They’re traits that fundamentally make me who I am, and I’ve embraced them as an integral part of myself and how I relate to the world. And oftentimes, keeping up the masks can become second nature.Įspecially with my late diagnosis of ADHD, I’ve had a complex relationship with my “quirks,” or rather, my ADHD traits: from easily zoning out to the corners of my mind, playful clumsiness (tumbling down half a flight of stairs and getting stuck in the Science Center revolving doors in the same day), my golden retriever energy, and eagerness in conversations and interactions, the list goes on and on.
To clarify, masking is not “being fake” nor inventing an entirely new alter ego rather, it is a means of navigating territories not conducive to neurodivergencies like mine. Critically, in this world, hidden in Mather’s concrete jungle, there’s no need to be anyone but ourselves no Harvard intros and small talk, no maintaining the front that we have it all together (honestly, I don’t think anyone does), and no self-editing.Īs a perfectionist with ADHD, I learned from a young age to regulate my behavior to match my environment: to “ mask” or “camouflage” my ADHD, toning myself down for the comfort of others and compensating for my deficits.
#Crimson editor for mac zip
We are two islands in an archipelago, a dimension and a half away from our problem sets and papers.Īs the lights in neighboring suites flicker off for the night, our light persists as we zip through a maze of topics: the dynamics of friend groups and “IRL socialization,” a Quizlet of the “We’re Not Really Strangers” questions, Thai insurance commercials, the absolute perfection of the boat scene in “Tangled,” why 2018 was definitively the worst year of my life, the instant cheese from Kraft mac and cheese.Įven though I’m sure our sleep schedules resent us, our conversations are a respite, where it doesn’t matter how many times I interrupt her, entirely derail us off of topics, lose my train of thought, or launch into a TED talk about a past or present hyper-fixation. I lounge in a common room chair in a position that undeniably constitutes an incorrect way to sit, with my gangly legs and statement red converse hanging off the chair’s chunky arms my friend perches above our small wooden table. My suitemate and I are regular visitors here. Welcome to the land of late-night conversations, where the hours blur into the peaceful quiet of stolen time.
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