My daughter– the one diagnosed with ADHD and mild social anxiety– and I were discussing fidgeting. I told her that I have realized more and more that I fidget more than I ever realized.

“Mom,” she said. “You fidget more than I do.”

“I almost wish you could come with me to my appointment Thursday, because you and I have the same symptoms, but I really think they’re going to want to put me on an SSRI. Why do you get Adderall and I get an SSRI?”

“Because you are disabled.”

I must have given her a confused and shocked look.

“I am a white woman. You are a white woman with a disability. You are even further away from the standard white man. No one likes comorbidities they don’t understand.”

So, I’ve been thinking about fidgeting.

Whenever I wear jewelry, I constantly play with it. I resumed wearing my Celtic knot pendant before I traveled to Ireland in late March. I have been spinning it, touching it, and putting it in my mouth several times an hour.

When I wore a wedding ring, I spun it. And since I stopped wearing it, I rub my fingers where it used to be.

When I wear earrings, I turn them. When I had a nipple ring, I turned that, as long as people weren’t looking.

I run my fingers through my hair.

If I touch my nose or my eyebrows or my ears, I struggle to stop.

And I take notes, lots of notes. More often than not, I have a notebook and several pens in my hand. And I take photos. Of everything.

I don’t sit still well. Professionally. Personally. I excel at jobs that require sorting, organizing, finding and planning. I live life like a chess game– planning moves and tasks before they happen. Funny part is, I suck at chess. I can’t get the strategy planned out far enough ahead.