Sometimes I approach my writing desk like a kid walking through the Disneyland entrance and sometimes like a humanities major walking into a calculus exam. I feel your pain. But I am SO excited to read #3!!!!
“I personally struggle with the following: existential dread, figuring out what’s for dinner, my overflowing email inbox, aging, an inability to focus on a single task, and a disastrously cluttered Google drive filled with documents with names like “BOOK 3 LOLOLOL.””
Another totally spot on comment. I used to look at women who got pregnant right after having a baby and think OMG WHY WOULD YOU EVER DO THAT (no judgment—it just looked hard and overwhelming and I knew I could never do that) and look at me now. Sigh.
The self-surgery metaphor is doing real work here. There's something specific about writing about the thing that's currently running your brain — the subject keeps interfering with the tool. It's not just hard. It's structurally absurd. Which might be why the excerpt reads so well: the form enacts the diagnosis. The sentences keep catching themselves mid-thought, circling back, starting a new list. It doesn't feel like a writing choice. It feels like honesty that accidentally became technique.
I have read both The Golden Ticket and Troika in the past month. Both books felt like connecting with a lifetime friend. Because in so many ways, they were.
Again, we seem to be living parallel lives. In 2024, in the last semester of 8th grade, my only child’s life began to unravel. There were near constant panic attacks, self harm that she could not hide. And was being bullied for by her closest friend and sometimes girlfriend. My once up a time exuberant, funny, firecracker teenager became sullen, fearful of everything, refused to eat, either couldn’t sleep or, was unable to wake up. Suddenly my child who sang all the time went quiet, shrouded in a terror only she could understand. She stopped going to school. Where once my house was filled with teenagers every afternoon, standing in my kitchen, eating all the “healthy” popsicles out of my fridge, asking if it was okay with me if the took their binder off while in my house because it was itchy and hot and uncomfortable… I said yes. Of course. And felt giddy. This was proof that my house had become the house I always wanted.
But that was two years ago. When my daughter and her friends talked excitedly about their therapists in the hallway as if they were protecting by invisible sound proofing, “ I love my therapist! She’s 24 and a woman of color and she’s queer like me, and she lives in TEXAS?!” That was my daughter’s contribution. The friends responded with gasps and every one dropped in a tidbit about how much they loved their therapist. This was just what I wanted.
But in 2024, instead of being the house where everyone was welcome, it became the house where we walked on tight ropes made of old razor blades, where several times a week I had ask my daughter if she had anything sharp in her room. And then watch her as she collected sewing needles, cheap dollar store steak knives, razors with plastic handles.
In the Spring of 2025, Ella told me she wanted to get tested for ADHD.
The results were as expected. Which is how we get to me. Trying to get an ADHD diagnosis a week shy of my 54th birthday.
The universe sure has interesting ideas about birthday gifts.
I love you and I feel so lucky to have connected with you this way, first through your books and then like we have so often, in writing. Messy, half formed, secrets waiting to be shared.
The next time we chat, I must ask you about the Enneagram. Not that it compares in any way to being ADHD, but I found it incredibly helpful in understanding my own behaviors and permission to be that way because "it's just how I'm hardwired."
Writing is absolutely the best and the worst. So excited for this next book. I keep pondering whether I should get tested for neurodivergence, as I definitely have spicy tendencies.
We definitely need a Zoom to discuss. Testing is so interesting—basically, it puts a name to what you already knew or suspected, and, in my case, it prompted a lot of "so what do I do with this now that it has a name?" soul searching. Hence, book #3!
Sometimes I approach my writing desk like a kid walking through the Disneyland entrance and sometimes like a humanities major walking into a calculus exam. I feel your pain. But I am SO excited to read #3!!!!
I’m definitely at the “humanities major walking into a calculus exam” stage—and so grateful both for the sympathy and the encouragement!
All of this. But especially this:
“I personally struggle with the following: existential dread, figuring out what’s for dinner, my overflowing email inbox, aging, an inability to focus on a single task, and a disastrously cluttered Google drive filled with documents with names like “BOOK 3 LOLOLOL.””
Same! (Well, minus the Book 3...or Book 1)
Good luck to you! Keep going!
Oh, how beyond exciting to hear there's yet another book rattling around in your big brain, all while you're actively promoting the newborn number 2!
Another totally spot on comment. I used to look at women who got pregnant right after having a baby and think OMG WHY WOULD YOU EVER DO THAT (no judgment—it just looked hard and overwhelming and I knew I could never do that) and look at me now. Sigh.
The self-surgery metaphor is doing real work here. There's something specific about writing about the thing that's currently running your brain — the subject keeps interfering with the tool. It's not just hard. It's structurally absurd. Which might be why the excerpt reads so well: the form enacts the diagnosis. The sentences keep catching themselves mid-thought, circling back, starting a new list. It doesn't feel like a writing choice. It feels like honesty that accidentally became technique.
Thank you so much for reading, Lucy!
Thank you, Irena, for writing it that way! The form earning the subject is rare.
"Hey, look what I found! It tastes shiny" (Do you know Over the Hedge?)
I'm in awe of what you accomplish, neurodivergence or not. Hope the book events went/are going well!
Irena,
I have read both The Golden Ticket and Troika in the past month. Both books felt like connecting with a lifetime friend. Because in so many ways, they were.
Again, we seem to be living parallel lives. In 2024, in the last semester of 8th grade, my only child’s life began to unravel. There were near constant panic attacks, self harm that she could not hide. And was being bullied for by her closest friend and sometimes girlfriend. My once up a time exuberant, funny, firecracker teenager became sullen, fearful of everything, refused to eat, either couldn’t sleep or, was unable to wake up. Suddenly my child who sang all the time went quiet, shrouded in a terror only she could understand. She stopped going to school. Where once my house was filled with teenagers every afternoon, standing in my kitchen, eating all the “healthy” popsicles out of my fridge, asking if it was okay with me if the took their binder off while in my house because it was itchy and hot and uncomfortable… I said yes. Of course. And felt giddy. This was proof that my house had become the house I always wanted.
But that was two years ago. When my daughter and her friends talked excitedly about their therapists in the hallway as if they were protecting by invisible sound proofing, “ I love my therapist! She’s 24 and a woman of color and she’s queer like me, and she lives in TEXAS?!” That was my daughter’s contribution. The friends responded with gasps and every one dropped in a tidbit about how much they loved their therapist. This was just what I wanted.
But in 2024, instead of being the house where everyone was welcome, it became the house where we walked on tight ropes made of old razor blades, where several times a week I had ask my daughter if she had anything sharp in her room. And then watch her as she collected sewing needles, cheap dollar store steak knives, razors with plastic handles.
In the Spring of 2025, Ella told me she wanted to get tested for ADHD.
The results were as expected. Which is how we get to me. Trying to get an ADHD diagnosis a week shy of my 54th birthday.
The universe sure has interesting ideas about birthday gifts.
I love you and I feel so lucky to have connected with you this way, first through your books and then like we have so often, in writing. Messy, half formed, secrets waiting to be shared.
Keep writing, always. I will too.
With love, Aviva
❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹clearly we have SO much to catch up on. Will DM you.
The next time we chat, I must ask you about the Enneagram. Not that it compares in any way to being ADHD, but I found it incredibly helpful in understanding my own behaviors and permission to be that way because "it's just how I'm hardwired."
I still don't know what my Enneagram is but I would love to find out. Let's definitely discuss soon!
You rock! Keep telling the nitty-gritty, 'cause it helps ALL of us.
Ohhh, this will be good!!! Can't wait!
Hey, life is just one big roller coaster! Can’t wait for book 3 :)
You’re an amazing woman!
Anne, thank you so much for your kind words and for reading.
Writing is absolutely the best and the worst. So excited for this next book. I keep pondering whether I should get tested for neurodivergence, as I definitely have spicy tendencies.
We definitely need a Zoom to discuss. Testing is so interesting—basically, it puts a name to what you already knew or suspected, and, in my case, it prompted a lot of "so what do I do with this now that it has a name?" soul searching. Hence, book #3!
yes, we are overdue for a zoom!