"Between Chaos & Bedtime" the Podcast

Managing ADHD in Real Life

When I was diagnosed with ADHD a few years ago I felt like I needed to re-learn life. Suddenly I was aware of the “why” behind many of my struggles. I began to understand how my brain could alternate between acting like my best friend and my worst enemy. One of the first lessons I learned is that there is no “one size fits all” solution for managing ADHD. Like they say: “If you’ve met one person with ADHD, you’ve met one person with ADHD.” Being a dad with ADHD has presented the biggest challenge. Having kids is ultimately what led me to seek diagnosis. I’d spent more than 30 years cobbling together systems and work-arounds that helped me get by. Then, rather abruptly, all the compensations I’d developed stopped working when my first baby arrived. The playbook just wasn’t the same. That’s a big reason why I started my Substack. I wanted to share my experience so that someone else out there who is late-diagnosed—someone who’s trying to figure out how to be an adult and parent with ADHD—can feel less alone, and learn a few things along the way. Every day offers new lessons. Fulfilling my responsibilities while still trying to grasp how and why my brain works the way it does is a full-time job and a constantly moving target. It’s discouraging at times, but there are strategies that help. Over the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing specific things that have helped me manage my ADHD and show up better as a husband and father. Are these foolproof strategies that magically fix all your problems? No. Do they have the power to improve your life in meaningful ways? Absolutely. Here’s what I’ll cover: * Managing Your Energy to Manage Your ADHD * Momentum Is Your Friend—Also It’s Not * Transitions Are Key * The Domino Effect (The Negative and Positive) * Move Your Damn Body * Place Your Own Mask Before Assisting Others Be sure to hit the subscribe button and follow along so you don’t miss any upcoming posts. At the end of the day I want to be present for my kids, be a good partner to my wife, and stay regulated. These strategies have helped me, and I’m sure they can improve your life too! That’s idea at least. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit carignanevonpohle.substack.com [https://carignanevonpohle.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

When My Kids Take the Field, So Do I

Last week I was at my son’s baseball game when I realized something… It’s hard for me to watch my kids play sports. Not because they aren’t athletic or talented (thank goodness they take after their mother). It’s because I can’t help but see myself out there. Somehow, when they step onto the field, a part of me goes with them. And it’s not the part of me that’s confident and athletic. It’s the part of me that’s terrified to mess up. Every misplay, dropped ball, strikeout, stumble, whiff—I have a visceral response. I remember what it was like being that kid out there. I remember the overwhelming fear of failure. It was never about doing my best, showing up, and finding opportunities to improve. It was about avoiding defeat. I didn’t handle failure well. In Little League, if I didn’t reach base, I’d melt down. I’d cry, throw my bat. My emotional dysregulation was on full display. It wasn’t that I got out. It was that failure proved something damning about me—people could see the “real” me. The me that crumbles in the big moment. My self-worth was dependent on my athletic performance. It was a tremendous burden. It wasn’t about participation, it was about validation. Watching my own kids, I worry that they feel the same way. Does my son feel like every eye is on him if he misses a grounder? Does he feel the judgement? Does he question his self-worth? Sports are meant to be fun. I only allowed myself to have fun if I was succeeding. That’s a lesson that I’ve tried hard not to pass on to my kids. There’s so much to be gained from sports—the teamwork, camaraderie, being active. I’m working hard to let my kids live their own experience. I want them to know that failure is inevitable in life. That’s one of the great lessons of sports. How we handle failure is what’s most important. Fortunately, the next generation seems to have it figured out. My kids don’t carry the self-doubt I did. They’re learning how to handle defeat without losing control. If I struck out, I would melt down and throw my bat. If my son strikes out, he calmly walks himself back to the dugout and waits for his next chance. No tears, no tantrums. I’m filled with pride. He’s already so far ahead of where I was at his age. Is it still painful to remember my own experience with sports? Sure. But when I watch my kids, I see them play with a joy I spent years trying to earn. That makes it a whole lot easier to be a spectator…and a dad! This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit carignanevonpohle.substack.com [https://carignanevonpohle.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

The Day I Peaked as a Dad

Last summer a friend told me I reminded him of a blue cartoon dog. Honestly, I’ve never been more proud. As a millennial dad, one of the highest possible compliments you can receive is being likened to Bandit Heeler, the dad in the insanely popular show Bluey. If you’ve never seen the show, let me tell you what you’re missing. Bluey follows the everyday lives of a family of four “Heeler” (also the families’ surname) dogs living in Brisbane, Australia. There’s mom (Chilli) and dad (Bandit), their two daughters Bingo (4) and Bluey (6), and a cast of other memorable characters. During each 7 minute episode Bingo and Bluey learn about life—sharing, humility, helping others, acceptance, growing up, and even death. It’s a “kids show”, but any parent who knows will tell you that it’s equally as entertaining for adults. The episodes are clever and funny. The show is never preachy or condescending. It’s relatable without being cliche. When there’s a lesson to be learned, it’s delivered in a fun, engaging way. It’s also emotional and moving. If you’re a parent who has watched the show, it’s very likely that you’ve been brought to tears at least once. Bluey is brilliant because it captures the true essence of childhood—learning and discovery through play. And that’s when the dad, Bandit, is at his best. When it’s playtime he’s in the middle of it. The games are immersive, and the kids lead. They do skits, make-believe, and tell stories. Their curiosity, enthusiasm, and creativity are encouraged. And Bandit—who really is the north star for most millennial fathers—remains calm, and engaged. He’s patient with missteps, expertly handles conflict, and celebrates successes. He’s carefree without being chaotic. His ability to completely surrender to play is enviable. He’s all the things I want to be as a dad, and for one magical afternoon last summer, I fulfilled my dream. It happened at a friend’s pool party. We’d been playing for hours. In and out of the water, chasing the kids, flinging myself off the side of the pool, “fainting” and lifelessly flopping into the water, throwing water balloons. It was fun-filled and accompanied by lots of laughter and giggles. It should be said, when it comes to water-play, I become a kid myself. I LOVE to be in the water. As a child I was always the last one out of the pool or ocean, and not a lot has changed in 40 years. After witnessing my “man-child” act for most of the afternoon my friend remarked, “I feel like I’m watching an episode of Bluey!” Truth is, that version of me—the playful fun-loving version that reminds people of Bandit Heeler—is the version that I wish I could be more often. I understand that not every situation calls for play. As a parent it’s important to create some structure for your kids. Kids do well with structure. And sometimes there are rules to enforce—not everything is sunshine and rainbows. But when it is about growth and enrichment, play is the best way to connect with kids. During a recent conversation with a friend who works with kids who have ADHD, he shared that the kids he’s worked with—those who are struggling to cope with a brain that doesn’t always fit in a neurotypical world—connect best with adults who have ADHD. What he’s heard over and over is that kids with ADHD recognize that adults who also have ADHD remember better what it’s like to be a kid themselves. The term “ADHD Superpower” gets thrown around a lot. But if being able to connect with children and speak through the universal language of play isn’t among the greatest ADHD superpowers, I don’t know what is! I know I’m at my best as a dad when I remember how to play. Unfortunately, somewhere along the way, play became a liability. Being fun and goofy revealed too much, and I worked to suppress that side of myself. That mentality has negatively influenced my parenting. Because I lost touch with my playful side, I struggle to be engaged. I’m working so hard to be something I’m not—the serious, determined dad—that I struggle to hear the voice in my head telling me to lighten up. Truth is, I’m working hard to embrace my playfulness and recognizing how it makes me a better person and a better dad. I know that’s the version of me my kids love to have around. And, if it gets me compared to a cartoon dog named Bandit, I must be doing something right. That’s the goal, after all…isn’t it? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit carignanevonpohle.substack.com [https://carignanevonpohle.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

My ADHD Means I've Learned to Live Behind a Mask

“I had no idea you have ADHD!” It’s a common reaction when people learn of my diagnosis. As a child, I didn’t exhibit the usual symptoms. I wasn’t hyperactive. I did well enough in school that I didn’t draw any attention. I was labeled “bright.” That’s probably why it took 36 years to finally arrive at a diagnosis. To be honest, going that long without a diagnosis feels like an achievement. For 36 years, I effectively veiled my symptoms. I compensated for my shortcomings, learned how to act so I didn’t arouse suspicion, and made the rest of it up on the fly. I got really good at masking. For a lot of people with ADHD, masking is an essential part of life. It’s a way to conceal the frenetic, chaotic, and disorganized way our brains work. It disguises impulsive, erratic, or sensory seeking behavior, so we appear in control. It helps us fit in because standing out isn’t encouraged. I started masking early. Even as a child I had a nagging feeling that something was different—my brain was operating on a different wavelength from the people around me. I struggled to fit in with my peers and I didn’t make friends easily. I was insecure and hyper-aware of what people thought of me. My behavior evolved to meet others’ expectations in an attempt to earn their approval. My primary strategy was to make people laugh. If I was the funny guy, people wouldn’t look deeper and see the struggles just underneath the surface. I would crack jokes in class, do bits—anything to distract from the vulnerability concealed inside. Masking became my default. Only after diagnosis—and learning about ADHD—did I being to recognize how much I was hiding behind different masks, each one serving a different purpose, intended for different situations or different people. When I became a dad, I put on a new mask. Before I had kids I was convinced I was going to be great at fatherhood. I’d watch friends with their kids and take mental notes on all the ways I felt they could do better. It was easy to be on the outside looking in. If they made mistakes or stumbled, I was quick to judge. “That won’t be me”, I thought. I was going to be perfect. Well, I haven’t been perfect. But I have worked tirelessly to keep up the act. I regularly have family members commend me on what a great job I’m doing, and how I’m such an engaged, attentive dad. What they don’t realize is, I’m on my best behavior and trying to hold it all together because I don’t want to disappoint anyone. In reality, fatherhood has been a white-knuckle thrill ride and, at times, I’m barely hanging on. When the mask does fall, and my family sees the real struggle that I’ve been hiding underneath, it’s shocking. My frustrations and stress build up to a point where I can’t hold it all together, and I snap. The expressions of those witnessing my meltdown punctuates how effectively I’ve worn a mask. They suddenly realize I’ve been working overtime to appear like everything is great. When the veil comes crashing down, it’s a shocking surprise. Always hiding behind a mask means I’ve lost myself along the way. The constant pressure to fit in, to perform, has eroded my ability to be authentically and unapologetically me. My personality has become a hodgepodge of personas, each intended for specific interactions. They help me get along without revealing the person underneath. But, the more I mask, the more exhausted I become. Removing the mask is scary and it requires vulnerability, which is not something I was raised to cultivate. Pleasing other people was what I was taught. Self-sacrifice for the sake of other’s comfort and welfare. I want to do it differently—for my own sake, and for my kids. I want them to grow up to know that the best they can offer is their most authentic self. That’s the lesson we are learning together. Not perfection, not performance. Just the slow, uncomfortable process of taking the mask off, piece by piece, and learning to trust that what’s underneath is already enough. Thanks for reading! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit carignanevonpohle.substack.com [https://carignanevonpohle.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]

Comparison Didn’t Just Steal My Joy—It Changed the Dad I Was Becoming

They say, ”Comparison is the thief of joy.” True. It’s also very hard for me to avoid. In recent years, social media has become a steady stream of updates showcasing the accomplishments, achievements, and possessions of my friends and peers. Try as I might, I can’t help but feel envious. And that envy extends to parenting. The parents I follow seem to have more to offer in time and resources. They’re present in a way that I struggle to be. Their kids have opportunities that mine don’t—whether it’s trips or experiences. I’ve just always felt like I’m playing from behind. Maybe it’s my ADHD; maybe it’s just my own deep-seated insecurities. But I can’t shake the feeling that other people are just so much better at parenting than me! People’s lives on social media are a highlight reel that underscores all the ways I don’t measure up. I get distracted easily. I struggle to be present. I get bored with the same game over and over. I’m not like them, so I’m not enough. Unfortunately, the fun-loving, playful, spontaneous, carefree person my wife assumed she would raise her kids with, got lost along the way—a casualty of my envy and constant comparisons. But it’s clear I’ve lost the plot. I forget the only measurement that matters: being the best dad I can be. It’s fun to be a dad, and I often forget how good I can be at fun. Somehow I let life and parenting get too serious. I lost sight of what really matters. I got caught up in comparing myself to others, and lost my joy along the way. The real lesson, the lesson I have to constantly remind myself, is: Comparison is only valuable when you’re comparing your current self to your past self. Are you working to be better today than you were yesterday? That’s the real measure of success. My kids only have one dad, and I need to make sure they get the best version. That’s where I’ll find my joy. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit carignanevonpohle.substack.com [https://carignanevonpohle.substack.com?utm_medium=podcast&utm_campaign=CTA_1]