So I just had a realization while trying to get my brain to work with me and actually write some fiction, and I realized it probably isn’t just me. I was thinking about how easy ideas used to come to me, how I’d read for hours at a time and write constantly. I realized that only stopped in high school. Before that I never had to pay much attention in class and rarely had homework. As school took up more and more of my time, and waaay more of my energy, I read and wrote less and less for fun. I did less of everything I loved, crafts and playing outside, all of it.

I couldn’t remember why I chose school, when most of my peers let their grades slide some in order to enjoy life. Part of it was thinking I should get into a good college so I could make enough money to live on. But I think a big part was also that I was a perfectionist, partially because I believed perfection was expected, and as I grew up and developed my taste more, I could tell my art wasn’t up to par with what I admired. The difference seemed so huge, I got intimidated. But school I could be perfect at, I knew that.

To focus on my studies I had to stifle all my creative impulses. No time for writing or reading, had to focus. With anxiety and force of will, I ignored and forgot all the ideas that buzzed around my head, until it was automatic. Now, I can hardly focus enough to read, and I can’t stop critiquing books like I was taught in college. I don’t get spontaneous writing ideas anymore, and writing a scene is like pulling teeth. I suffocated pieces of myself for school, but those were the pieces I really needed to become an author.

I know the stories and ideas will return. Its a muscle you have to exercise. But if I wasn’t so anxious about my grades and was brave enough to continue writing even when I knew it was garbage, I would be so much farther ahead write now.

Don’t strangle your soul trying to kill your ADHD. Your art doesn’t need to be perfect, or even good, you just have to make it. Please make it.