question mark to the end.

“Hi, um, I’m just wondering if you have a list of doctors you recommend who treat ADD or ADHD or … um …” I would trail off, asking folks at the college where my son was taking dual enrollment classes for help, with all the confidence of a featherless, newborn sparrow.

He was doing really well, but he suspected ADHD, and so our thought was it would be good to find out for sure sooner rather than later in case he could benefit from some accommodations*.

Surprise – There’s Just One Kind of ADHD Now – Kind Of!

ADHD History in Brief: Part I

So I was surprised to learn that the term ADD – Attention Deficit Disorder – is dead.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (known as the DSM), first listed what we know now as ADHD in 1968, but details have changed a few times.

If you’re my age, you may remember people throwing around the term “ADD,” to describe children, primarily boys, who had a hard time focusing in school.

As early as 1980, an updated DSM included a listing for ADHD – Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder – and ooh controversy – those goofballs decided to drop plain ol’ ADD.

But you know how these things go. We all still threw around “ADD” to mean not only kids who had high energy, but people who forgot things or had had too much Jolt Cola.

“Ugh Becky, she is SO ADD.”

“I know, Becky. Ugh.”

(This is a from a short play I wrote called Beckies. This is a scene where two Beckies use the term ADD to describe how another Becky had the nerve to forget in which locker at the roller rink she had stored her Liz Claiborne purse.)

(It’s better live. Like Hamilton.)

ADHD History in Brief: Part II

Then, in 1994 – the year of the Lillehammer Winter Olympics and the year the World Wide Web was born, those DSM jokesters were like: Wait.

(Fun fact: Actually, 1,000 people worked on the DSM 4 for 6 years!)

Anyhoo, they said – WAIT. OK, we’ve got it.

We shall call it ADHD.

BUT … there are different flavors!

(They called them “sub-types.”)

  • Predominantly Inattentive
  • Predominantly Hyperactive-Impulsive
  • And Combined

OK. Good work, team.

ADHD History in Brief: Part III

And then, the DSM 5 came out in 2013, and they were like – can you believe those tools who worked on the DSM 4 called kinds of ADHD “types?” Punks!

Let’s call them “presentations!,” said Dr. Carol Carolson, and the crowd went wild.

They just collectively lost their shit.

Everyone on the ADHD team bought Dr. Carol shots that night, and Carol will forever be remembered for her presentation on presentations.

(She used Power Point, mainly Helvetica font.)

So … wait? Huh?

So the take-aways here are:

  1. There is no ADD anymore. It doesn’t exist. It left right around the time that Post-It Notes** became a thing!
  2. There is just ADHD, but there are three ways it PRESENTS – #thanksCarol

The three presentations are:

  • Predominantly Inattentive
  • Predominantly Hyperactive-Impulsive
  • And Combined

So no – you DO NOT HAVE ADD.

But you very well could have ADHD even if you … I don’t know …

  • Were a good student
  • Are a great employee
  • Are a generally ‘successful’ person
  • Want to go to bed at 4 p.m.

OK, Well … Then How Come No One Has Ever Brought This Up?

First, a lot of ADHD goes undiagnosed for a long time.

Second, I want to talk about girls and women and how ADHD tends to present differently in us.

So for background:

I was diagnosed at 45 years old, and before I found out I had ADHD, I thought maybe I was dealing with Long Covid or early dementia or really scary peri-menopause symptoms or something else, because suddenly, I could no longer remember which key went into which lock at our house.

I was a little terrified.

In fact as I sat across from the doctor to go over my test results, I said, “I’m actually really hoping it’s ADHD because I’m scared of what else it could be,” and she kindly said, “OK, then I’m not going to make you wait – it’s ADHD.”

And I started crying because I had been holding a lot in for months/45 years.

And for now, that’s where I’m going to step away again, because I want to talk about how a person (statistically more frequently a female person) could go undiagnosed with ADHD for decades.

It’s both fascinating and some hot B.S., I’ll tell you that much.

See you soon.

ADHD Series

Post 1: So … We All Have ADHD

NOTES:

*Accommodations – the more we talk about ADHD, the more I’ll use this word. Don’t stress about accommodations for now if you suspect your child has ADHD. I’ll explain more soon.

** Post-It Notes: I was recently on a call where we talked about how important it is to buy quality sticky notes, and why Post-Its really are better because they stick the perfect amount.

But, I do want these.

Also, I will tell you soon about my obsession with transparent sticky notes, and how I’ve been using them to maintain a version of a kanban board on my office door because I am being treated for ADHD and I have so many new tools!

I have so much to tell you!!!!

Back soon! 😘

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

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So 
 We all have AHDH

by Kara S. Anderson 10 Comments

It’s been a while, so let’s start by addressing the elephant in the room: I cut my hair.

That was a year ago now, right after my son’s graduation party, and around the time that I closed down my blog and ran away from social media. Still, I see people and the first thing they say is, “You cut your hair,” and I want to respond: “Yup, and that’s just what you can see, sister.”

This past year has been full of more change than my car ashtray. 

Where Are They Now?

To keep this brief – my oldest, 19, went away to college. My youngest, now 16, started dual enrollment at community college. That sort of marked my retirement as a homeschool mom, but only like 85-87 percent.

I have stayed off of social media, and I don’t miss it. I do miss YOU terribly. All of you who let me spew my feelings into this space for years, and each of you who made me feel like maybe my goof-ups and insecurities had some meaning.

I would tell you about what I thought was some great homeschool failing, and you were there, saying, “YUP. It’s OK.”

And then I grew a little and I was telling you, “Yup. It’s OK,” and then before I knew it, my oldest was moving into an apartment.

He owns a microwave and 50 percent of a rug that he bought with his roommate.

He was accepted into his major of choice (it’s a thing at his school – they are a little fancy-pants đŸŽ© about some things, but I will tell you that his dorm bathroom last year was DISGUSTING), and so one more time for the folks in the back:

Yes, messy, imperfect homeschooling works, if your goal is to make sure your kids can keep going, even when they are 180 miles away. 

(This is the furthest I have personally been able to test this, but I know A LOT of homeschoolers, and their kids are growing beards and becoming people who SAVE LIVES, and traveling to Argentina and otherwise #followingtheirdreams.)

And I know their mamas, and I know they were scared too. Frequently. 

Just like us!

Loving Learning – That Worked Out Well 👍

I’ll also tell you about some feedback my daughter got from her professors after her first semester. They both commented on her enthusiasm for learning.

So this amazing person who used to insist on wearing rainbow dresses and tights and 14 barrettes and 3 ponytails and often went to the grocery store with me dressed as a cheetah with eyeliner drawn-on whiskers, nose and “cat freckles,” was learning not just philosophy and history – she was learning note-taking and how to write papers and how to take tests and about 800 other life skills, and still, both of her professors noted that she seemed to be enjoying it.

You would have thought that THAT finally would be enough for me to walk away like a blackjack dealer, flipping my hands, effectively saying, “Look how done I am with The Worrying.”

Except for one pesky thing.

Last year we found out that all three of us have ADHD.

Yup, All Three of Us (and probably one of our cats) Have ADHD

It went like this:

My son suspected he had ADHD. He is the boy who wouldn’t sit on the line. And when he started dual enrollment classes in person (he initially took classes remotely when the school was shut-down early-pandemic) he started to notice a few things.

Sometimes, it felt hard to focus. Sometimes, the ticking clock made him a little antsy.

He was 17 by this point, and he could sit still, but sometimes his brain was filled with possible song lyrics or the teacher seemed to be talking 
 very 
 slowly 


There were other things, and so I talked to the college department that handles accommodations for stuff like ADHD.

(Younger me flipped out that even our local community college has a whole DEPARTMENT set up for kids with learning differences, anxiety, depression, physical limitations, etc.)

>>If I would have known this earlier, it would have made a lot of difference, so I’m telling you now.<<

Getting Diagnosed

The person I spoke with at the college gave me a list of names of doctors who diagnose ADHD. We found one covered by our insurance!

It was meant to be! We made an appointment, and my son met with the doctor, and came out an hour later. 

“Yes, it seems like ADHD,” Dr. Schmoctor said.

Huh, I thought. I feel like there should be a way to know 


So I called the school and explained that the doctor said “it seemed like ADHD,” and they dug a little and found out he was a doctor of ministry. Maybe the Focus on the Family magazines in the waiting room should have alerted me to this, but I’d brought a book.

“Our list may be a little outdated,” the nice person from the school said.

My son explained that the doctor (of ministry) had given him his “seems like” diagnosis by asking my son a series of 7 questions in a book including, “do you ever misplace things?” and “do you ever have a hard time keeping things tidy?”

I joked then that by those standards, all of us had ADHD, especially our cat Pablo.

(Don’t buy that book it’s crap, is what I’m saying.)

Still Getting Diagnosed

And so we began an exhaustive search for someone who could actually diagnose ADHD, and who was covered by insurance or at least affordable. We found a nearby university that does testing starting at $1,200, and I made the appointment.

But I continued searching, (this was my summer), and eventually found someone local, more affordable, and with medical degrees and testing practices that are acknowledged by the AMA and therefore schools.

(I respect the man with the degree in ministry. I feel a little skeptical about the book he uses to diagnose “Seems-Like ADHD.” If anything, I think he was still operating under the early 2000s stereotypes of ADHD – just like I was. [More on that in this second post in this series.])

The point is my son ended up taking a number of tests, including the Tova, and was officially diagnosed with ADHD.

And all this time, I was getting my learn on.

Researching Like a Library Ninja

If you’ve seen that meme about worried moms being able to research like they’re in the CIA, worried homeschool moms are the same, except they know how to use the library super well, and have been learning about, collecting, processing and distilling random information for so long, we’re like if James Bond, Sherlock Holmes and Adrian Monk had a kid and that kid had a COLLECTION of clipboards, notebooks, colorful pens, sticky notes and rolly carts.

So ping, ping, ping – of course my daughter probably had ADHD, and we should get her tested too.

And then when she was diagnosed, the doctor looked at me, folding her little hands together – serious, but kind – and said:

“Well. This all comes from somewhere.”

And that is where I will leave you for now, friend. The three of us have ADHD, and I have a lot I finally want to share about that.

Soon 


Next up:

ADHD – There’s just one kind now, but not really

Image by Mystic Art Design from Pixabay

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It’s not Perfection, it’s Indiana Jones

by Kara S. Anderson

Over the weekend, I made a big announcement: I’ve decided to close my shop here at karasanderson.com.

I know the whole shop closing probably forever thing may have been a little unexpected.

And beyond closing my shop, I’m making some other big changes as well. I’m going to put my blog and social media on hiatus soon too.

(The plan right now is that my blog posts will remain available, but any free downloads on posts might not be available because I’m pausing my email service.)

***

As many of you know, my son started college in September. You don’t know that my daughter has grown up so much in the past couple of months – driving, getting her braces off, getting a job, plus she has big plans to start dual enrollment classes in January.

And so things here are changing drastically.

For a while, I was telling people life felt like that game Perfection. Do you remember? You had 60 seconds to get all the pieces into place or the game would “pop,” and you had to start over. (Dear Lord, they still make it.)

Sidenote: I feel like this game is at least partially responsible for the perfectionism and anxiety I have dealt with since I was 6.

***

But recently I was doing a speaking thing, and realized it’s not the game Perfection – it’s that scene from the third Indiana Jones movie:

Indy is rushing through a series of secret rituals in hopes of retrieving the holy grail, a cup that can be filled with water. One drink grants eternal life, and in this case, the grail will also save Indy’s father, who has been shot.

Indy has to make a literal leap of faith, and when he does, the path appears.

***

And so THAT is really more what it’s like, friends. I don’t have to put all the pieces in place. I just need to have faith and take the next step.

I will tell you since beginning this process, I have felt so much lighter. I don’t necessarily see a path ahead, but I feel it. And for now, that’s enough.

My whole deal – writing, podcasting, my book – they’re all about homeschooling with you. I’ve never been an expert offering advice. I’ve always felt more like a big sister – sharing the raw truth with you, and trying to remind you to be kinder to yourself, more patient, gentler …

***

Right now, I need those things.

I need slow.

I need to knit, and read, and drink tea and yes, write, but maybe not for public consumption just yet.

***

So please know, that as I find my way, I will miss you.

A few people have said “Kara, maybe THIS is the next step – maybe you help mamas navigate what to do as their children grow up and move on.”

And maybe. Maybe at some point.

But it’s all so raw and new – it would feel like serving you cruditĂ© instead of a lovingly slow-cooked, nourishing vegetable soup.

It would be fine, but you’d be hungry again in a half-hour.

***

That said, I’ll share a few things that are helping me:

In fact, during that speaking thing last week, the host asked where people could find me and I answered “therapy.”

It’s true. Therapy is a tremendous help.

And you know what my therapist asks me every session …

She asks what I am doing for self-care.

Self-care is a big deal to me, because I didn’t think I had time for it for a long time, but what was really going on was that I didn’t think I was worthy of it and also, I thought that to be a good mom, I had to give my kids every ounce of me.

That is not the recipe.

The actual recipe should go more like, give your kids some of you and then take REALLY good care of yourself so you can wake up tomorrow and have something more to give.

I’ve written a lot about self-care over the years, mostly because I’ve been trying to figure it out.

It isn’t easy. It’s a practice.

***

 

Which brings me back to perfection … the life-choking trait, not the game.

A long time ago now, I changed my tagline on this blog to “Connection, Not Perfection.”

And here I am, seemingly disconnecting.

What the heck, Kara?

So let me tell you this: This is the part of the movie where the hero (YOU!) realizes that she has had everything she needed inside her this whole time. The other character, let’s call her Dumbledore, was just there as a guide for a while.

And it still stands – what I hope for you and your family is connection, not perfection.

Friends, let connection be the lighthouse you seek when the seas get rough, and you’re not sure how to get home again.

I can’t tell you if I’ll be back, or when, but I can tell you – it’s never been about perfection, Dear Heart.

It’s about courage and showing up and continuing to show up, and connecting and reconnecting, and then knowing when it’s time to let go.

So much love to you,

Kara

P.S. A lot of you have asked about my book. It’s not going anywhere. You can still grab it in paperback, ebook or audio.

In fact, play this if you need a little hug:

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The hard part of homeschooling isn’t really the “school”

by Kara S. Anderson

I know this sounds a bit controversial, so roll with me.

Right now, we’re heading into our 14th year of homeschooling. My son is 17, and although we haven’t had a cap and gown ceremony or party (I should get on that), I’m not really “homeschooling” him anymore. Instead, he’s taking college classes and working one-on-one with a Japanese tutor.

My daughter is 14, and we’re heading into high school, so I am still neck-deep in homeschooling.

And I feel confident to say that after years of various ups and downs, starts and restarts, bummer curriculum and stuff that has made it for the long-haul, the actual teaching/learning isn’t the hardest part.

I think these are the things that make homeschooling really hard:

Expectations

Expectations are a killer, whether they are your own or someone else’s; whether they are on you or your kids.

If you ever find yourself feeling like you are “drowning,” most likely you’re actually drowning not in work, but in expectations.

These are the supposed tos and shoulds that creep up on us.

A friend recently told me that she just doesn’t love outdoors stuff and it was so freeing I wanted to cry.

I’ve wanted for years to be an outdoorsy mom – hiking and camping, and taking my kids on awesome nature walks.

But two things always got in the way:

  1. I don’t actually know a lot about nature.
  2. I don’t really enjoy being in nature a lot of the time.

I’m allergic to bee stings – I’m allergic to a lot of nature, actually.

I hate being hot. Or cold.

I get lost super easily.

All of these things make nature walks a little scary and overwhelming.

Still, when my kids were young, I forced myself to do them.

I just wish now that I would have considered other ways – teaming up with a crew – maybe especially another mom who knew more about nature and would also be there if I got attacked by bees or got us lost.

My kids did lots of nature camps, and did nature study with an awesome naturalist who was part of our old co-op.

I wish I could have let that be enough instead of feeling constant guilt and failure about not being “better” at nature.

Comparison

Instagram is the living worst. It used to be Pinterest that made me feel bad, but now, when I start to get overwhelmed, one of the first things I do is take Instagram off my phone.

I always put it back on, because I also somehow love it? but the exposure to ALL of the ideas can make us feel like everyone but us is “doing it all.”

Theodore Roosevelt said comparison is the thief of joy, right before he hopped off the moose he was riding and wrestled a bear and then made that bear his best friend.

Only part of that is true, but my point is, he did things his own way and was successful.

Teddy would have loved nothing more than to punch Mark Zuckerberg in the neck for thinking up social media without considering social consequences.

Fear

A few nights ago, I dreamt that I was at my own birthday party, but I was wearing all kinds of sentimental jewelry and I kept losing track of pieces of it.

So I couldn’t enjoy the insane blow-out party, where I was surrounded by friends and karaoke and cake.

When we worry, it distracts us.

It takes our focus away from what matters most, which is our kids and their overall health and happiness.

We were never meant to be teachers first.

If we wanted our kids to have teachers who cared most about our kids learning just like their peers, we would have sent them to school.

This is not to insult teachers – they work hard and receive specialized training and serve a huge, valuable purpose. I’m just saying, that isn’t our role.

None of that was ever ours to carry.

Guilt

I’ve started to believe that we can get through most things if we can deal with the guilt and shame surrounding those things.

It’s not the mistakes that get us – it’s the guilt and shame over the mistakes. It’s picking a math curriculum that makes our kids cry, and still trying to force it and then later seeing how much harm it did and not being able to let that part go.

I can’t tell you how many mistakes and missteps have made up the last 14 years.

(That last 44, really. Once, as a baby, I slept on my ear wrong and it got folded over and stuck like a Spock ear and my mom, a registered nurse, called our pediatrician sobbing because she was convinced it was going to stay like that. Sorry Mom.).

When we hold on to guilt, we get stuck in the mistake. Like some kind of emotional quicksand. The harder to try to “fix,” the deeper in we get until we’re up to our heads, still trying to justify and explain.

Let the mistakes go, friends. Give them not just wings, but a ride to the airport.

Worry Over Enough

I named my book accidentally. I started writing and stuff came out, and part of what came out was a title, “More Than Enough.”

Because I desperately wanted homeschool parents to know that they were enough. That their family was enough, even if their family doesn’t look like the little Instagram squares that get a billion likes.

I wanted parents to be able to stop wasting their precious time with their kids feeling less than.

This became the whole theme of my book, of course (and shameless plug – it’s now available on Amazon!), but I want to remind you here too – worrying that you are somehow not enough to do this right is nonsense.

No one cares about your kids more than you do.

I have seen it time and again – in every DM, in every email, at every conference where I speak – the parents who worry are the ones getting it right because sadly, the way our love comes out sometimes is worry.

What can we do about that? Maybe I’ll let you know in another 14 years.

Trying to do life too

Where do I begin?

I guess I’ll say this: if all we had to do in a given day was homeschool, it would feel like a Sandals vacation.

But someone has to cook, and clean and do laundry, and take care of pets and cars and broken appliances and plumbing and drop off a casserole and take a sick parent to the doctor and also do our own eyebrows and work-out, preferably before lunch because this afternoon is PACKED.

You’re a damn treasure and we should all get summers off of everything, just so we can sleep.

Re-imagine …

I just want you to open up to the idea that the hardest parts of homeschooling really come from our mindset.

  • It’s trying to force what isn’t working.
  • It’s comparing our amazing, goofy families to how we imagine other families to be.
  • It’s trying to make homeschooling about school first.

Homeschooling is about not being in school; not trying to replicate school. It’s finding freedom outside of a building where someone made up rules a long time ago.

Homeschooling can be HARD. For so many reasons.

But we can release some pressure by not trying to do it the way someone else wants us to, by not comparing to others, by not letting the fear take over, by not getting hung up on missteps and by stopping the worry that we aren’t enough.

OF COURSE you’re enough.

For crying out loud, you’ve read this far.

Let’s practice the beautiful art of letting go of something we never needed in the first place. đŸ€

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