I made a pie for Thanksgiving. Made the crust from scratch and made the apple filling with apples from the family orchard that's old, broken, but still produces amazing apples. Don't know what kind they are. Probably date back to the late 1800s, or early 1900. But they are the most delicious apples I've ever tasted.
It's not a fancy pie. I'm not even sure it'll taste as amazing as the apples are. I haven't baked anything like this in three years or more. So this, along with playing let-dogs-out and let- dogs-in with my daughter's 6 month old standard poodle, my 3 year old maltese mix service dog, and our senior almost 17 year old cockapoo.
I'm learning to be me again. Not perfect, not better than anyone else, but not lesser than, either. Not someone who needs "fixed." And nothing is wrong with me just because I see things a little differently.
Today is a good day. One where I did multiple chores, made this pie and enough crust for a couple apple dumplings and a pumpkin pie. I feel lighter. It's 3 pm and I still have spoons left despite doing laundry, juggling dogs, and doing something I haven't been able to do for years. (If you don't know about the spoon theory, search it.)
Will it remain a good day for tomorrow? I have no idea. But I'm going to try my best to make it so.
Even so, I battled ugly thoughts, thoughts that something was always wrong with any food I made before, thoughts about how I was always wrong about how I did something. How I was made to question every thought I ever have. It wasn't on purpose, but it happened anyway. And the person I would stand strong and do things for anyway - the person who always contradicted what I lived with: Mom.
I never understood why before. I never understood why everyone but Mom always misunderstood things I said or did. No matter my intentions, people always chose to see it how they wanted. My close friends and family accept me, but not the person who was supposed to be a partner. I put in every effort to see the people in front of me and do things specifically for them. Maybe I miss the mark, but I never mean to, and I never expect to hit the mark so precisely the person takes offense.
What was wrong with me, I wondered. I slowly became a hermit, interacting with the world very little outside of the computer and art festivals. I became ashamed of being me without even realizing it.
And now, now I'm told I'm ADHD like my daughter. Just that no one ever thought to check when I was young. I was just dumb and terrible at school, but oh, what I could do when I studied things I loved. Like creative writing and art - these things are the core of who and what I am. The only things that make me feel capable and worthwhile.
Now that I know this. Now that I know it's not an unusual thing to be diagnosed so late in life, I understand myself better and why I do the things I do. I know the tips and tricks to deal with ADHD because I taught my daughter how to function in this crazy world. And maybe knowing this will help anyone who comes into my life in the future understand why I am the way I am and not try to "fix me" all the time. If I offend you, it's never ever intentional. If I made you feel bad about something, please tell me and let me clarify, because I absolutely do not mean to do so. Sometimes I'm embarrassingly oblivious because my thoughts a running away with me in another direction.
Truth is, I accept each and every person I meet as their authentic self and wish to see them happy and thriving. I need no one to wear a mask of something they aren't, and chances are I'll see past it anyway.
P.S. Any typos or mistakes in any of my blog posts are a result of me typing out my thoughts and not allowing myself to fuss over it to the point where I delete it all. I make mistakes. I'm not perfect and am now choosing to share my crazy ponderings as they pop up anyway.