Yesterday while cleaning, I listened to a short piece about ADHD and for the first time felt directly addressed. It was as if the authors had heard my questions from the past few days and answered them specifically.

I should preface this by saying that I’ve become increasingly skeptical of the inflationary use and attribution of diagnoses—including, by the way, of narcissism, which, of course, is generally projected onto others. It’s like everybody is freely using these terms to explain why they struggle to keep order, concentrate, or keep appointments. Statistically speaking, it seems unlikely that so many people “have ADHD”—though of course, increased awareness makes the number of “diagnosed” individuals appear to have suddenly risen. However, when I watch content featuring people who really have ADHD or autism—often incorrectly used synonymously—I must admit they truly function differently. To deny them their uniqueness and yes, their struggle in a society where this isn’t yet considered part of the norm, by conveniently attributing certain quirks to an amorphous complex of “symptoms,” I find inappropriate and even unfair.

Having said that, with this particular piece, I experienced not just an abstract recognition of often-heard information, but felt directly addressed.

Just days before, in a dejected mood, I had written down everything my “inner critic” says (an exercise that can be very helpful, but more on that another time), and terms like “antisocial,” “unsociable,” “poorly connected with other people” particularly stood out.

While I’ve since acknowledged that my way of connecting might not always manifest in physical togetherness, I’ve repeatedly wondered why I find it so pleasant to spend a lot of time “alone”—to say nothing of the fact that during this time I’m not alone at all! Rather, I think about others and play through various scenarios, trying to recognize and understand the energy behind them.

The dynamics in large groups, however, quickly tire me out, because even when I really like people individually, I often struggle to bear their behavior in large settings. And I mean that more in the sense of being perplexed and surprised rather than “how could they?”

The piece explained that a brain with ADHD functions differently from other people’s on average: While their brains release dopamine when they’re in large groups—making them feel great, energized, and uplifted—the exact opposite happens with an ADHD brain: It releases less dopamine while simultaneously being exposed to sensory overload, because its extremely fine antennae perceive everyone’s varied moods like an enormous, incompatible weather system descending upon them. Nothing makes sense, especially the masks that inevitably come out in such settings. Thus, the mind tires quickly, and you are left to wonder why you’re so bad at this social game, so “unsociable.”

I felt so validated!

Large crowds can bring me joy, but usually from a distance. In books, films, or in passing, I find it wonderful to see many people come together, but for myself, I much prefer moments just before opening or closing time in shops, night shifts when almost no one is there, situations where few people use facilities designed for large crowds and everyone (in my perception) can be completely themselves. Immersing myself in large crowds appeals to me on the condition that everyone at least temporarily shares a common goal—like in a course, in a choir, at an airport or train station, or in an exceptional situation.

Interestingly, I find it relatively easy to speak in front of a large group of people—the larger, meaning the more anonymous, the better—though I attribute this to the fact that I then practically have a sanctioned task and can act purposefully.

Small talk for small talk’s sake, however, confuses me to this day.

How can we pretend not to see beyond the second or third mask?

And I admit that I may never have understood the rules—again: not from refusal, but from inability.

This is also what I love about traveling to different countries—seeing how different societies deal with closeness and truly seeing the other person.

So far, I’ve felt most “at home” in Russia and with people from the “Russian-speaking” sphere of influence, where there are fewer unspoken laws—or perhaps the existing laws are intuitively more familiar to me? In any case, interactions are generally more direct and less governed by codes. For someone like me who takes things very literally because I try to be as honest as possible, this is very refreshing—the guessing game falls away.

This direct approach seems in turn to stimulate people’s ability to see behind masks. I was amazed by a former Russian lover’s comment, who was loud and jovial among his colleagues, about my sometimes complicated emotional maneuvers: these are trifles, that’s just character. Similarly, a Georgian friend commented on a mutual acquaintance who was a (very charming) cheat, saying he was unreliable and sometimes a bastard, but had a heart of gold.

And both statements came without the slightest charge, more like noting someone has brown eyes and likes ice-cream.

Up until then, I had only encountered such nuanced perceptions of people in books that describe people in their entirety.

Perhaps that’s my great longing—to have casual conversations about what I consider essential: what each of us truly is about and moves us right now.

This is where I’m endlessly grateful for my wonderful friends with whom I can have such conversations!

But everything in its time, in the rhythm of closeness and distance that suits me. 🙂

It’s curious, isn’t it, that I still haven’t determined whether the ADHD label applies to me, or to what extent. But that’s not really the point here, or rather, the point is that it’s not about the labeling.

Ultimately, it’s about all of us being seen in our entirety and uniqueness—and to find recognition like I did in this piece often feels good.

In the end, however, it always comes down to how we treat ourselves.

As long as I listen ever more kindly to my needs and don’t dismiss them as abnormal, but rather see them as my particular way of processing stimuli that can manifest in various ways, I can simply let them be.

I don’t need to classify them as good or bad, appropriate or inappropriate, ordinary or special—they simply are.

How about you?

• What kind of closeness is important to you, how much and with whom?
• How much time do you like to have in between to “digest” impressions, to sort things out?
• If we didn’t have to assign ourselves lofty labels to justify our difference, how kindly could we simply choose what personally suits us in each moment?
• What if ALL variations are cool, simply because they exist?