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In a world that often focuses on deficits and challenges, I want to share some of the strengths that come with my neurocomplex mind. My neurodivergence includes AuDHD (Autism and ADHD),
2e giftedness, mirror touch synesthaesia and heightened existential awareness (plus a few more I could add)—a combination that shapes how I experience and interact with the world in ways that I've come to deeply value.
2e giftedness, mirror touch synesthaesia and heightened existential awareness (plus a few more I could add)—a combination that shapes how I experience and interact with the world in ways that I've come to deeply value.
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“A perspective on living with ADHD, Autism, and the harm of casual comparisons”
"Everyone is a little bit neurodivergent." If you're AuDHD—living with both ADHD and Autism—you've probably heard this phrase more times than you can count. It's usually said with good intentions, meant to be reassuring or inclusive. But here's the reality: this statement minimises and dismisses the profound ways neurodivergent people navigate the world differently.
Being neurodivergent isn't about having quirks or occasional struggles that everyone experiences "a little bit of." It's about fundamentally different neurological wiring that affects every aspect of daily life—from how we process information to how we interact with our environment and other people.
Being neurodivergent isn't about having quirks or occasional struggles that everyone experiences "a little bit of." It's about fundamentally different neurological wiring that affects every aspect of daily life—from how we process information to how we interact with our environment and other people.
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Discovering that I’m autistic as well as ADHD and 2eGifted has been like finding that long-lost puzzle piece that finally completes the picture of who I am. For more than 60 years, I’ve carried an unshakable sense that something was missing—like I was navigating life without the full manual.
The best way I can describe it is this: it’s like suddenly realising the reason I could never “run on Windows” was because I’m actually a Mac. I was built differently, but beautifully, and that difference was never the flaw I believed it to be.
This discovery hasn’t erased the struggles, but it has changed how I see them. I look back at the child I once was—the misunderstood little girl who tried so hard to fit in, who believed she had to be like everyone else—and my heart aches for her. She carried the weight of feeling “wrong” for so long. Today, I want her to know: you have been heard.
We are free now. Free to just be. Free to embrace the wonderful, unique person we were always meant to be.
Of course, the journey hasn’t been without scars. Along the way, I’ve gathered CPTSD, Fibromyalgia, ME/CFS and anxiety. These challenges are part of my story, but they no longer define it. I’ve adapted, learned, surrendered, and risen again, time and time over the decades.
This late diagnosis doesn’t make those years wasted. It gives them meaning. It allows me to honour my younger self for surviving in a world that never fully understood her. Now, together, we can move forward—healing, thriving, and living authentically as the person we were born to be.
The best way I can describe it is this: it’s like suddenly realising the reason I could never “run on Windows” was because I’m actually a Mac. I was built differently, but beautifully, and that difference was never the flaw I believed it to be.
This discovery hasn’t erased the struggles, but it has changed how I see them. I look back at the child I once was—the misunderstood little girl who tried so hard to fit in, who believed she had to be like everyone else—and my heart aches for her. She carried the weight of feeling “wrong” for so long. Today, I want her to know: you have been heard.
We are free now. Free to just be. Free to embrace the wonderful, unique person we were always meant to be.
Of course, the journey hasn’t been without scars. Along the way, I’ve gathered CPTSD, Fibromyalgia, ME/CFS and anxiety. These challenges are part of my story, but they no longer define it. I’ve adapted, learned, surrendered, and risen again, time and time over the decades.
This late diagnosis doesn’t make those years wasted. It gives them meaning. It allows me to honour my younger self for surviving in a world that never fully understood her. Now, together, we can move forward—healing, thriving, and living authentically as the person we were born to be.
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Navigating life as an AuDHD artist can feel like a dance between two contrasting worlds, each demanding its own rhythm and attention. Much of this I am only just learning to understand myself. At the heart of this journey lies a complex interplay of traits: autism’s need for structure, routine, and deep analysis, and ADHD’s thirst for novelty, spontaneity, and the struggle to form lasting habits.
For instance, my autistic brain finds peace in predictability, needing things organised in a certain way to feel secure. Each morning begins with the same familiar routine, a foundation that keeps me grounded. However, my ADHD can throw a curveball, easily distracted by the allure of something new—a project that pops into my head suddenly, or someone demanding my time during those crucial morning moments. One stray disruption, and my carefully crafted routine unravels, leaving me overwhelmed and struggling to regain stability for days.
Social interactions present another contradiction. My autistic brain overanalyses every detail, seeking clarity in social cues and instructions. I crave meaningful connections, yet find myself drained by the effort of deciphering social nuances. Meanwhile, my ADHD gets overly excited, can over-share, and struggles to stay focused on conversations or follow through with tasks that require sustained attention.
Balancing these dual forces goes beyond daily routines. I often feel the urge to say yes to every opportunity, fueled by my passion for exploration and creativity. Yet, the fear of overcommitting looms large, a constant reminder of past burnouts. Structure provides a sense of security, but too much structure can feel stifling. I crave excitement and spontaneity to keep my creativity alive and thriving.
As an AuDHD artist, my journey is one of resilience and adaptation. It’s about embracing the strengths each trait brings—meticulous attention to detail, seemingly boundless creativity, and a unique perspective—while navigating the challenges they pose. It’s a delicate balance of honouring my need for structure and routine, while allowing room for the unpredictable bursts of inspiration that define my artistic expression.
But it is in this dance of contrasts that makes me who I am as an artist— shaped by the interplay of autism and ADHD, weaving together moments of clarity, creativity, and constant growth. I continue to learn how these two parts of me work themselves together to allow me to be who I am.
For instance, my autistic brain finds peace in predictability, needing things organised in a certain way to feel secure. Each morning begins with the same familiar routine, a foundation that keeps me grounded. However, my ADHD can throw a curveball, easily distracted by the allure of something new—a project that pops into my head suddenly, or someone demanding my time during those crucial morning moments. One stray disruption, and my carefully crafted routine unravels, leaving me overwhelmed and struggling to regain stability for days.
Social interactions present another contradiction. My autistic brain overanalyses every detail, seeking clarity in social cues and instructions. I crave meaningful connections, yet find myself drained by the effort of deciphering social nuances. Meanwhile, my ADHD gets overly excited, can over-share, and struggles to stay focused on conversations or follow through with tasks that require sustained attention.
Balancing these dual forces goes beyond daily routines. I often feel the urge to say yes to every opportunity, fueled by my passion for exploration and creativity. Yet, the fear of overcommitting looms large, a constant reminder of past burnouts. Structure provides a sense of security, but too much structure can feel stifling. I crave excitement and spontaneity to keep my creativity alive and thriving.
As an AuDHD artist, my journey is one of resilience and adaptation. It’s about embracing the strengths each trait brings—meticulous attention to detail, seemingly boundless creativity, and a unique perspective—while navigating the challenges they pose. It’s a delicate balance of honouring my need for structure and routine, while allowing room for the unpredictable bursts of inspiration that define my artistic expression.
But it is in this dance of contrasts that makes me who I am as an artist— shaped by the interplay of autism and ADHD, weaving together moments of clarity, creativity, and constant growth. I continue to learn how these two parts of me work themselves together to allow me to be who I am.
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At 61, I finally got an official autism diagnosis. After decades of navigating ADHD, Giftedness, childhood trauma, anxiety, and that constant feeling of not quite fitting in, I discovered that ADHD, Giftedness, and Autism CAN coexist. I had spent years running support groups for ADHD and Autism, but it wasn’t until recent research made it clear that they can be diagnosed together that everything started to click into place.
Looking back, it’s clear to me now how much of my life was spent in pain, without even really knowing why. As a young adult, I became obsessed with psychology, past life therapy, life coaching, and Motivational Kinesiology... I was trying to understand people and myself, but something always felt like it was missing. I thought I was broken, and I spent so much energy covering it up, masking, overcompensating, and trying to fit into a world that never seemed to make sense to me.
But why now, after all these years, you might ask? Well, it took a while for me to find the courage to b e assessed and finally seek a diagnosis. But when I did, everything began to fall into place. And the best part is the weight lifted from my shoulders: I can now say with confidence that I’m not a “broken horse,” (to borrow a well known cliche) I’m a zebra. I’m wired differently, and I can now start to be proud of everything I’ve ever achieved. For so long, I have felt like the odd one out, constantly out of sync with everyone around me. But learning that I’m autistic was a revelation. It felt like finding my tribe, discovering that I wasn’t quite the misfit I always thought I was.
I’m so grateful for my autism diagnosis, even though it came later in life, but I’m also incredibly grateful that I was diagnosed with ADHD 30 years ago, as it allowed me to guide my children, who are both ADHD, and offer support to other neurodivergent people during those years. That said, not recognising my own autism for so long does leave me with a sense of grief, that I didn't expect, for the "missed" life, opportunities, and experiences that could have been different if I had understood myself sooner.
Living with AuDHD, Giftedness, and dysgraphia in a neurotypical world isn’t ever going to be easy though. We unfortunately live in a society where our differences are often viewed as a “disorder” that needs to be fixed or hidden away. So being AuDHD is still going be tough, sometimes painful, and for those of us who didn’t know we were autistic until later in life, it can be especially isolating. After all, we have spent years feeling like we were missing something fundamental, like everyone else was part of a Circle we never got invited to join or never wanted to join. It’s hard not to feel like an outsider.
For me, finding the autistic and especially the AuDHD community has been a healing journey. It reminds me that even though my brain is complex, lonely, and exhausting at times, there are others out there with similar brains. This connection is what I’ve longed for—people who understand what it’s like to feel like you don’t quite belong, but who also understand that your divergence from the “norm” is not a flaw, but a different way of existing. Even if I ultimately do have to deal with my brain alone, it’s comforting to know that there are others who share this level of complexity and divergence too.
Feel free to reach out if you are part of this tribe of "zebras". There are more of us than you'd think.
Looking back, it’s clear to me now how much of my life was spent in pain, without even really knowing why. As a young adult, I became obsessed with psychology, past life therapy, life coaching, and Motivational Kinesiology... I was trying to understand people and myself, but something always felt like it was missing. I thought I was broken, and I spent so much energy covering it up, masking, overcompensating, and trying to fit into a world that never seemed to make sense to me.
But why now, after all these years, you might ask? Well, it took a while for me to find the courage to b e assessed and finally seek a diagnosis. But when I did, everything began to fall into place. And the best part is the weight lifted from my shoulders: I can now say with confidence that I’m not a “broken horse,” (to borrow a well known cliche) I’m a zebra. I’m wired differently, and I can now start to be proud of everything I’ve ever achieved. For so long, I have felt like the odd one out, constantly out of sync with everyone around me. But learning that I’m autistic was a revelation. It felt like finding my tribe, discovering that I wasn’t quite the misfit I always thought I was.
I’m so grateful for my autism diagnosis, even though it came later in life, but I’m also incredibly grateful that I was diagnosed with ADHD 30 years ago, as it allowed me to guide my children, who are both ADHD, and offer support to other neurodivergent people during those years. That said, not recognising my own autism for so long does leave me with a sense of grief, that I didn't expect, for the "missed" life, opportunities, and experiences that could have been different if I had understood myself sooner.
Living with AuDHD, Giftedness, and dysgraphia in a neurotypical world isn’t ever going to be easy though. We unfortunately live in a society where our differences are often viewed as a “disorder” that needs to be fixed or hidden away. So being AuDHD is still going be tough, sometimes painful, and for those of us who didn’t know we were autistic until later in life, it can be especially isolating. After all, we have spent years feeling like we were missing something fundamental, like everyone else was part of a Circle we never got invited to join or never wanted to join. It’s hard not to feel like an outsider.
For me, finding the autistic and especially the AuDHD community has been a healing journey. It reminds me that even though my brain is complex, lonely, and exhausting at times, there are others out there with similar brains. This connection is what I’ve longed for—people who understand what it’s like to feel like you don’t quite belong, but who also understand that your divergence from the “norm” is not a flaw, but a different way of existing. Even if I ultimately do have to deal with my brain alone, it’s comforting to know that there are others who share this level of complexity and divergence too.
Feel free to reach out if you are part of this tribe of "zebras". There are more of us than you'd think.
- Published on
It’s been a while since I properly introduced myself, so here we are. I’m Jane Marin—artist, illustrator, bookbinder, and creative guide behind Jaaneman Art.
Art has always been more than just a creative outlet for me. It’s my sanctuary, my compass, and the way I make sense of a world that often feels overwhelming. As someone who is neurodivergent, I’ve come to understand that my creative practice is also how I self-regulate, find calm, and reconnect with myself when everything feels a little too much.
You may know me for my Oracle card illustrations or my portrait paintings of strong, resilient women—figures who carry quiet messages of strength, love, and wisdom. Sometimes, a gentle masculine energy steps forward too. These characters often feel like messengers from another time, whispering stories that want to be remembered.
Bookbinding has become just as vital to my creative rhythm. There’s something grounding about stitching pages into form, about turning discarded materials into something meaningful and beautiful. Each journal I make becomes a little vessel for someone else’s story—a safe place for reflection, mess, and magic.
Through my ‘Gather and Create’ workshops, I invite others into this process of remembering and rediscovery. These gatherings are not just about making art, but about reconnecting—with creativity, with community, and with the parts of ourselves that need care and expression.
In the months ahead, I’d like to start sharing more about my journey as a neurodivergent artist—what it looks like behind the scenes, and how it shapes the way I create, teach, and live. If that resonates with you, I hope you’ll join me.
Here’s to finding beauty, healing, and meaning in the everyday.
Art has always been more than just a creative outlet for me. It’s my sanctuary, my compass, and the way I make sense of a world that often feels overwhelming. As someone who is neurodivergent, I’ve come to understand that my creative practice is also how I self-regulate, find calm, and reconnect with myself when everything feels a little too much.
You may know me for my Oracle card illustrations or my portrait paintings of strong, resilient women—figures who carry quiet messages of strength, love, and wisdom. Sometimes, a gentle masculine energy steps forward too. These characters often feel like messengers from another time, whispering stories that want to be remembered.
Bookbinding has become just as vital to my creative rhythm. There’s something grounding about stitching pages into form, about turning discarded materials into something meaningful and beautiful. Each journal I make becomes a little vessel for someone else’s story—a safe place for reflection, mess, and magic.
Through my ‘Gather and Create’ workshops, I invite others into this process of remembering and rediscovery. These gatherings are not just about making art, but about reconnecting—with creativity, with community, and with the parts of ourselves that need care and expression.
In the months ahead, I’d like to start sharing more about my journey as a neurodivergent artist—what it looks like behind the scenes, and how it shapes the way I create, teach, and live. If that resonates with you, I hope you’ll join me.
Here’s to finding beauty, healing, and meaning in the everyday.
- Published on
Angela Norval
Bundaberg Today, Friday 13 August 2021
Artist, dancer, intuitive energy healer, life coach and more, Jane Marin of Jaaneman Art shares the beauty of the world with others.
It is easy to see why Jane has been named a s a finalist for this year's AusMumpreneur Awards in both the Creative Entrepreneur category and the Rural Business category, considering the awards are designed to recognise the growing number of women who successfully balance motherhood and business in a way that suits their life and family.
The AusMumpreneur Awards presented by The Women's Business School celebrates and recognises Australian mums in business achieving outstanding success in areas such as business excellence, product development, customer service and digital innovation.
Living in the Bundaberg region on a sugar cane farm with her husband of 33 years, Livio, they have two adult children, Levana and Demetre and a grandson aged 2 with another on the way.
Jane works as an illustrator for various publishers/writers and sells her mixed media artwork, workshops and gift lines through her website, her own art centre, galleries and local artisan collectives. She also has regular stalls/stands at energy and wellbeing expos throughout South East Queensland. At Wattle Cottage on the family farm, Jane runs art workshops and retreats in a beautiful supportive environment. Having studied and used creative expression and alternative healing methods to overcome many hardships, health issues and adverse life events, Jane now uses her experience to help others to heal their own lives. The inspiration to begin her art business came when a series of dreams prompted her to create mandalas which were put together to eventually form "The Mandala Oracle" cards. These cards landed her work as a freelance illustrator for a couple of publishing companies, but it was when she started to receive feedback from customers, describing how they could feel powerful energy emanating from her work that her life changed. She began by selling her work at wellbeing and energy expos and eventually built a new business plan which focussed on her mission to heal people with art, love, light and connection.
Jane is delighted to be named as a finalist and is proud of her achievements, particularly the purchase of a Lotus Belle tent to increase space on her property for the running of art retreats - the first of which occurred in may and has been a dream for some years.
"Being a Mumpreneur, has meant the freedom to finally find my true calling. It has meant being able to work to my own timetable - fitting in between parenting and now grandma duties" she said.
"It means I have been able to choose what I do and when I do it."
"It can be challenging to be a successful business woman while raising a family and I have personally given the advice for others thinking about starting their own enterprise to tell everyone what you are doing. It is amazing how many people would love to help you succeed. It is important to remember that you follow your heart and soul, however. Not everyone will be on your side, but stick with those that are. Believe in yourself and keep on going."
Bundaberg Today, Friday 13 August 2021
Artist, dancer, intuitive energy healer, life coach and more, Jane Marin of Jaaneman Art shares the beauty of the world with others.
It is easy to see why Jane has been named a s a finalist for this year's AusMumpreneur Awards in both the Creative Entrepreneur category and the Rural Business category, considering the awards are designed to recognise the growing number of women who successfully balance motherhood and business in a way that suits their life and family.
The AusMumpreneur Awards presented by The Women's Business School celebrates and recognises Australian mums in business achieving outstanding success in areas such as business excellence, product development, customer service and digital innovation.
Living in the Bundaberg region on a sugar cane farm with her husband of 33 years, Livio, they have two adult children, Levana and Demetre and a grandson aged 2 with another on the way.
Jane works as an illustrator for various publishers/writers and sells her mixed media artwork, workshops and gift lines through her website, her own art centre, galleries and local artisan collectives. She also has regular stalls/stands at energy and wellbeing expos throughout South East Queensland. At Wattle Cottage on the family farm, Jane runs art workshops and retreats in a beautiful supportive environment. Having studied and used creative expression and alternative healing methods to overcome many hardships, health issues and adverse life events, Jane now uses her experience to help others to heal their own lives. The inspiration to begin her art business came when a series of dreams prompted her to create mandalas which were put together to eventually form "The Mandala Oracle" cards. These cards landed her work as a freelance illustrator for a couple of publishing companies, but it was when she started to receive feedback from customers, describing how they could feel powerful energy emanating from her work that her life changed. She began by selling her work at wellbeing and energy expos and eventually built a new business plan which focussed on her mission to heal people with art, love, light and connection.
Jane is delighted to be named as a finalist and is proud of her achievements, particularly the purchase of a Lotus Belle tent to increase space on her property for the running of art retreats - the first of which occurred in may and has been a dream for some years.
"Being a Mumpreneur, has meant the freedom to finally find my true calling. It has meant being able to work to my own timetable - fitting in between parenting and now grandma duties" she said.
"It means I have been able to choose what I do and when I do it."
"It can be challenging to be a successful business woman while raising a family and I have personally given the advice for others thinking about starting their own enterprise to tell everyone what you are doing. It is amazing how many people would love to help you succeed. It is important to remember that you follow your heart and soul, however. Not everyone will be on your side, but stick with those that are. Believe in yourself and keep on going."
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"Let someone love you just the way you are - as flawed as you might be, as unattractive as you sometimes feel and as unaccomplished as you think you are. To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room."
- Marc Chernoff
- Marc Chernoff
Sometimes we just don't realise or understand the difference we can make by just being ourselves and doing what we do. And it's not just in relationships that this is the case.
This was brought home to me recently when I discovered the story behind the sale of one of my paintings.
A series of synchronicities led me to meet this lovely lady. I was scrolling though my Facebook page and an image happened to catch my eye. I don't know why. It had been posted on the Facebook Market place which is something I don't (or didn't until now) ever look at. A photograph of what looked like a silky oak box. I followed the link to find an old cash register.
This was brought home to me recently when I discovered the story behind the sale of one of my paintings.
A series of synchronicities led me to meet this lovely lady. I was scrolling though my Facebook page and an image happened to catch my eye. I don't know why. It had been posted on the Facebook Market place which is something I don't (or didn't until now) ever look at. A photograph of what looked like a silky oak box. I followed the link to find an old cash register.
I instantly fell in love with it and contacted the seller to learn more about it. It turned out to be originally made in Brisbane, but had been used in an old shop in Childers - so it was local. It's history drew me in even more. I decided I had to have it and arranged to pick it up from town in a few days.
I purchased my beautiful antique cash box and turned to leave saying "Thankyou so much" as I did. To my surprise, the lady said, "I actually need to thank you." "Why?" I asked.
She then told me that she had recently bought a painting of mine that seemed to speak to her from the Artisan shop where I had my work. She told me that her husband had recently passed away and that she was finding it very difficult to move forward. She had been unable to sort his things and change anything in her home - which she really wanted to do. My painting had drawn her in and so she had purchased it. She told me that it had been the catalyst for her to move on. She had put up the painting and set the wheels in motion.
The silky oak cash register pictured below is now a reminder to keep going, that what I do does make a difference - Oh and it is a wonderful place to store my labels, safety pins and other bits and bobs in my office.
It was such a beautiful reminder that I asked her permission to share it.
I purchased my beautiful antique cash box and turned to leave saying "Thankyou so much" as I did. To my surprise, the lady said, "I actually need to thank you." "Why?" I asked.
She then told me that she had recently bought a painting of mine that seemed to speak to her from the Artisan shop where I had my work. She told me that her husband had recently passed away and that she was finding it very difficult to move forward. She had been unable to sort his things and change anything in her home - which she really wanted to do. My painting had drawn her in and so she had purchased it. She told me that it had been the catalyst for her to move on. She had put up the painting and set the wheels in motion.
The silky oak cash register pictured below is now a reminder to keep going, that what I do does make a difference - Oh and it is a wonderful place to store my labels, safety pins and other bits and bobs in my office.
It was such a beautiful reminder that I asked her permission to share it.
- Published on
This year for the second time I entered the 2020 Roar Awards. These are Australian Professional Industry Awards and I was drawn to them because they have a category for Artists, Creatives and Musicians. I entered last year in 2019 and was blown away to be in the top 5 finalists amongst such an amazing group of men and women. This year I made it to the top 3 and was awarded a bronze award. The callibre of contestants this year was phenomenal and I still can't believe I'm up there with the best.
It really made me think about my journey and how far I've travelled in the past year and ultimately where I have come from during my life time.
I thought that I would share my submission answers with you below.
It really made me think about my journey and how far I've travelled in the past year and ultimately where I have come from during my life time.
I thought that I would share my submission answers with you below.
- Published on
(Yes, that's me on the right.)
There is nothing quite like a 40 year High School Reunion to make you feel your age, right? Well I was surprised. It didn’t do that for me at all. What it did do however, was to remind me of how very far I’ve come. It reminded me of the power of the mind and how changing your thoughts can literally change your life.
You see those years were probably some of the worst years of my life both at school and at home. I lived my senior school years in tears each and every day. My life had become a helter skelter, a downward spiral both emotionally and educationally. I was an emotional and physical wreck. I hated school and I hated home and I had become very good at hiding it. I had gone from absolutely loving school to just wanting to escape. I took every opportunity I could to “wag” school and hardly anyone even noticed.
I was born a gifted child with high IQ (163 at age 7) with hyperactive child syndrome (ADHD) a thirst for knowledge and a love of learning. I had a reading age of 12 when I started school at 4, working with the older children right from the start. (There is another story in this - for a later page)
I loved flouting my intelligence and throughout my infants in UK and early primary school years in NSW it was never a problem. Due to my father’s work, I was backwards and forwards between schools in different towns each year and each new placement began with an intelligence test so that the teachers knew where to place me in the class, what reading to give me and which library books I was allowed to borrow. I loved astounding my teachers with the results of these tests and I was treated to extra reading material, quizzes, and fun things to do. During the school holidays I would work through maths text books two or three years ahead. I loved this too and was so proud of myself when I came to the end of a book. But things didn’t go so well as I got older.
My father’s work relocated him to a new town for three years and I was stuck at the same school from grade 5 to grade 8. My grade 5 teacher had no patience for someone who was so far ahead. He refused to allow me to work at my own pace and I was hit with a ruler on a number of occasions for “showing off” or doing long division “the quick way”. In grade 6 I was banned from maths and english games in class because I always knew the answers which meant that no-one else had a chance. I had to sit by myself and watch everyone else struggle and not be allowed to help. I began to get so miserable. By the time I finished primary school as DUX, I was being bullied by other students for my intelligence, for being English and even for being skinny. On a few occasions I was even threatened at knife point by another student. I told no-one. I thought I knew how to fix it though. As I began grade 8 I vowed never to be top of the class again and I even tried failing exams on purpose. My class results started to slip, but I realised that I wasn’t really happy. And to top it all, I was now being teased and laughed at for NOT being top of the class.
Towards the end of grade 8 - first year of high school, my father’s work took me to my final school destination in a regional city - no need now for the boarding school for which I had won a scholarship. I was full of good intention - I would be able to prove myself again. BUT the mind is a powerful thing. I couldn’t for the life of me turn things around. I was still a good student, but I could no longer put pen to paper on a written test or read multiple choice without making stupid mistakes. I COULD NOT pass an exam. As soon as an assignment or an exam hit the desk in front me I would freeze and my mind would be completely empty. My essays became a series of dot points containing all the facts, but nothing else. I was called lazy at home due to my results, and I began to take it on board - I was beginning to believe it.
Gradually, I was failing almost every subject except art (which not surprisingly I did not enjoy). I had gone from top of every class to literally the bottom of every class. Music and Dance kept me going and also gave me my escape route from school. I was part of the school Stage Band and concert band, learned flute and tenor saxophone at school and studied ballet externally. I made friends with the school office staff who would mark me away at dance or music classes when I needed to escape. Nobody ever knew what I was going through, although I have an idea that my friends in the office suspected. Unfortunately during my last two years at school I was made to give up my dance to concentrate on improving my school work - I lost that escape route.
By now the tears had started - at school because I didn’t want to be there and then I’d cry all weekend at home because frankly I would rather have been at school. I had nowhere to go.
With the problems at home, the looming end of school was especially terrifying. I had nothing to show for my years of study - there was really nothing I could do in those days, but become a secretary or shop assistant. I did both. I moved out of home at 17 and worked one full time job in an engineering office, part time in a dress boutique and part time at my parents picture framing business. All in an effort to prove that I had some worth. I would walk to work at the office at 6am in the morning and not leave until 6pm. Then work weekends and Thursday nights at my other jobs.
But then life caught up with me and at the ripe old age of 18 I collapsed after contracting Ross River Fever. I was bedridden for 6 months and had to move back into the family home (another story for later). This culminated in diagnoses of Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue, Fibromyalgia, early onset arthritis, depression and anxiety and in all honesty I did not expect to make it to 30 years of age. BUT I was determined. There are many stories to tell around my long recovery, but those I will share in parts at later stages.
Surprisingly though, I didn’t give up on myself. I’m here! I’m fit, healthy, happy and living my dream. I learnt to change my thinking. It did take me a good few decades, but I’ve never given up. I have multiple qualifications in different areas as I found that studying outside of school suited me well.
I now understand the workings of the mind in creating reality. Life really and truly is what you make it. You can make it negative or you can make it positive. The choice really is up to you.
In the words of Mike Dooley “Thoughts become things. Choose the good ones”
to edit.
You see those years were probably some of the worst years of my life both at school and at home. I lived my senior school years in tears each and every day. My life had become a helter skelter, a downward spiral both emotionally and educationally. I was an emotional and physical wreck. I hated school and I hated home and I had become very good at hiding it. I had gone from absolutely loving school to just wanting to escape. I took every opportunity I could to “wag” school and hardly anyone even noticed.
I was born a gifted child with high IQ (163 at age 7) with hyperactive child syndrome (ADHD) a thirst for knowledge and a love of learning. I had a reading age of 12 when I started school at 4, working with the older children right from the start. (There is another story in this - for a later page)
I loved flouting my intelligence and throughout my infants in UK and early primary school years in NSW it was never a problem. Due to my father’s work, I was backwards and forwards between schools in different towns each year and each new placement began with an intelligence test so that the teachers knew where to place me in the class, what reading to give me and which library books I was allowed to borrow. I loved astounding my teachers with the results of these tests and I was treated to extra reading material, quizzes, and fun things to do. During the school holidays I would work through maths text books two or three years ahead. I loved this too and was so proud of myself when I came to the end of a book. But things didn’t go so well as I got older.
My father’s work relocated him to a new town for three years and I was stuck at the same school from grade 5 to grade 8. My grade 5 teacher had no patience for someone who was so far ahead. He refused to allow me to work at my own pace and I was hit with a ruler on a number of occasions for “showing off” or doing long division “the quick way”. In grade 6 I was banned from maths and english games in class because I always knew the answers which meant that no-one else had a chance. I had to sit by myself and watch everyone else struggle and not be allowed to help. I began to get so miserable. By the time I finished primary school as DUX, I was being bullied by other students for my intelligence, for being English and even for being skinny. On a few occasions I was even threatened at knife point by another student. I told no-one. I thought I knew how to fix it though. As I began grade 8 I vowed never to be top of the class again and I even tried failing exams on purpose. My class results started to slip, but I realised that I wasn’t really happy. And to top it all, I was now being teased and laughed at for NOT being top of the class.
Towards the end of grade 8 - first year of high school, my father’s work took me to my final school destination in a regional city - no need now for the boarding school for which I had won a scholarship. I was full of good intention - I would be able to prove myself again. BUT the mind is a powerful thing. I couldn’t for the life of me turn things around. I was still a good student, but I could no longer put pen to paper on a written test or read multiple choice without making stupid mistakes. I COULD NOT pass an exam. As soon as an assignment or an exam hit the desk in front me I would freeze and my mind would be completely empty. My essays became a series of dot points containing all the facts, but nothing else. I was called lazy at home due to my results, and I began to take it on board - I was beginning to believe it.
Gradually, I was failing almost every subject except art (which not surprisingly I did not enjoy). I had gone from top of every class to literally the bottom of every class. Music and Dance kept me going and also gave me my escape route from school. I was part of the school Stage Band and concert band, learned flute and tenor saxophone at school and studied ballet externally. I made friends with the school office staff who would mark me away at dance or music classes when I needed to escape. Nobody ever knew what I was going through, although I have an idea that my friends in the office suspected. Unfortunately during my last two years at school I was made to give up my dance to concentrate on improving my school work - I lost that escape route.
By now the tears had started - at school because I didn’t want to be there and then I’d cry all weekend at home because frankly I would rather have been at school. I had nowhere to go.
With the problems at home, the looming end of school was especially terrifying. I had nothing to show for my years of study - there was really nothing I could do in those days, but become a secretary or shop assistant. I did both. I moved out of home at 17 and worked one full time job in an engineering office, part time in a dress boutique and part time at my parents picture framing business. All in an effort to prove that I had some worth. I would walk to work at the office at 6am in the morning and not leave until 6pm. Then work weekends and Thursday nights at my other jobs.
But then life caught up with me and at the ripe old age of 18 I collapsed after contracting Ross River Fever. I was bedridden for 6 months and had to move back into the family home (another story for later). This culminated in diagnoses of Myalgic Encephalomyelitis/Chronic Fatigue, Fibromyalgia, early onset arthritis, depression and anxiety and in all honesty I did not expect to make it to 30 years of age. BUT I was determined. There are many stories to tell around my long recovery, but those I will share in parts at later stages.
Surprisingly though, I didn’t give up on myself. I’m here! I’m fit, healthy, happy and living my dream. I learnt to change my thinking. It did take me a good few decades, but I’ve never given up. I have multiple qualifications in different areas as I found that studying outside of school suited me well.
I now understand the workings of the mind in creating reality. Life really and truly is what you make it. You can make it negative or you can make it positive. The choice really is up to you.
In the words of Mike Dooley “Thoughts become things. Choose the good ones”
to edit.