For Those Who Live on the Moon

If I were to give myself a label, understanding that I'm not one really into labels, I'd have a great big ADHD stamped on my forehead. Not because I'm a tired mom who is running her own business and gets scattered, or because I have too much to juggle and drop balls occasionally. But because it's the truth.

I am not officially diagnosed with this challenge, yet I'm pretty sure this is something I've been dealing with not just as a harried adult, but for my entire life. Out of utter frustration one day a couple of years ago, I read a book called Scattered Minds by Gabor Mate, and nearly wept with the compassionate way he talked about what felt like my life and my perspective.

I have attempted to go see someone about this. Several times. Not that I think I have an illness or need fixing, but finding creative ways to overcome the "twice as much effort for half the result" mode of being would be lovely. But this is how the phone call inevitably goes: First of all, I despise talking on the phone. Calling people I don't know, unless it's a new client, is anxiety provoking for me. I often lose the numbers, mess them up because I can't remember one number to the next while I'm dialing and lose my place, or just plain hate having to take the time to do it. So it takes a lot of frustration to motivate me to make those phone calls. And the calls inevitably sound like this: "Hi, I'm Lesley, I'd like to make an appointment for testing. Oh, I need to take down a number? Wait, I'll have to find something to write with. Ummmm, sorry, hold on, I know I have something somewhere. Okay, found a pencil. Hang on a sec, now I need some paper...{desperately searching for some semblance of paper}. Okay, found some {locating a napkin smeared with bacon grease the dog took out of the garbage a couple days ago and I only just noticed it on the floor, and finding the worn down pencil doesn't work well on this}." By this point, I am SO down on myself and feel so hopeless that I pretend to take down the number to stop bothering the nice lady on the other end and agree to call that other number she's given me. Which I never do, because I'm too scattered to even get to an ADHD test. To be fair, the WRONG approach to helping someone get tested for ADHD is to make the poor Joe on the other end of the line have to take down another number. Those who are focused and organized cannot even fathom why this may be hard, but you'll just have to trust that the mental effort it took to make the initial phone call in the first place was monumental. It needs to be as easy as possible. It's like asking the colour blind person to push the red button, not the green one, when they want to enter the testing office. And whatever, even if I WERE told "You have a raging case of the hypers!" what is it going to change? I will not go on drugs for anything. I don't want to hear convincing, I simply won't do it. I know all the yeast remedies, herbal support, parasite expulsions, anti-inflammatory diets and stuff to go on. But those things are implemented by the organized and motivated, neither of which I am.

As a child, I lived on the moon. I would often "come to" and wonder what everyone else was doing with their school work in class. Sometimes it was a test that had begun and I didn't know because I had been so deeply into my own thoughts or immersed in the workings of a blowing leaf on the tree outside the window that I'd miss the instructions entirely. I simply could not pay attention to what bored me, or to what was spoken while my mind was engaged elsewhere. To this day, if someone is trying to communicate simple directions or instructions to me, you can bet I'm like Homer Simpson watching Barney dancing around in his mind wearing a bikini. The thought of the consequences of zoning out in school didn't even phase me. I'd just do my lunchtime detentions for not having my homework done, or scribble through the art projects really fast (even though my art teacher would yell at me for my abysmal work) so I could go back to my fantasies of living like one of the girls from Little House on the Prairie. I was always told, "you're not on the ball," or "you're such a slob," or be ostracized for what seemed to be an incredible lack of social awareness. I put my foot in my mouth all the time trying to connect with people by being funny, but it often backfired and I'd come off as sounding rude or insensitive. Especially as a teen, I was pretty much viewed as socially inappropriate. All my life I felt like I was missing some crucial thing that everyone else seemed to get. I couldn't understand why all my friends "got it" and were able to manage their lives and schooling and relationships well, but I was always struggling because I never felt like anything applied to me.

I would often be so deep in thought that I'd be resentful of the neighbourhood kid who would try to befriend me by saying, "hey, I'll walk to school with you!" I'd get really mad at her and tell her off thinking to myself, "How DARE you assume to just walk with me while in my head I am SO BUSY?!" My mom was smart, ensuring I channeled my excess physical energy into countless hours of gymnastic practice, dancing, skating, diving, swimming, biking, etc. I was a very active kid. As soon as I stopped being a non-stop kid, I took up smoking as it seemed to be the only way to calm and channel the extra energy. Apparently smoking is something those like me are very prone to do. I quit years ago and replaced it again with a lot of physical activity. But if you pay attention closely, I'm never quite still. Part of me will always be fidgeting on a small scale, but you may never notice as I'm aware of how to do it in ways not to drive people nuts, as it used to drive my family crazy (I'd knock stuff over).

I remember sleeping through the night less than five times in my entire life (not including infancy). I have insomnia of the craziest kind and have learned to function on very few hours of light, disturbed sleep. This is why I'm okay as a doula. I can handle a few nights up, because it's not much different from my every day reality.

When I first started living on my own, the state of my home was like something you'd see in those hoarders tv shows. I simply didn't have the tools to organize. It's not that nobody modeled those things for me or tried to teach me well. My mom runs a great home and was always there when I was a kid. I just simply never picked up what others do to manage their stuff and their time.

When I read Scattered Minds, I was flooded with relief. "So I'm not stupid and just faking my way through?", "So I'm not secretly a total lazy oaf?", "So I'm not crazy?" Phew, thank goodness! I learned that my wiring was not actually faulty, just different, and that there were many people like me. It was interesting too, that there seemed to be a family profile that nourished this kind of wiring and that there were also physical symptoms. Alcoholism in my family of origin? Check. People who have suffered depression and bipolar issues? Check. A mother who had endured an unusual amount of stress during my early years? Check. Did I have IBS and other digestive issues? Check (all my life). Did I suffer from a lot of childhood anxiety? Check (to the point of being obsessive compulsive and feeling the need to count every breath and swallow I took in sets of five so as to protect myself from dying).

My interesting wiring affects many aspects of my life, yet I don't take it to heart as much. I can be endlessly frustrating to my family. I never remember where I left my coat, keys, purse, wallet, etc. I know, the answer seems so simple. Leave them in one place. But it just doesn't work, and after almost 43 years on this planet if I haven't gotten it now, I just might not. I cannot prioritize for the life of me. I don't police my kids' homework. I am late for deadlines all the time. My dear and beloved friend Nat knows me well. If we are walking outside and are deep in conversation, she doesn't bark at me to pay attention or get my head out of my ass and stop rudely running into people as if I'm a bull in a china shop (because that's what it looks like to the outside world): she quietly and kindly holds my hand to cross the street so I don't get killed by oncoming traffic. Yes, she does, because she knows how only one part of me can be deeply engaged at any given moment and has never held it against me. If we're getting on the Metro she holds me to her because she knows I'll inadvertently plow through people or get plowed over myself because I'm just not that aware of what's going on outside of wherever I'm at in my mind. Her loving gestures ground and relax me, gently reminding my non engaged parts to wake up and be aware. This opens up my faculties with a sense of security instead of the shutting down words, "What's wrong with you? You're so oblivious!" I have received from others. My family is less patient. I can imagine it is so hard to have a mom who, if engrossed in something on the computer, for example, will not answer your request unless it's practically screamed in her face. Once I get hyperfocusing, I'm almost impossible to draw out. It seems sometimes like maybe I don't care or don't want to listen, and it's not true. I'm just not that good at shifting my attention gears. I may even answer but not recall that I did, and this is frustrating because it seems like I just don't give a crap. But I do, more than anything. Honestly, my intentions are always good.

The really great news is that being wired like this has all kinds of neat benefits. I'm very creative. I'm insightful. I think so much that I'm able to communicate well about what's going on in my brain. If I am deeply interested in something, I'll be able to remember almost all the details. I can remember minute details from most births I've attended, and it totally freaks my clients out, and pleases them as well. I can hold my attention with sharp focus for my clients and be completely present for their births because I can shut everything else out. I can stay up all night finishing up a creative project that I enjoy. After years of being so socially unaware, I have learned a lot and am now very sensitive to others' experiences. Or I try, anyway. I work with compassion, and know that I live on the moon for a reason.

I notice my small son exhibiting the same behaviours. My husband would accuse me of projecting, and perhaps he's right. But he gets notes home from school saying sometimes he simply doesn't do the work. In hockey he's always that kid who doesn't seem to know the drill even though it seemed pretty clear to the other kids. Even if he knows we're in a dire hurry to get to school, if his attention is caught by something that interests him, he will zoom right in on that and forget what else needs to be done. He's just little, so I'm not going to take it seriously right now or rush off to give him a label. I don't have any official label and I'm doing okay. I'm scattered, I can be frustrating, I'd be way better off with a cook and a maid to tend to the more earthly matters of life while I do the things I am stronger at...but I know that I have done a lot of good in the world. I know I have the capacity for immense love and caring. I can intuit someone's feelings and sense the changes in their energy. I can put the business of my mind into something that heals. These are gifts of the moon.

Yes, I get the blues and am endlessly frustrated with myself. I simply don't have the luxury of sitting around and having people hold my hand all day while I cross the street or do my incredibly overdue taxes for me, picking out receipts from pockets of things I wore years ago and stuffed in there. I wish I could be more relaxed about having my little ones cook with me without fear of getting distracted and ruining the recipe, which inevitably happens. I wish I could sleep. I wish I wasn't on my 52nd bank card because I lose it all the time. But I wouldn't trade the depths and heights of where my soul can soar for anything. My goal is to continue to live on the moon, but to keep my feet as close to the ground as I can. Herein lies the challenge. "I get by with a little help from my friends".

Welcome to My New Blog!

I have been asked many times, "Lesley, why on earth do you keep yapping about birth and vaginas? Don't you have anything else to say?" Indeed, I do. I have been writing my Musings of a Montreal Doula Blog for a couple of years and it caters to those who are interested in or involved with birth and those who work with birth.

So as not to appear one dimensional, I've decided to strike up a new blog. For those of you who are fans of my birth musings, don't worry...I'm not going anywhere. There are many of you, however, who have expressed enjoyment of my writing, but just aren't as consumed with the process of birth as I am, and would prefer to hear about other things going on in MotherWit Land.

I like to talk about what I know...or at least what I think I know. I enjoy talking about parenting. I feel reasonably qualified to do so, being a mother of four. I love talking about food, music, films, running, crafty stuff, and things of the soul.

I guess I'll start by introducing myself properly. You know me as a doula, and while this is a large part of my life, I have other stuff going on too.

As I mentioned, I have four kids. Their range of ages is quite spread out. A couple of years ago, I had one in daycare, one in elementary school, one in high school, and one in CEGEP (Quebec style college). Now that my third child is thirteen, I officially have three teens in the house, though this won't last long, as my eldest will be twenty in May. I have 2 girls and 2 boys (girl boy girl boy), and have had the pleasure of being the mother of a young child (in my opinion, meaning kids under seven), for almost twenty years.

I will admit it, most would consider me a "crunchy" mom. I have home birthed. I have breastfed veeeerrryy long term, including having stints of tandem nursing. I have co-slept for the vast majority of my mothering "career". I didn't have my sons circumcised. I have crumpled up prescriptions of antibiotics and anti-asthma medication written for my kids at various times by stern faced folks "in authority", looking askance at a young me in dreads and docs, and headed off to the herbalist's instead. I have home schooled. I bake "sugar free" for my kids, do organic wherever I can, and have had memberships with various csa's. Don't ask me about vaccinations, as it seems to be a really loaded issue, and I'm here to have fun, not to argue. My kids roll their eyes at my hippie lala ways. Yet I am not as granola as I appear on paper.

I am also practical. And I am not an extremist either. I have eaten at McDonald's, I love coffee. I used to have a terrible battle with nicotine (which I have happily conquered entirely), and when I'm not trying hard to eliminate bad stuff from my diet, I am happily eating crap food. My mothering is not consistently granola, because nothing's more fun than taking the kids to Southern Barbeque (it's the only food we all agree on as being awesome), and I'm not the type of mom who is a martyr for her kids. I don't make them tons of special things because they don't like the food I'm making, I never really played with them because it kind of bores me (though we love reading together), I think sometimes a little negligence is a good thing, as I have a hard time indulging kids who need constant attention, and I smell lies. Or at least my kids think I do. I tell them lies smell like the worst farts. If I suspect a lie I just start sniffing, and the expression on their faces let me know if I'm right.

I'm really weak in some areas. I am rotten at policing the kids to clean up after themselves. Probably they take after me. I'll admit, our house is a pit of mess and chaos much of the time, but hey, they haven't shut us down yet. I'm not great with helping with homework. They help each other. And I admit I don't really get hung up on grades. I don't care if my kids are thought of as the smartest or most creative, or worry how old they are when they toilet train, or how many languages they speak by the time they're five months old. By the time we're adults, those things mean jack anyway. I much prefer nurturing their emotional intelligence. I figure their natural curiosity and enjoyment of all things intellectual develops individually when they find something they're interested enough in. Luckily, I seem to have some pretty smart cookies on my hands, though it's not always reflected in the grades of some of them...and frankly, I'm not so invested in that. I'm strict about some things (the movies and tv they watch) and not so much about others (okay, you can clean your room tomorrow). Do I think I'm a good mom? I think I do okay, though there are days I feel like the mom of all moms, or other days I feel like I never should have been allowed to have kids. I struggle to find balance, as every mom does.

A bit about my education: I studied many things in university, from philosophy to English literature, to creative writing, to Western civilization. I never got a degree though, because I got knocked up, became a doula, and never looked back. Though I my not have a university degree, I have a LOT of training under my belt in various forms of bodywork, psychotherapy, breastfeeding and birth support, and am staunchly auto didactic in many things ranging from Ayurveda, knitting, instrument playing, and herbal stuff.

I have been working as a doula for eighteen years. I am most fortunate to work with the most phenomenal team of doulas a girl could ask for. Not only are they all amazing doulas, they are dear friends. I could send out a mass SOS email saying, "I'm in a bad space. Spa and brownies NOW" and barring any births, kid gastros or important recitals, they'd be there. It's a great thing.

My husband Mitchell and I have been together for twenty-one years. What keeps us together is the fact he knows how to make me laugh my head off and ground me when I'm off the wall. We love to browse through fancy food shops. He has always been in support of my work and my way of mothering. We share an adoration of the same kinds of music, are GREAT traveling together, and always snuggle when we watch movies. We fight sometimes and bicker quite a lot in the stress of what is, by today's standards, a large-ish family, but "I love you" is said at least once per day, and usually more than that. We are looking forward to spending our post parenting years exploring the world. We have not done enough traveling, as we've been parenting young children since we were very young.


Anyhoo, that's a bit about me. Off to fold a week's worth of laundry. Check back soon! I will write periodically when something tickles my funny bone or stokes my ire.