Moderately to Severely F*cking Distracted
“I was at Dutch Bros writing a creative concept and talking to the sweetest old man in a wheelchair, and genuinely, completely lost all track of time and waltzed in at 6pm like nothing happened.”
Let me tell you a little story.
Rewind six months. I am in talk therapy, trying to figure out how to be more Zen and less murdery. I'm mid-explanation about something — probably telling a story about all the sh*t happening at once — and my therapist, in the most loving, calm, slow-leg-cross, tiny-head-nod approach says (yes in her Zen voice):
"Becca, have you ever been tested for ADHD? I see a lot of tendencies, and I mean that in the most loving way — as in, you would probably be a whole lot less stressed if we could dissect that option."
Me: Hmmm, never thought about it.
Also me: continues talking. Does not let it sink in. For months.
Fast forward to this week. Four rounds of testing later. Results in hand.
Moderate to high in seven out of ten categories.
Seven.
To get diagnosed my psych gal walked me through multiple questionnaires and four sessions of have you ever and do you find yourself and would you say that you….you get the gist. I want you to know I felt personally attacked by multiple questions. Ones like:
Do you find yourself interrupting people? Are you easily distracted? Do you ever drift off while someone else is speaking and realize you've heard absolutely nothing they just said?
Who, me? Never. (Southern drawl. Hand to chest, aghast. Full commitment.)
The childhood one got me, though.
She asked if I was an active kid who talked a lot or ever had to be asked to quiet down — and I had a full on flashback to six-year-old Becca in her frilly dress and ruffled white ankle socks, fruit punch stain already on the front of said dress, standing on the chairs in the back of church crossing her eyes and making faces at her friends. Or tucking her skinny little arms into her armpits and flapping her pretend chicken wings at them during the pastor's prayer.
Totally normal. Perfectly calibrated child. Duh.
Anyway. Seven out of ten.
The kind of cool part about this diagnosis is.
This same brain — the one that made me show up to a dinner my husband cooked because I was at Dutch Bros writing a creative concept and talking to the sweetest old man in a wheelchair and genuinely, completely lost all track of time and waltzed in at 6 pm as if nothing happened — this same brain doesn’t give up on goals.
Not the ones that actually matter to me.
I will make ten thousand dollars a month. I will increase billing. I will quit corporate. I will get the COO who doesn't like me to come around. When I set my mind to something I actually want — something I'm passionate about — I am an unmovable object. Bring it on, b*tches. Even when it takes longer than it should. Even when no one else is convinced it will.
Even this book. This book that has taken forever. That had an edit session this week that was a complete and bloody waste of time because I let an AI go down a rabbit hole and make one small thing the whole personality of a chapter it was never supposed to be about — I'm still here. I cannot quit. It is not a setting I have.
The wiring that scores moderate to high in seven categories is the same wiring that got me out of corporate, built the business, and is finishing this manuscript.
I genuinely do not know if I owe it a thank you note or a restraining order.
The edit rhythm this week finally clicked on Wednesday. Late Wednesday — because if there's no deadline my nervous system simply will not engage, that's just confirmed science now — but when it clicked it was good.
The rest of the week was the volleyball schedule, a church conference, my nephews' soccer, client work , and the birthdays we are finally celebrated weeks late with picked-up dessert instead of homemade because that is who this family is, and we have made our peace.
I clocked thirteen miles on the trail. Walking and jogging, rotating. Giving running an honest shot even though I hate it.
Alas, you have a front row seat to my apparently chaotic seven out of ten ADHD brain. YIKES.
Still becoming. Still not resolved. Still here. 🤍
MANUSCRIPT STATS
✅ 19 chapters. Check.
✅ Part 1: Complete. Realized it needed help. Went back in. Still counts.
🔄 Part 2: Almost done. We're 3/4 of the way on this segment.
📚 Publishing direction: Still leaning traditional. Zero progress.
👀 Agent search: Coming. Eventually. Promise.
