He said sure. He’s not embarrassed by it.
I love TikTok.
I created an account last year because Max wanted to create an account. I’m weary of social media for rapidly developing brains, but after lots of negotiating and discussion about inappropriate content (like dick picks), I allowed Max a kids account, which is linked to my adult account. I thought TikTok would be a magnificent time waster - which it is - but now that I have fine-tuned my algorithm, I am privy to lots of information that I actually find helpful.
Fashion tips for mid-sized moms. Techniques for applying make-up (that I barely wear). Elyse Myers! Funny dogs. Condiment Claire. Swearing children. Lessons on Not Crossing a Gay Man. Viral dance routines. Dickie Donnie. And mental health videos. So many mental health videos. Some accounts belong to therapists, psychiatrists, or dieticians. Some belong to people who are managing mental illness or recovering from food-related issues. And some belong to random people discussing daily mental health struggles that we all experience.
I love how easily these people discuss their feelings and struggles.
I love that the videos provide me with content to discuss with my therapist.
I love that the videos normalize how common it is to feel the feels.
It’s been a year since I first posted my mental health story on Facebook. I wrote it for Mental Illness Awareness Week, which takes place during the first full week of October each year. This post, which became my first blog, was the impetus for Stink Bug Tales. So many people reached out to me publicly and privately to thank me for my honesty and encourage me to keep writing. So I have. I have told you about my depression and anxiety. Taking antidepressants. How much I love my therapist. Uncovering just how problematic my relationship with food has been. Feelings of overwhelm. Supporting my kids’ mental health. I have considered it to be my personal mission to normalize talking about mental health issues and to teach my children about all of this.
So imagine my surprise this week when I discovered that Max is actually following my lead.
A few days ago, while conducting my weekly-ish review of his phone content, I discovered a text chain between Max and a girl in his class. He told her that sometimes he stares off into space during class because he has ADHD.
She responded gently by asking him to tell her more about what ADHD is like.
He explained that he has a difficult time focusing, and that sometimes he feels hyperactive, but mostly he struggles with attention issues. And then he told her that when he remembers to take his Adderall, he’s completely fine.
She asked him if his friends know about his ADHD.
He said yes. All of his friends know.
She asked him if she could talk about ADHD with her friends.
He said sure. He’s not embarrassed by it.
Remember the girl who used to hide her Prozac in an empty Oil of Olay jar so her college roommates didn’t know about her meds? Well, she grew up to raise a son who doesn’t give a single shit about what people think about how his brain functions. Our little people are watching, friends. What are we teaching them?
Am I bragging about my parenting skills? In this specific example, I suppose I am. But in general? Absolutely not. Max says f*ck a lot more than I might like (I mean, I also do, so what can I really expect?). And he will skip out on brushing his teeth for the rest of his life if I’m not vigilant. And I just learned this week, the sixth week of school, that he is supposed to be reading every night for homework. But normalizing mental health? Girl, we got that.
If the goal of every generation of parents is to raise children a bit more civilized than the generation that came before, I’m feeling pretty optimistic for our world. ♥
P.S. Have you added your name to my mailing list yet?
