Let’s continue our conversation from Educate Before We Medicate, which explored ADHD and the tendency to medicate for it. The point I wanted to make—and I hope it came through—is that many times we don’t know how to do something simply because we’ve never been taught how to do it.
For example, if I’ve never been given any education around money, then once I start earning it, how would I know how to manage it? I wouldn’t know how to create a budget, to spend less than I make, or to invest wisely. Having had no insights into finance growing up, I may not even realize I need education about it. I simply handle the money I earn in the best way I know how.
We all breathe every single day—if we stop breathing, we die. But very few people are actually taught how to breathe properly. We are born, we start breathing, and we do it naturally because it keeps us alive. We don’t think about it; it just happens. But there are better ways to breathe. Similarly, there are better ways to eat, and better ways to think and care for our mind.
When it comes to focus, it’s no different. Most people are not taught how to focus, and because they’ve never been taught, they don’t know how to do it. Our world today is engineered to distract us. There are so many things coming our way from countless areas of life, constantly pulling our awareness from one part of the mind to another. This, in essence, is distraction—and the prolonged practice of this is what leads to anxiety.
Most people are not taught how to focus, and because they’ve never been taught, they don’t know how to do it.
If we want to be able to do something, we must first learn how to do it. And once we’ve learned it, we must practice what we’ve learned—because without practice, we will never be good at it. I am wholeheartedly against medicating for something we’ve never been taught to do. I am not against medication; it has its place. Nor am I against diagnosis. A diagnosis simply states that a person has certain symptoms or characteristics of a condition. Someone might diagnose me and say, “Dandapani has FMD—Focused Mind Disorder.” A correct diagnosis. In a world of distracted people, perhaps I should be medicated for my disorder?
Let’s look at the word “disorder.” As a society, we are deeply conditioned to label the inability to focus as a disorder—but not the ability to focus as a discipline. Yet focus is something that can be taught, understood, learned, and practiced until one becomes skilled at it. How can something we’ve never been taught to do be considered a disorder? If I don’t know how to cook because no one has ever taught me, does that mean I have a cooking disorder? If I don’t know how to drive a stick-shift car because I’ve never been taught, does that mean I have a driving disorder?
This is not to belittle anyone’s struggle with attention or to dismiss the very real challenges you may face. If you feel extremely distracted, seek help, are diagnosed with ADHD, and medication is suggested, the problem does not lie with you. I have no issue with a diagnosis that simply says, “You have trouble concentrating.” I had trouble concentrating growing up. The real issue is how we respond to that diagnosis. Why is the first suggestion so often medication, and not learning and practicing how to concentrate? If, after sincere effort over time, training in concentration still does not help, then medication may have an important role to play. My concern is not with people who struggle, but with experts who do not recommend learning and practice as the first solution. And yes, there will always be cases where medication is needed right away—but there are many more where teaching and training have not even been tried.
For those of you reading this who have been diagnosed with ADHD because you struggle to stay focused on one thing for an extended period of time—said another way, you’re perpetually distracted—I want you to ask yourself this question: Before I receive medication, should I first try to learn how to concentrate? And once I’ve learned how, should I give myself time to practice it, to see if I can become good at this? If, after genuinely trying for a period of time and putting great effort into it, I still struggle, then perhaps medication may be helpful for me.
For those of you who have children who struggle with staying focused, ask yourself: Have I taught my child how to focus? You teach them how to do math. You teach them how to wash their hands, tie their shoelaces, brush their teeth, and more. And for each of these simple daily tasks, you teach them countless times. A child will not learn how to brush their teeth or wash their hands from one lesson. You must show them again and again, help them again and again, until—after months, perhaps a few years—they become good at it.
So why, then, are we so quick to diagnose someone’s inability to focus as a disorder? If your child can’t brush their teeth, you don’t diagnose them with a disorder. Diagnosing and medicating is the quick path. Diagnosing and learning is the slower one. Less lucrative, perhaps—but it’s the path to take if you genuinely want to create sustainable change.
Let me emphasize again: I am not against medication. I’m against medicating before making the effort to learn, practice, and be good at the very thing we struggle with.
