Stupid, Lazy, and Ungrateful
An essay on ADHD imposter syndrome
There’s a picture of four-year-old me tacked on the side of my mom’s refrigerator. In it, I stand adjacent to a sunflower — its vibrant yellow petals open to the blue sky, the stalk reaching inches above the fuzzy curls on my head.
I’m beaming, impressed that I gave so much love and light to a seed that was once so small it sat in my palm. You’re strong like a sunflower, Jade.
But it only takes a moment to blink away the memory. The sunflower is squashed under a pair of dirty leather shoes. My shoes. My worn-out docs wrinkled around the edges like the skin around my eyes as they resist opening. It’s morning now. I’m not in my childhood kitchen but rather in my college dorm room.
My boots are the first thing I see when I finally gain consciousness. They’re shoved in the corner of my room, laces flung across the front. My arms dangle off my bed, grasping for my phone. The alarm scratches my brain and it burns, it burns, it burns. I wish the flames would lick my blankets off because the moment I click ‘stop’ I return to my pillow.
Squashed. My neck twisted. My eyelashes tangled. My muscles knotted. A sliver of sunlight brightens my dark curls as if to decorate me with yellow petals. Remember you’re a sunflower. You’re strong. And…
