The conversation went in a direction I wasn't expecting. The man next to me described how his ADHD impacted daily life. Simply following through on his intentions was dicey. There have been strategies that have shored him up, allowing him to finish graduate school and succeed in his job. But the advice that was often volleyed in his direction was not one of them.
"Telling me to try harder left me feeling even more like a failure."
His words kept coming, but for a moment in time I lost track. My mind relayed all the instances I had thought, if not said, that someone should do just that.
There are circumstances in which compassion flows easily. Admonishing a blind person to redouble their efforts to see is an obvious no no. Expecting Benjamin to ask about my day fell off the table ages ago.
Yet in less obvious cases it can be tempting to slump into flawed logic.
"It's not hard for me, so it must not be hard for you."
It is true that sight is a freedom I enjoy without any effort. Social skills come more easily for me than for my son on the spectrum. But the danger lurks in taking credit for such advantages.
