ADHD Paralysis and You as a Housewife

So I’ve been calling your Brain, your “Roommate” this whole time. There’s a reason for that.

As I stated before, your brain is doing it job during the day and during the night, it does what it needs to do to keep you alive, put you to sleep at the end of the day, and THAT’S IT.

Like a roommate that goes to work, pays their half of the rent, and sleeps in their own room without bringing bitches over every night, it still NEVER does it’s share of the dishes, laundry, or cleaning. It would rather literally, quietly literally DIE than do any mix of those three.

The problem lies in, you have to do stuff like this. Sorry, not sorry, you bought a self help book written by a housewife, I have to tell it like it is. You have to clean, and you have to tell your roommate to buck the fuck up and work.

So how do we do this? How do we tell our roommate to buck up when it’s the one calling the shots? Well, you may not yet realize this, but it’s NOT the one calling the shots.

I’m not about to tell you some bullshit guru thing like “YoU ArE in ChArGe of HoW YoU FeEl! iF yoU’Re DepReSsEd, tHaT’s YOUR FaUlt!”

Hell no. While there are may complex emotions the Brain is capable of, you can not just go in there and tell your brain “No… don’t do that. Stop being sad.”

You’re still going to cry. You’re still going to be mad, and you’re still going to be depressed and paralyzed.

This paralysis you feel when you feel overwhelmed by the things you need to do is called “ADHD Paralysis”.

It is a horrible and downright cruel game your roommate plays against you.

If you’re reading this and you don’t have ADHD (maybe you’re reading this to better help your spouse, friend, or sibling. Good for you), imagine with me, if you will, you are sitting in the comfiest chair known to man. Heating, massage, recline, and it comes with a mimosa. There’s no way in fucking hell you’re getting up. The problem, however, is there is a baby dangling by a rope over a pit of alligators, ready to be snatched up. The only way to save this baby is simple, just press the big red button to retract the rope and save the baby.

But the button is allllllll the way over there, and the chair just kicked into Shiatsu Massage mode, and oh, what’s this? A pop-out TV appeared, playing season 4 of Supernatural. (The best fucking season).

And, what’s more? That wasn’t a mimosa! That was Chamomile Tea! You’re tired, you’re comforted by the smooth sounds of Misha Collins playing the best damn Angel cable TV has ever seen, and you’re so overwhelmed with your own fatigue, you can’t even hear the sounds of the screaming baby anymore.

Now imagine this scenario, but you want to press the button. The thing is, you’re so relaxed, everything I just explained made it seem like you want to be in the chair. However, what people don’t see is you’re fighting like tooth and nail to get out of it. The fatigue keeps you down, the overthinking keeps you wired, and you have a mix of manic and panic that causes you to stop.

Stop everything.

The button is just on the other side of the room. It would take you no more than five seconds to walk over, press it, and save the baby. But, first, you have to un-recline the seat, turn off the tv, flush the tea out of your system, wake up, get motivated, and breathe. However, no one told you that that first breath your took was the hardest inhale you ever took of your natural born life.

You feel like a whale has landed on your chest and it’s not getting up anytime soon.

Your roommate has won. A simple thing like sweeping the floor free of refuse and dust has you on your back within your mind staring down the business end of a 12-gauge and your roommate is not letting you up. You look around and you know you can just roll over, get up, and move, but you would rather just lay there and not get blown to pieces.

You would rather be safe and not move, even though you want to.

Now imagine everything I just told you, everything that I described and applying it to everyday. Every single day, your spouse feels this way, and if you are the spouse, I know you’re feeling this way.

You want to do it, you know you’re capable of doing it, but you can’t.

So why is it when it comes to watching TV, playing video games, and surfing the internet you happen to have all the energy in the world for? That, too, is another simple answer.

Your roommate is a drug addict. Not like coke or molly, but dopamine and serotonin. Your receptors are so shot by the time you’re an adult, there’s a very good chance your parents, as you were growing up, showered you with toys and tv. Hook, line, and sinker.

Now, I’m not saying to take your kid’s toys and tv away. Hell, my kids are OSHA Certified iPad kids. The thing is, from an early age, our ADHD roommates are growing with us. The sad part is while (hopefully) your mom didn’t do drugs while you were in utero, therefore being born addicted to crack, your roommate already was.

When your roommate gets the first hit of anything related to addicted media, a craft, or attention from peers, THAT’S okay by your roommate’s standards.

I call myself an introvert, however, if I know that by going to so-and-so event will let me talk about my hyperfixation of the week, I will be there no matter what. I will do anything in my power to be there. Talking about my hyperfixation to others whom I know for a FACT will NOT understand a fucking word coming out of my mouth will fill me with enough dopamine to last three hours. A new personal best.

If I know I can get on Twitter and make a 97 tweet thread about how this special video game character is the spawn of Satan and people agree with me, I can ride that high for days.

If I can get on Amazon dot com and find something new everyday to add to my ever growing wish lists, I’m going to add it, and I’m GOING to imagine all the ways I can implement my new, shiny purchase into my home.

These are simple ways my brain keeps itself addicted, and it’s working a little too well.

You know your brain would rather eat the greasy burger and laze on the couch rather than eat healthy, go for a run, and clean. That being said, it’s your roommate’s fault you’re like this, not your fault.

“But my ‘roommate’ IS me!” I hear you crying.

No, it’s not. Like I asked at the beginning of this book; do you have a personality? No, you really don’t, and I don’t say this to be rude or mean. It’s just a fact of reality. What constitutes personality for someone with ADHD is an amalgamation of personal experiences, media consumed, and pickpocket diatribes from the hyperfixation they picked up that month. I’m not saying you’re not unique or you don’t have anything to offer, hell, you might be more interesting than me (this is more than likely to be true), but there is still the fact that you’re not doing what you need to be doing: caring for the home, because you’re too busy up-keeping the personality you stole from other media.

And your roommate knows this all too well and is MORE than willing to keep up the facade in front of others while keeping you paralyzed at home. If it’s not getting its fix of dopamine and serotonin, then it’s not going to bother. Doing what you need to be doing, cleaning and caring for your family, does not bring the drugs, so what can you do?

I want to preface that realizing this does not make you a bad person. You just have ADHD. I know you care for your children and your spouse, you care for your home. You want to be proud of it, I know you do because I wanted the same thing for myself.

It’s not something out of the 50’s where you’re gonna get sent straight to the moon via fist if you don’t keep up with the cooking and the cleaning, and I’m not trying to force some “tradwife” rhetoric down your throat either. I’m not saying you have to clean every day, I’m not saying you have to be on a strict schedule (those don’t work on our kind anyways), and I’m NOT saying you have to be perfect.

I sure as hell am not perfect and as I sit at my table writing this, my house is a fucking disaster. I have two weeks before my husband comes home from sea and a dream.

The difference between you and I (if you decide not to finish this book) is I KNOW I’m going to get it clean before he comes home. I have a foolproof way to deal with my roommate in my head.

So, I think it’s time you learned how to deal with it too.