Invisible ADHD by Shanna Pearson

My thanks to Shanna Pearson, Macmillan Audio, and NetGalley for allowing me to listen to an ALC in exchange for an honest review.

Just to provide context, this is advice from a life coach with a degree in psychology—and a service to sell. She does have ADHD herself and understands it deeply. If you’re looking for scientific research, study result discussion, and an extensive bibliography, this is not that kind of book. The ebook only cites six sources.

Every word used to describe the ADHD experience resonated straight down to my marrow. I’m female and was late diagnosed in my 30s after being considered a daydreaming child, moody teen, then an adult with severe treatment-resistant depression and anxiety. Through the first quarter of this book, which discusses what ADHD is and how it manifests, I was absolutely riveted, and felt So. Friggin. SEEN.

Then I got to Part III, with the advice and strategies, and the stars left my eyes. I was torn: I wanted to listen, because Pearson continued to describe the struggles and experience of ADHD in ways I related to, and I yearned to know I wasn’t alone. But I also wanted to DNF, because I was greatly disappointed in what I was being told. (I did finish it, though—yay me!)

Let’s examine, per Pearson’s advice. What exactly was I expecting from this book? Well, I was looking for relatability. I wanted someone with my problems, someone who has found success and happiness despite those problems, to tell me I’m okay the way I am. I wanted advice as to how to be okay with being ADHD. I wanted to be told ADHD isn’t a problem, here’s how to understand it, embrace it, and thrive.

I did find relatability and understanding, but not acceptance. Instead the book made me feel infantilized, ashamed, and angry. Why? Because Pearson does an amazing, inspiring job of explaining and describing how we’re different—but then proceeds to advise us to force ourselves to conform to a neurotypical experience, because that’s the only way we’ll ever feel loved and fulfilled.

I don’t want to invalidate her strategies, because they can work. Therapists teach these strategies every day; you’ll recognize pieces of CBT, DBT, parts work, etc., in the book. I taught myself a lot of them when I was a child without realizing they were coping strategies. They’re not groundbreaking, Pearson’s just put her own twist on them. But they’re as absurd as ever to me—the solution for the problem is doubling down on the problem? Make your ADHD better by doing things that are inherently extra difficult for ADHDers? It doesn’t make sense. It’s a recipe for burnout and self-hatred—otherwise known as Square 1.

It’s so infuriating, because the first thing she does is relate to us about being told “why can’t you just” all your life. Yet her advice is—that stuff you find hard to do? Just try harder to do it. Break it down so even a child could do it. Same sentiment, different words.

One thing that ROYALLY pissed me off was when she told us to just stop eating refined sugar, under the theory that sugar feeds the dysfunction of ADHD. This isn’t news, and I already limit my sugar intake, avoid added sugar and HFCS, etc. What pissed me off is that that was it–avoid refined sugar as much as possible. Full stop. I guess I’ll just build a rocket and fly to the moon tomorrow, too. In fact, that’d probably be easier. She doesn’t explain refined vs. unrefined, doesn’t give us alternative options, doesn’t explain why, doesn’t explore how pervasive refined sugar is in the typical diet. Nope, she just acknowledges that we’re probably addicted to sugar and tells us to not be. Because addiction is a switch we can just turn off, right? God, that made me mad.

I felt infantilized because Pearson often said things like “your amazing brain,” “your incredible brain,” which I’m sure was meant to be encouraging, and if she’d only done it a couple times it might have been. But she did it so often that it started to feel disingenuous and patronizing. Doth protest too much, you know? Additionally, three or four different times when she was explaining her strategies she actually compared us to children. Remember what you were taught in kindergarten? Do that. I assume she was going for relatability or simplification, and again, if she’d done it just once I probably wouldn’t have thought much of it, but doing it repeatedly made me feel like a misbehaved child. Again, Square 1.

As for ashamed, it was how she talked about idleness. I wish I’d made note of the exact spot but I didn’t (just making a note at all was a win); there were a couple instances when she talked about what we do instead of being productive, like watching TV or playing video games, and it came across to me like she was saying those are shameful, unfulfilling wastes of time. Well, eff you, lady. I like watching TV and playing video games, in moderation of course. How dare you try to make me feel bad about that.

Which ties back into my disappointment with this book—it perpetuates society’s expectations of us. Get off your ass, you’re not allowed to relax, you’re expected to work harder. Your value as a person is intrisically tied to how much you can achieve. Do as much as you can, be as productive as you can, and if you’re not succeeding, there’s something wrong with you that needs fixing, so practice what successful people do so you can fit in. Do everything that does not come naturally to you and conform. If I were more political, I’d call her strategies ableist trash. She wants us to meet society at its level, when it should be meeting us at ours. Instead of ways to just cope with overwhelm, what about ways to reduce it? Because they are not the same thing. I don’t want to cope with overwhelm, I want to not feel overwhelmed.

A few final notes. First, I loved that she repeated important points and included quick summaries at the end of sections, because I absolutely needed them. Genius.

Second, to prompt the reader to practice an exercise, they decided to have a male voice say “do this” before Pearson describes the exercise. They did not think that through. I think the intent was a jarring contrast to grab our attention, but having a man interrupt my listening experience with an order is exactly the right way to trigger defiance in me. I took great pleasure in not doing what he told me to do.

Third, Pearson’s narration was okay, but if I listened for a long stretch of time, her voice began to grate. She kept her tone friendly, confident, and patient. At times she sounded like she was laughing, which I took as being upbeat, but other listeners could feel that she’s laughing at them or not taking things seriously.

I wonder if she and her coaches keep an eye out for autism in their clients. There’s a lot of overlap between autism and ADHD, and more than once while listening I’d think Pearson was straying into autism territory. Or that some of her advice would backfire for an autistic person. ADHD is rough, AuDHD is a whole ‘nother level.