My Brain on ADHD: The 2-Minute Commercial That Took a Lifetime (and Post-Menopause Anxiety!)

Today was D-Day. Or maybe just T-Day, for Telehealth. The day I was supposed to nail a perfect, crisp, 2-minute infomercial for my new business, HC Mental Health & Wellness. What sounds like a straightforward task became a marathon, a true testament to living with ADHD – and the delightful new layer of post-menopause anxiety that decided to join the party.

The Great Infomercial Adventure (aka, My Brain's Stand-Up Routine)

My preparation? Oh, it was meticulous... in my head. I’d rehearsed every line a hundred times while showering, driving, and probably dreaming. But actually putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard)? That’s a future Hawley problem. So, 7 AM this morning, I finally decided to write the script. Cue the frantic editing, recording, and re-recording – a loop so intense, I probably invented a new genre of self-torture.

Then came the "glamour" of wardrobe. My perfect linen suit, picked out yesterday, required ironing. Naturally, I waited until the absolute last possible second. My 12 PM departure target for a 1 PM appointment became a casual 12:26 PM dash. And those three carefully ironed outfits, carefully placed in a garment bag? They enjoyed a nice, long nap in the car. I shot both commercials in my "casual dash" attire. Because, why overcomplicate things when your brain specializes in under-complicating and over-complicating simultaneously?

Arriving at the studio, my anxiety decided to throw a party in my chest – a party I never really got invited to until post-menopause, I might add. Three people were there, and suddenly, my meticulously rehearsed lines evaporated like a summer rain puddle. My brain, the sneaky devil, decided to play a game called "Where Did Those Words Go?" – often thinking one thing and having completely different words tumble out. Names and simple words vanished on command, only to reappear triumphantly ten minutes later. The more suggestions the kind crew offered, the more my internal panic meter redlined. I knew what they were saying made sense, but my brain was having none of it. They eventually waved the white flag, saying they’d "edit it." My immediate thought? "Just one more try! I almost had it!" (Spoiler: I didn't. And wouldn't have without 100 more tries.)

The aftermath? My cheeks were so red, I probably looked like a boiled lobster. I couldn't drive for ten minutes, just numbly scrolling through emails. And then, the ultimate act of self-soothing: a McDonald’s Happy Meal cheeseburger. Because when life gives you anxiety, a toy and questionable beef patty are the only logical response. The self-recrimination hit hard: Why didn't I prepare? Why was I so nervous? It was the echoes of a childhood spent feeling "dumb," constantly self-conscious, convinced everyone thought I was slow. The truth is, my brain is just wired for adventure, even if that adventure is remembering my left from my right (a constant battle, especially when giving directions).

My Brain's Quirks: A Lifetime of "Huh?" Moments

Growing up in the '70s and '80s, "ADHD" wasn't in my vocabulary, but "daydreaming" was my middle name. Standardized tests? My personal coloring book. I'd just fill in those little bubbles like a true artist, ignoring the pesky questions. Turns out, I probably inherited my mom's dyslexia too. I didn’t "sound out" words; I just brute-force memorized them. Explains why I’m a stellar reader now, but still break into a cold sweat at the thought of reading aloud. And don't even get me started on presentations – that's why I had to consciously practice my "enthusiastic voice" in college. My natural monotone could put a coffee bean to sleep.