Dorie Morgan’s Rising Up
Navigating Twenty-Something Suburban Life
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Archive of "home life" Category
Life with Don
I keep finding posts and articles about Gen Y and moving back home stumble flash across my browser and I think it’s time I say something about it. Mostly in the form of a confession.
Brian and I have spent the first 18 months of our marriage living with my father-in-law, Don. I usually try to avoid saying it flat out but I know I’ve alluded to it in the past in both comments and posts.My name is Dorie, I’m 26 and I’m a boomerang kid.
I moved back home follow graduation. Which was horrible. I am convinced that the only way possible for my mother and me to function as rational people is for us to live in different zip codes. Life post graduation in my childhood bedroom was mind numbingly horrible. We fought constantly, I tried to be drunk for as much of it as humanly possible and I was stuck. It’s a miracle anyone survived.
Then I met Brian, we decided to get married and I moved into his father’s house. Most women fear moving from their father’s house and directly into their husband’s house. Brian and I were flat broke and that wasn’t an option.
We spent the first six months on a futon on the floor of his high school bedroom. For the last year, we’ve actually had a bed to sleep on. It was by no means comfortable living but we did it.
Part of the weirdness comes from the fact that I run my late mother-in-law’s household. It’s her organizational systems that I maintain. I cook in her kitchen. I use her washer and dryer for the household’s laundry. It kind of feels like limbo. Because it is limbo.
So why did we do it?
1. Housing in Lower Bucks County is really expensive. A one bedroom apartment in the bad part of town will set you back at least eight hundred dollars a month. For about four hundred dollars more, we could get a mortgage. Since we were committed to the Philadelphia area, why rent when we could buy?
2. We could not afford to buy a house right away. We did not have enough money for a down payment. It took about a year for us to save enough money for a down payment. Had we been renting, we calculate it would have taken 3 to 4 years to save enough money.
3. We wanted a place we could stay rent free while we renovated a home. Brian is a carpenter. It made sense to get a handyman’s special.
4. Nine months before our wedding, Brian’s mom passed away. Moving was just too painful.
Now that our time in Brian’s childhood home is wrapping up, I catch myself reflecting on the time. There are a lot of pros and a lot of cons too.
Pro: It taught us how to fight. Having someone else in the house to hear it when we were disagreeing helped us to stay kind to each other. Because it’s one thing to have in-laws. It’s a whole different thing to have your spouse’s family hear your disagreements. The upside is that we’re pretty good with disagreeing without yelling.
Con: Sometimes you just want a good fight with no one listening. Sometimes I want to rant and rave like an absolute lunatic and not have my father-in-law listening to my insanity.
Pro: It’s broken down the typical “in-law” issues. Brian’s dad isn’t just “my father-in-law” but Don. He’s a real three dimensional person, not just someone to deal with at family functions. These living arrangements have connected me to Brian’s family in ways our marriage couldn’t do by itself.
Con: It makes it harder to be “Dorie” in terms other than “Brian and Dorie”. Limited living space a couple means that there is also limited space for me to still be home but alone. For the first 6 months, we were literally on top of each other because our “bed” was so small. We now live in two rooms but it can still be a challenge.
Pro: We didn’t have to buy what was available. We were able to be fussy about the house we purchased because we didn’t have to worry about when a lease would be up. We also were able to start our renovations without having live in construction or pay rent. It took a lot of pressure off.
Con: Sometimes it took a little too much pressure off us. To the point of becoming lazy. It becomes easier to say “no, I won’t work on the house today because it is raining” instead of saying “I have to move in a month, I have to get to work”.
Pro: We were able to save a ton of money. We were able to have money for a down payment for our home and still have money left over for renovations. I won’t say we are rolling in cash but we are able to get by today without too much panic.
Con: Sometimes it was really tempting to spend that money. Sometimes we were able to practice self control, other times we just couldn’t do it. While I may have loved coming home some days to random jewelry surprises (“Hello Sapphires, I love the way you look on me too”), it did not help our plan to put money aside.
Overall, living with Brian’s dad has been very good for us but I’m not sure I would recommend it to anyone else. If you do find yourself in a situation where you are married and living at home, set some ground rules first and get those rules in writing. Some questions you should ask:
1. Are we expected to pay rent? How much? What day should I give you money?
2. What household responsibilities are we responsible for?
3. What household errands are we responsible for?
4. What are your responsibilities are you response for as the home owner?
5. How will we handle the holiday seasons?
6. What are restrictions for having guests over?Treat everything like it is a business arrangement. It may sound impersonal but it is a key part of maintaining a functioning family in an awkward situation.
And don’t forget to make an exit plan too!
I hate my husband’s 12 emails
I always have this plan that I will not let my inbox be full of junk. I will sort everything into folders, deal with each and every email in an appropriate time frame and I will delete emails when I no longer can benefit from saving them. I will follow through and I will be victorious over my gmail!
Once again, I have 700 hundred emails in my inbox. I’d delete them all in one shot but some of them contain information about my mortgage and I’m a bit fearful of deleting those accidentally.
I feel like an electronic pack rat. Sometimes, it gets so bad that I just abandon an email address because the thought of going through all of that information is overwhelming.
I know in the grand scheme of things, all of that email isn’t the biggest concern. There’s things that are a much bigger deal: the homeless in Philadelphia (winter is coming) or the current economic crisis (can we talk about my student loans please?). My email is just annoying.
What makes it especially annoying is that when I see Brian open his email, he only has 12 emails in his inbox. That’s right. 12 emails. All of those emails were dealt with in a timely manner. His inbox is pristine. It’s easy to locate information in there. Oh and I know there 12 emails in there because I counted. I was so jealous that I counted. There were still just 12 emails.
This is partially because Brian doesn’t spend much time online and partially because he recently changed his email address but didn’t tell anyone. Some of my seven hundred emails are emails intended for him but our friends didn’t know how to reach him so they reached me instead.
Sometimes the title “wife” really means “personal assistant”.
Which is okay. I enjoy that aspect of marriage. It’s just that when I have 700 emails, I don’t feel like I’m the best “personal assistant” to Brian that I could be. I may joke about him being my better half but sometimes (okay, a lot of times) it’s true. If I can’t manage to take care of something like email, something that really isn’t that big of a deal, what else am I failing to properly manage?
The email is really just a symptom of a bigger problem. The email is a personal reminder that I’ve been struggling to find and maintain balance. My email is telling me that I have a lot of work to do.
I have this fantasy that I could live life like a machine. A well oiled, well maintained machine. Preferably a machine that did not require sleep. A Stepford Wife.
Periodically, I forget that I am not a machine. And then I end up sick and exhausted like I did last week. And when I end up sick and exhausted, I know I am missing even more things. That’s when I am not being a good wife. Or a good employee. Or a good Dorie.
The most concerning part is not being a good me but I keep catching myself putting the wife/employee/whatever else roles in front of being me.
So how do I fix it? How do I balance the desire to do it all with the knowledge that it is physically impossible to do everything? How do I make serious adult decisions when sometimes I feel like I am stilling playing make believe?
Just call me Crackles
When Brian and I first decided to get married, we had this dream of owning a business someday. Or rather, we dreamed about building our own real estate empire. We wanted to buy old houses, renovate and remodel and then either rent or sell the properties. Brian would be in charge of the actual construction and I would be in charge of everything else. It seemed like a brilliant idea.
In fact, it still does.
We finally bought our first property three weeks ago and we get the pleasure of really learning about what having an entrepreneurial marriage would look like. And by pleasure, what I really mean is something more along the lines of having our eyes opened by surprise and shock.
We really weren’t expecting this.
But we’ve also learned a lot of good things too. About ourselves, about our marriage and about how we want to build a business.
Your Network
Your business is only as good as the people who support it. And the character of the people who support your business are a reflection of the character of the business. If your network is filled with people who suggest actions that are illegal or slightly unethical, take a step back and ask why those people are in your network. We learned this lesson but interacting with the seller’s representatives. We will not work with people who exist in that network again because we know there are problems within that network, we just don’t quite know where.
Your Work
I’m a self starter when it comes to projects. I want to show up, get the job done and move onto the next thing. I’ll take a break when the task is completed or if the task is too big, I’ll break it up into smaller chunks. Brian, on the other hand, is not a self starter. He’s much better at making the day fun. And that’s okay. Between the two of us, stuff gets done and everyone has a good time.
Our Marriage
Sometimes, you just need to be reminded how well you work together. I won’t lie; it’s been a rough few months for my husband and me. With family drama, house drama and work drama, it isn’t always easy to connect. But working together on the house gives both of us a chance to look at each other at our best. And I shouldn’t forget to mention how great it feels when we can share the sense of accomplishment (instead of telling the other about a sense of accomplishment during dinner). Team Morgan becomes stronger because of it.
Our Knowledge
My husband has totally different set of skills than I do. He creates beautiful things in homes and I know he makes other people’s lives better because of it. Working together gives me a great opportunity to learn new things from Brian. Learning new skills changes my perspective and helps with problem solving elsewhere. I might not use carpentry skills everyday in the office but who can’t use a new way to look at the world? Once you have an understanding of a skill set, you can look to apply that set in new directions.
Our SillinessOn our first day of work, my dear sweet husband started giving out construction names. My mother was named “Butchie”. Because of my dad’s resemblance to the guy on the Mr. Clean bottle, he was named “Sparkles”. But what did Brian name his wife? “Crackles.” Why? Because “Cracker” was already taken by someone else he knows.
So I did what any good “Crackles” would do: I told them all to shut up and get back to work
Adventures in First Time Home Buying: Who the hell is Pete?
Please refer to Friday’s post of a brief recap of the house settlement.
As we finished settlement on Friday, everyone started to get up from the table when I cried out “what about keys!” Keys. You know, that crazy new invention that no one remembers exists yet. And everyone looks startled. What about keys?
So the seller looks confused and says she doesn’t have keys. And the seller’s sister says that she has keys, but those keys are in her other purse. And their agent says that he still hasn’t collected all of the keys.
But then the agent says, you can use the lock box on the front door! The lock box has keys! But we’ll have to leave the keys in the lock box for Monday morning so we can get our U&O inspection. Perfect.
My husband and I then go about our day. I hit up Sam’s Club for supplies. We go to the mall to get lunch. We call my parents and make arrangements to meet at the New House at 5:30 that evening. Brian and I go home and take a nap because we’re exhausted.
At five, we head over to the new place. Brian fumbles with the lock box for a minute, I pace around the front of the house, he finally gets the door open. I decide that it is extremely important for Brian to carry me over the threshold of the new house. He looks uncomfortable and then we try to work out the logistics of him carrying me. (Side Note: Brian and I are the same height and of a similar build. This quickly became a very awkward endeavor but I will be forever grateful that my head was not slammed into the doorway.)
I open all of the windows and the doors because the place smells horrible. Like stale cigarettes and junk that’s been sitting in piles. Air would be very good.
My parents come over, there’s a champagne toast and then we start to close up the house. I carefully close and lock every window. I lock the front door from the inside and I lock the deadbolt. I lock the side door. I get to the back of the house, I lock the door behind me and slam it shut. No one is going to be able to get into this house.
Including me. I’m not going to be able to get into this house. As I’ll discover 24 hours later. But for now, I am blissful and ignorant.
Saturday night, we head back to the house with a radio, lawn chairs, booze and a fan. We park out back, unload the car and go to the front. I unlock the bottom lock and then I go to unlock the deadbolt.
Nothing happens.
I try again, thinking the key is stuck. Still nothing.
I go to the side door. No dice. I move on to the back door. I can’t get in. I have owned a home (sort of) for one day and I am locked out of my house. I can’t get in. There are five different locks on three different doors and I need at least two keys to get in.
I only have one key.
I should take this time to add that our neighbors like to eat dinner outside at night but they don’t start dinner until later. So while we’re flipping out in the back of the house, they have a ring side seat. Great.
I try calling the realtor who tries to call the seller’s agent. And the neighbors are watching. Brian is trying to break in through a window but he can’t. Because I had to lock all of the windows the night before. I have protected my property from myself and quite effectively too.
Finally, the neighbors (Frank and Kim) called over, asking if everything was okay. I explain the situation. Trying to be helpful, they start trying to remember who the seller may have given keys to in the past.
On one hand, I desperately want them to think of someone who would have keys to the house. On the other hand, I don’t want anyone to have keys to the house.
Finally Kim exclaims: “Pete. Pete would have keys. We should call Pete.”
And I respond that calling Pete would be great because it’s really frustrating to only have one key and not be able to get into the house.
Then Frank says “oh if you locked the deadbolt, Pete won’t have a key to the house. Everyone knows that she never locked the deadbolt. She didn’t have a key for it.”
Now I’m left with several questions:
- Who the hell is Pete?
- Why does Pete have a key to my house?
- Why in the world does the whole neighborhood know that the previous owner “never locked the deadbolt”?
I still don’t have answers to any of these questions. I’ve spent the last week trying to figure out who Pete is and I still haven’t made any headway. I’ve also been trying to find out if there are any other neighbors who might have keys. Even though I can get into my house now, its still unnerving to think that my house is open to this mysterous “Pete” and whatever friends he might bring with him.
And please don’t ask me why I haven’t changed the locks yet. Remember how I don’t have U&O yet? That’s why. I’m not allowed.
Adventures in First Time Home Buying: Settlement
Buying our house has been a production since Day 1. The first time we went through the property there was a dirty thong lying in the middle of the floor. After we placed a bid, we discover that the seller’s husband had killed himself inside the house. Even when we went for the house inspection, the seller was there telling us everything that was wrong with the house.
But none of that mattered because we were buying my dream home. And we were starting our real estate empire. And we were doing this before Brian turned 25. In the grand scheme of things, life is good and sweat equity would be even better.
So last Thursday we go on the final walk of the house. We check all the lights, appliances, electric and a dozen other things that Brian and the realtor contemplated while I dreamed about what walls I wanted knocked down. Things looked pretty good. There was a giant construction dumpster out back, mounded over with their junk (including porn, booze and electronics) but that’s okay because none of it was in my dream house.
Feeling pretty good, we went out for dinner and just let ourselves feel excited for what was about to happen in our lives.
Settlement was scheduled for 10 in the morning on Friday, so I was too excited to sleep at 5am. We got to the office by 9:45, just so I could be sure that everything would run smoothly. Part of me wanted to get there hours early but I realized that it would have been excessive and everyone would have realized just how neurotic I really am.
Here’s where it really starts to get fun.
Nick, our realtor, greets us at the door. We go through the usual niceties, he asks how we are feeling, do we have questions, yada yada yada. Then he looks at us and says “listen, I didn’t want to worry you yesterday but…”
But…? Where is this “but” coming from and why is it showing up at my settlement?
Nick goes on to say (rather quickly, in one giant sentence) that apparently, the sellers had filed for bankruptcy several years ago and technically they can’t sell the house without permission from a judge but that isn’t the problem because the judge is going to give permission because of the husband committing suicide but the thing is that the seller’s lawyer never submitted the paper work to the court for the judge to sign and now we’re waiting to hear back from some paralegal who has been sent to track down the judge so we can buy our home. But there’s no reason to worry because there’s nothing we can do now but wait.
Brian forgets to breathe. I ask what we need to do next. And we move towards the table anyway because all we can do is wait.
Eventually, all of the parties in question make their way to the table. And we wait. The seller looks like she is going to have a nervous breakdown. Our mortgage broker is trying to fix a mistake on our paperwork. Our realtor keeps offering us water. And the seller’s agents are chatting as if nothing is wrong. And then suddenly, the other agent comes out with “By the way, the Use and Occupancy didn’t come through yet” in this odd, matter of fact tone. Like U&O wasn’t written into our contract as our requirement.
We still ended up settling on Friday, even though there were problems. Partially because we were assured that U&O would be finalized on Monday. Partially because we didn’t want witness the seller going off the deep end. And because we finally got word that the judge signed off on the paperwork.
It leaves us in this interesting situation where we own a home. Sort of. We’re paying interest, utilities and homeowners insurance. But we can’t occupy the home. Or start renovations on the house. Much like the beginning of our twenties, we’re in limbo.
*On Monday, I’ll be asking the question “Who the hell is Pete?” It is now the question that consumes my mind. Trust me, you won’t want to miss it.
At this point, is it worth it?
My friend Erica is a lawyer. More specifically, she works in patent law for a firm in NYC. She has two secretaries, she’ll make partner in eight years and she makes at least three times as much money as I do. She has a fabulous boyfriend and she’s thinking about buying a condo in the city.
She also works at least 65 hours a week. And that’s a conservative estimate on my part. She tells me its only sixty hours a week but I lived with this girl in college and I know Erica has no sense of time when she’s working. I also know that her secretaries think she is working too much as well.
When you think about all of the things you need to do during the week, just as basic aspects of life, how is it possible to consistently work 65 hours a week? And when a case gets hectic, is it possible to have any hope of a home life available to you?
At what point is the money just not enough?
I’ve read that statistic about 40k being the magic number, but Erica brought up a really good point that I tend to forget about: the difference between making forty thousand dollars annually in, let’s say, Fairport Harbor, Ohio and New York City is monumental. Even the difference between Levittown, PA (where I live) and NYC is monumental. But so what?
What makes the money worth it?
I have mixed feelings about all of this.
On one hand, I kind of like the idea of working as hard as you can until you are ready/want to reproduce and then cut back. But realistically, that’s not going to happen. You’ll either put off kids because the time is just “not right” or you’ll pay a fortune for childcare because you won’t want to give up your career and you can’t get more than six weeks maternity leave without losing your job.
On the other hand, I know myself. If I don’t work hard at finding balance, I never will. If I don’t set clear boundaries for myself, I’ll neglect my own basic needs. And while that could benefit me in my career (depending on where I was working), it would not benefit me in ensuring my husband would be in my bed when I came home at night.
I’d be lying if I didn’t say that the money she makes doesn’t tempt me. And when I hear her tell me that I could easily do the work she does, it makes it even more tempting. But since I know I can’t really have it all and still have my sanity, what are the pieces that I really care about?
Adventures in First Time Home Buying: Could you please tell me more about the dead body in the room?
There was a dead body in my new house.
Granted, the house isn’t really mine yet. The house won’t be mine until August 15th. But it feels like mine. Our realtor may tell us that the current home owner is emotionally invested in the house and we are emotionally invested in our money but that isn’t entirely true. We wouldn’t be spending all of this money on a property if we couldn’t see ourselves emotionally invested.
On Friday night, when Brian and I went to initial the changes to the contract, we found a certificate of death included in the bottom of the paperwork. And immediately, I start telling Brian about how we were right, how it was either a divorce or a death that put this house on the market, how sad it was, etc. I have to admit, I was feeling quite proud of my powers of observation.
And then I kept reading the certificate.
And then I noticed that the guy had committed suicide. In the house. With a gun to his head. With a rifle.
And then I started freaking out.
First off, the guy had a family. Four other people lived in the house with him. And one day, they came home and he was dead. Two of those people were his children. How in the world are they ever going to recover from this?
Second, I am amazed at the level of violence involved. It wasn’t like someone would walk in the room and be scared that there was their loved one laying unresponsive on the floor. They walked into blood and violence. Just thinking about that leaves me shell shocked.
Third, as per the certificate of death, the time of the accident was unknown. He could have been there for quite some time with no one noticing. No neighbors heard a shot being fired and thought “maybe something happened, maybe I should call the police”.
Finally, there was a dead guy in my dream home!
Now, I understand that this is a ninety year old home and there have probably been plenty of dead bodies in the house. After all, dying in a hospital or hospice wasn’t always the standard operating procedure that it is now. But the level of violence kind of freaks me out.
So now, Brian and I have been trying to figure out where the suicide took place. Because we don’t want to renovate that room ourselves, we want to pay someone to renovate it for us. It’s turned into a game of Clue but real and therefore a bit creepy.
Brian thinks it happened in my dream bedroom, I think it happened in the basement. I’m still waiting for the police department to call me back with information from the police report.
At least now we understand why the home was being sold at such a great price.
First time home buying: And now, I wait.
We did it. Last night, we put a bid in on the one. We signed a lot of papers, had a heart attack as we wrote a check and then listened to the real estate agent tell us that buying your first home is a lot like realizing you are dating the person you want to marry.
Brian looked like he wanted to kick me as I tried to choke back the laughter because we never dated. Instead, he started telling the real estate agent about how my parents wanted to kill him.
We talked a lot about money. We talked about the money we have. We talked about the money we don’t have. Brian may have signed his life away. I may have started joking about the life insurance policy I need to take out on him. We signed more papers.
I think we’re still in shock.
Yesterday morning, we were still in the seriously considering step of the home buying process.
This morning, we are in the hoping and praying portion of the home buying process.
Who knows where we will be tomorrow morning.
I am surprised how hard it is to keep your emotions out of the process. I want to look at this as purely a financial transaction but that isn’t an accurate way to look at things. We are trying to buy someone’s home. We are trying to build a home of our own.
Now to just survive the next 48 hours of the process…
Adventures in first time home buying
My husband and I have stepped up our house hunt over the last few weeks and now find that most of our evenings are devoted to checking out houses, experiencing neighborhoods and hassling potential neighbors. After months of research, we are as prepared as first time home buyers can be.
Let’s face it, as twenty-somethings in the Philadelphia suburbs, our pickings are slim. If we were ready for a half million dollar home, our options would be bountiful. But since we are looking for a handy man’s special that is correctly priced, there are currently 12 properties available in our county. Our realtor keeps telling us that this is the best time for us to buy a house.
Last night, we may have found “the one” – that magically property that is one part money pit, one part hotbed of potential and one part “hey, we could actually afford this”. I’m trying not to get my hopes up but last night I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep.
But before we found “the one”, there were a lot of duds. House hunting isn’t all that different from dating – if you don’t know right away that it could work, no amount of time standing around will make it work. I was also surprised at the lack of care many people had for the homes they were selling. Below are a few of my *ahem* favorite observations.
Underwear – There is nothing like walking into the master bedroom and seeing a thong lying on the floor. And not an “I fell out of the laundry pile when I was being put away” type of situation. Someone wore this thong and decided that letting it sitting in the middle of the floor would be a good idea while they had their home viewed.
Dirty dishes – Why in the world would someone leave filthy dishes sitting in the sink when a potential home buyer was knocking on the door? Ew. And honestly, it looked like those dishes had been there for at least a week.
Poorly Planned Additions – Brian likes to call these places “Wacky Shacks” and I discovered this past week how accurate that term can be. It’s not a good sign if you realize that an addition was placed on top of a porch. It is really a bad sign if your realtor steps out onto the addition and then stops you from following him. I think my favorite part of that particular addition was that the addition in question was modeled like a bathroom but had no plumbing or electric.
Cigarette Butts – I’m not someone who gets too worked up over smoking. I smoked for years and while I’m nicotine free now, I’m not going to get frustrated with anyone for continuing to smoke. There are far worse vices out there and I have bigger fish to fry. But when I’m wandering through a potential home and every room in the house (including the room decorated as a nursery) has a filled and dirty ash tray in the house, I begin to wonder just how much work it will take to get the smell of smoke out of the house.
Home owners – For the love of God, just leave the house when the real estate agent has a potential buyer walking through the property. I don’t want to make comments to my husband about what I would want him to remodel while you are sitting on the couch watching. And while its great that some of these home owners have verbal diarrhea and have told me all of the work that would be required (let me tell you, it can be better than a seller’s disclosure), it is not going to help you while we negotiate a price. Escape your house for a little bit, go to the park, go to the mall, do something. But don’t just sit there and watch me.
Coping with Disabilities: How I can be ADD in the office
I have a love/hate relationship with my Attention Deficit Disorder. Since I was diagnosed at 13, dealing with ADD has been a confusing but rewarding battle of me versus me. In school, ADD meant more time for assignments, tutors if I wanted one and a steady diet of Ritalin. In the working world, ADD means creating a system of coping mechanisms that make me look quirky and neurotic.
It’s taken me a long time to get to the love portion of the ADD relationship. Prior to my diagnosis, I knew that I operated differently from my peers, I just didn’t understand why. In middle school and high school, Ritalin helped me focus but I hated the side effects. I had no desire to eat, my creativity was stifled and I was unable to sleep for more than three hours a night starting when I was 14. By the time I got to college, I knew something had to give.
I decided sophomore year in college that I had enough of the medication. I got to this point where the ability to focus just wasn’t worth the side effects. And then I struggled. I decided I didn’t want to have extra help that the college could provide me because no one would offer me extra help when I got into the real world just because I had ADD. And without the medication, I had no idea how to learn.
The plus side of a med free life was worth it for a time. My creativity flooded back to me. Suddenly, I had a desire to eat again (sadly, while there was no “freshman fifteen” my new found love of food led to a sophomore twenty five!). Without medication, I was brazen. Walking into a room where I knew no one was okay and actually enjoyable. And I discovered that it wasn’t that I had a problem focusing – I just couldn’t select what I would focus on.
Oh, and I finally was able to sleep for more than three hours at a time. Who knew feeling well rested would feel so good!
Then my grades went down. Ultimately, it took me five years to finish undergrad. Not being able to choose to focus on classes made writing papers and reading assignments brutal. But the ability to hyper focus enabled me to read all of Ayn Rand’s work my junior year (don’t ask me why that was able to capture my attention). Getting up each day to do work was a battle but getting up each day to discover new things was thrilling.
Post college life was interesting. Realizing that I couldn’t keep struggling, my doctor and I decided it was time for me to try new medication, this time in the form of Stratera. It seemed like a great idea at first but I soon discovered that the side effects were hellish. The world, which had been so vibrant for my four med-free years, was suddenly flat. Because strattera is a mild antidepressant, there were no emotional lows but that also meant there were no emotional highs. When I broke up with my five year on again off again boyfriend for the last time, I knew I should be sad but I just didn’t care. There was also absolutely no desire for sex and a desire to sleep for twelve hours a day. But I could focus.
Once again, this was not an option that would last very long.
I’ve been med-free for a little over two years now. The breakup with my ex was what finally led me to give up the idea that medicine would “fix” me. If I was unable to feel, what good was I as a person? I’ve been in pursuit of holistic, natural care ever since.
Surprisingly, the med free life has made my ADD more manageable than it ever was before. Here’s how I am able to do this now:
Holistic/Natural Medical treatment – I’ve been seeing a chiropractor for two years and three months. When I first went to Gorman Optimal Health Solutions, I thought the guy was nuts for telling me that he could treat ADD through adjustments and supplements. And then I discovered he was right. Before I start having back pain, I’ll notice I am out of alignment because I am more easily distracted.
Supplements – I take 5-HTP at meal times. It is believed to help children and adults with over focused ADD. Ravers take it to offset some of the fun after effects of ecstasy. There are plenty of supplement options that are suggested for ADD but after much trial and error (with the guidance of my doctor) this is what we discovered worked best for me.
Exercise – If I don’t get at least 30 minutes of vigorous exercise in a day, I’m done. My best days for focusing mean that I spent about 90 minutes in the gym in the morning. Exercise quiets my mind and it quiets my body. While I never had the stereotypical hyperactivity, I am constantly fidgeting with my hair, things in my pockets and items on my desk. Besides, exercise is just good for you.
Diet – As tempting as dessert can be, I can’t focus after eating sugary foods. Its okay to have a treat at home once in a while but if I hit the office candy dish, I can forget about focusing on the job they pay me to do. I do best when I stay away from carbs during the day and wait until I get home at night to enjoy them.
Color Coding – I have a ridiculous system of color coding in my FranklinCovey planner but it extends to other areas of my life. Work life items are blue. Yellow is for medical. Pink is for me. Orange is for home. Purple is for church. The list goes on and on. Certain times I focus on certain colors.
Limit Multitasking – It always seems like multitasking is a great idea but it fails me more times than it helps me. Instead, I focus on short bursts. I break most of my daily tasks into twenty to thirty minute blocks of time. Anything more than that I get distracted. In between those blocks, I give myself a mini break – I get a glass of water, I stretch, I check out a post of Brazen Careerist or I find a reason to talk to a coworker.
Talk about it – HR knows about my ADD. My direct supervisor knows about it. And a few of the moms that work in my office know about it as well. I do not broadcast it – there is no reason to show up at work with a flashing neon sign that reads “Dorie has Attention Deficit Disorder” but trying to hide it does not work either. HR and my direct supervisor need to know. But it isn’t enough to walk into their offices, say “Hi, I have ADD” and then leave. By having conversations about what my strengths and weaknesses are, they are able to work with me. And really, that is good advice for anyone regardless of whether or not there is a disability.
But why do I talk to office moms about it? Some of them are learning how to deal with parenting an ADD child. I believe its important for them to see how coping with ADD as a child translates into coping with ADD as an adult. If they can benefit from my experiences, it was worth it to share.
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