Picture this: navigating the DMV feels like holding a stick of dynamite with a fuse barely half an inch long. Add the chaos of a remote learner’s permit test, and you’ve got yourself an epic saga—one that’s especially challenging when ADHD is part of the mix.
Day One: The Battle of the Slow Computer
Our saga begins with a nerve-wracking pretest ritual: log in ten minutes early, sit in a room that’s more barren than a desert, keep your desk emptier than a monk’s mind, and pan the camera around to prove you’re not plotting to cheat. Oh, and make sure your back is to the door, because, you know, that’s apparently crucial.
Enter my daughter, the brave test-taker. She sits down at her personal computer, a relic from the Jurassic era of gaming. Naturally, this was the day it decided to flaunt its glacial speed. The Wi-Fi, channeling its inner moody teenager, decided to take a nap. The DMV employee, after waiting for what felt like an eternity in DMV time, suggested we reschedule.
Cue the meltdown. My daughter’s dreams of becoming a licensed driver seemed to dissolve before her eyes, triggering a full-blown emotional tornado in our living room. Stomps, rants, and hyperventilation ensued. I had to step in, adopting the role of breathing coach, and guiding her through some zen-like exercises.
Here’s where my coaching experience came into play. Thanks to an executive functioning class, I had learned from the brilliant Dr. Jill Taylor that emotions are essentially chemicals that hit your brain for about 90 seconds. If you keep feeding them, they stick around longer.
To help her understand, I used a metaphor: “Imagine your emotion monster is like a junk food addict. Right now, it’s chowing down on pizza, hot dogs, burgers, and ice cream—and it’s about to squash the poor DMV worker!” She laughed. Turns out, even at 17, a good distraction still works wonders. We decided to regroup and try again in two days.
Day Two: The Ultimate Test Round Two
Fast forward to day two. We had a new strategy: ditch the ancient gaming computer and bring in my sleek, speedy one. I even set up a special profile for her, like a VIP pass to the DMV testing world.
She logged in. The room was eerily silent—too silent. She took the test, and then… thud, thud, thud. Heavy footsteps thundered up the stairs. My mom-sense tingled; if she had passed, those steps would’ve danced down the hallway. Instead, they headed straight into her room.
I followed, bracing myself. “What happened?” I asked gently. “I failed,” she said, her voice dripping with defeat. To her, failure wasn’t just a bump in the road; it was the Grand Canyon.
“How many questions did you miss?” I asked. “Eleven,” she replied. I did the quick math. She only needed to miss three fewer questions next time to pass. Trying to find the silver lining, I said, “Hey, it’s just three questions less than last time. You’ve got this!”
Right on cue, Dad walked in with his own war story: “I failed my first test too!” It was as if the universe was sending her a cosmic “you’re not alone” message.
We devised a new study plan and set a one-week game plan. With practice and perseverance, I’m confident she’ll ace it next time.
Turning Chaos into Triumph
For those of us navigating ADHD, it’s crucial to keep reminding ourselves of our strengths and strategies. Coaching is like a guiding star in the stormy seas of ADHD, helping you harness those strengths and turn chaos into triumph.
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