In early 2021 I had begun the process of getting diagnosed with ADHD as a woman in my 30s. In April, I found a lump in my right breast. By January of 2022 I had no hair, one boob, and my brain had been replaced by... Brian. Brian was born from serendipitous typo. In a group chat with my sisters I was describing how my brain had recently not let me remember how to use the microwave. I swear the message I sent said brain. The message that my sisters received said otherwise, and thus Brian was born!
Writing this message in 2025, my hair is back, my cancer is gone and, finally, so is Brian. Or is he? I still do have ADHD. I still identify way too strongly with AuDHD content on Facebook, Instagram, and other social media. There are still lots of days and situations when my brain is not exactly doing the things that it feels like brains around me are doing. Being silly and anthropomorphizing my brain into a 3rd party, well-meaning creature outside of my control is one of my favourite coping mechanisms. If you're reading this, hopefully it will help you too -- or at least make you giggle along the way!
Learning to live with Brian was frustrating. At first it was very isolating and I felt a lot of shame. However, as I talked to others about my experiences I found something that both comforted me and lead to the creation of this website:
Sometimes, it seems, we all have a little bit of Brian in our lives.
But we don't have to leave Brian in the shadows. Brains are unique and wonderful -- our uniqueness is a feature. It is not a bug. Let's take Brian out of the shadows and put him on notice. It took a lot of self-reflection and time to accept that Brian could stay part of my life in the long term. In a way, I think it was accepting that Brian as my brain fog could be around forever that helped Brian to move on. Because here's the thing. Our brains are weird, and wonderful and smart as heck.
Brian was, at his core, relentlessly hopeful and doggedly, persistently, annoyingly helpful—my brain's executive assistant with the exuberance, naivety, and discernment of a toddler. Brian loved to help by taking things off of my overburdened plate.
Sometimes, Brian let me not sweat the small stuff.
Sometimes, Brian let me not worry about - and therefore forget - a mortgage payment or a doctors appointment.
Not all of Brian's help was equally welcome.
In hindsight, its easy to say it wasn't all bad. Me and Brian get along better these days. I don't usually refer to my brain as Brian anymore. The part I liked the most about Brian was how much easier it make it to talk about with other people. Referring to Brian (who was secretly me the whole time!) in the 3rd person allowed me to talk about what I was feeling and what was happening to me in a way that people around me could understand.
When your 30-something year old daughter tells you she doesn't know how to use the microwave... that just doesn't make sense. It can't make sense. But when she tells you that Brian won't let her remember how to use the microwave... for some reason it has a way of bridging the gap. My ADHD brain, which for some reason I do not call Brian, sometimes won't let me get in the shower. I want a shower. I like feeling clean. The shower is warm. I will feel so much better once its done, it doesn't take long, and it is not hard. How else can you describe it, except my brain won't let me? My. Brian. Won't. Let. Me. Do. That!
Watch out, Brian, we're coming for you!