As a former winner of the Real Estate Board of New York’s Rookie of the Year award, I get invited to the Board’s annual Legacy Luncheon.
In recent years I stepped back from my active role as a real estate agent — handing most of the “on the ground” work with my real estate clients to colleagues — while I tried the digital nomad life, then quarantined in the suburbs for COVID, all while trying to grow my coaching practice.
Lately, spurred by the isolation I’ve felt in the suburbs and my need for a more collaborative work environment, I’ve been contemplating returning to a more active role in real estate.
This lunch was a good opportunity to reconnect with colleagues.
Attending the lunch required a bit of logistical planning on my part. For me, as someone with ADHD, these small-scale logistics around daily planning are often a place where I get hung up.
Not this time.
How I Overcame ADHD Planning Challenges
I looked at the train schedule a few days in advance so I could plan my morning to give myself enough time so that I wouldn’t have to rush.
I actually put the train time in my calendar.
I scheduled an appointment with my hair stylist early enough to allow me the transition time I knew I needed between each stage of my morning.
I purchased my ticket on the train app the night before.
I applied every lesson I’ve learned about how much time I need both for specific activities and the crucial transition time I need between activities. Everything was slotted into my schedule.
I had even picked a train that was early enough that if I was running behind schedule I could push to the next train without worrying about being too late.
So when that became necessary, I didn’t panic.
I actually felt proud of myself, in a way that probably only those with ADHD would understand.
I parked my car at the train station and walked calmly to the tracks, a full 10 minutes before the train was due to arrive.
Not needing to sprint to make the train felt surreal.
Could this be what life is like for most neurotypical people? Not rushing and racing?
As I approached the track I saw a train sitting on the track.
That’s odd, I thought.
… or So I Thought
I walked down the stairs just as it pulled away.
And then, I got a sinking feeling. I pulled out my phone and opened the train schedule app.
That’s when I noticed it:
I had been looking at the train times from the city, not to the city.
The trains to the city were only once an hour.
I had just missed the train that would have gotten me there on time.
Just like that, my plans were derailed. I wasn’t going to show up an hour late for the lunch.
Looking at the wrong schedule is also a common ADHD experience, although it’s one that usually doesn’t happen with me. When it comes to train schedules, I am typically hyper-vigilant.
I check and double check.
There’s a first time for everything.
Noticing the Self-Talk
Immediately I noticed that there was a part of me that wanted to go into lecture mode. A voice that wanted to use this moment as a shovel to dig up all the other times I’ve made bad decisions, messed up plans, didn’t pay attention to important details, or dropped the ball.
I know who that voice belongs to, and I know that this voice is not MY voice.
That voice is usually the loudest voice in my head.
What surprised me in this moment was that it was not as loud as it used to be.
The louder voice in this moment was a different voice.
It was a voice of compassion. A voice of understanding.
This voice reminded me that my nervous system’s hyper-vigilance — the trait that usually causes me to triple-check the directions when I’m looking at train schedules — has been focused on other perceived threats lately.
In fact, it’s been working overtime trying to keep me safe through a multi-year life upheaval and displacement.
With my hyper-vigilance focused on basic safety, it’s inevitable that I’m going to drop a ball or two. Or more.
This voice reminded me that I’m a human being and not a professional juggler.
It also reminded me that, as far as mistakes go, this one was fairly innocuous.
In the daily act of juggling, some balls are made of rubber and some are made of glass. This ball wasn’t a glass ball.
Nothing shattered. Nothing broke.
I didn’t hurt anyone. Not even myself.
The Heavy Lifting of Self-Compassionate Self-Talk
Lately I’ve been doing a lot of heavy lifting in the gym. In the gym, progress is easily measured and clear: you know how many pounds you can lift.
Building up the volume on this compassionate, understanding voice is, by far, the heaviest lifting I do.
This type of strength-building been a daily practice for years.
Unlike conventional weight-lifting, progress in this area isn’t as clear-cut.
On any given day, the results usually aren’t noticeable.
Sometimes it takes a moment like this to see it.
It’s not that the berating, condoning, self-aversive voice wasn’t there at all.
It was still there.
But on this day, the compassionate voice was louder and stronger.
That was worth celebrating.
How to See the Progress in Your Self-Talk
How was I able to see the progress here?
This is where my daily practice of meditation turned into habit.
I saw it because I have a practice of stopping to watch and notice the thoughts in my head and the way I talk to myself. Through my meditation practice, and the bits of time I sprinkle throughout my days — including in all that transition time I allow myself between activities — I’ve learned to become aware of the thoughts and emotions that drive my behavior.
To be clear, I’m not always perfect about it. There are many times I still get caught in trance and go down the rabbit hole of negative thought loops. This happens to everyone.
That said, it’s the practice of stopping to notice that allowed my compassionate voice to emerge stronger and that allowed me to notice it.
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