Let's talk about shame

When I launched this site, I did it with a huge degree of hyper focus after a conversation with a good friend (thanks, David). Within 24 hours it was set up and ready to go. In my mind whilst sorting the technology side, I had decided this would be me at my rawest. Nothing would be held back. Because, for me, the real focus of this site, is to talk about the things that people tend not to discuss. The things that cause us embarrassment or fear or shame (or insert your own noun here). It's all about normalising those conversations.

That all sounds fabulous until you sit down to start the hard part... doing just that. I thought about the one thing that made me most uncomfortable to write about... I should rip the bandaid off. And I knew instantly what it was. Teeth. Until 2024 I've dealt with a huge amount of private shame when it comes to teeth (mine, to be specific... it would be weird if it was someone else's).

During the past decade as part of my working life, I've stood in front of audiences of up to 500 people to present, deliver content and to host panel discussions. I'd try not to smile, which inevitably makes me look grumpy (see Exhibit A, above). I'd repeat 'Concentrate on what I'm saying, not my bad teeth' as a mantra over and over in my head like I could will an audience to follow my internal monologue. But every time I stood there, another helping was added to my internal pile of shame. Logic tells me people were more focused on what I was saying. But logic, smogic.

Over the years I've learned to speak without really showing my teeth that much. It makes it harder sometimes for people to understand what I'm saying. I can see people stare at my mouth when it's really hard to hear me. That makes it worse. My brain is screaming "they're staring at your teeth", whilst the shame pile slumps its way out, expecting an all you can eat buffet. I know in the back of my mind that they're just trying to concentrate on what I'm saying. But the shame doesn't go away, it keeps feeding. The pile has been so big at times that it feels like it could make my brain explode.

The wheels on the bus
At seven years old, I had to make my way to the Royal Victoria Hospital to have eleven teeth removed in one sitting. Coming round from a dose of anaesthetic, on the bus ride home with my uncle I managed to vomit blood all over the floor, not unlike this scene in the Evil Dead. It was so bad we were not so politely asked to get off the bus and had to wait on the next one. I've always wondered why the driver just went about his business, like the floor wasn't thinly painted a deep red. But, it was '80s Belfast, so I guess he'd dealt with worse than a kid puking blood on the floor of his bus.

For years I blamed everyone else. My grandparents who bought me sugary treats when I was young. My parents for not making me brush my teeth more. Surely it couldn't be me. It wasn't until I read a chapter in Dirty Laundry that made me sit up and realise that ADHD lurks behind a lot of health issues. This study stated that only 48 per cent of children with ADHD brushed their teeth every evening compared to a control group's 82 per cent. Less than half of children with ADHD brush their teeth every evening. That's a startling statistic and one that I was a part of in the late 70s and into the 80s.

Forgiveness
I'm sure if you're neurotypical with bright white, perfect teeth you're probably confused as to how this can be the case. Maybe you're disgusted. Maybe you can't comprehend why what seems to you like a mundane and simple task can be really difficult for a large number of ADHDers. It's hard to explain why it takes so much energy to do something so important. It's only since starting to understand and realise why I wasn't as active in my younger years at brushing my teeth that I have begun to give myself a break. To forgive myself. It's easy to feel shame when you know you should be doing something that's healthy for you and can't understand why the hell you don't just do it.

For decades my big pile of shame has stared back at me every morning reminding me of what I thought was my own laziness. Reminding me that I didn't care about my own body. Over the years there have been times when I just couldn't look myself in the mirror. I have managed to get routine around my teeth for the best part of two decades now, but the shame hasn't ever felt like subsiding, even a beat, until I read Dirty Laundry. It's remarkable that something you've buried can cause so much internal trauma. One of the reasons I wanted to write about this journey is to speak honestly so others can, hopefully, do the same. Even if it's inside their own head, or reaching out privately to a trusted friend or family member.

Rampant teenage desire
I've always been prone to hyper focus on things that really excite me and conversely to deep bouts of heavy procrastination for anything that isn't an immediate benefit, so it shouldn't come as a surprise as to why I took teeth brushing seriously for the first time, aged 17. A girlfriend one day out of the blue said something like "the taste of toothpaste is so sexy". That changed my teeth from something that didn't matter to something of hyper focused rampant teenage desire. It was a very kind way of her to say what she was really thinking: I have to kiss that - brush your f**king teeth. Thank you, C, for your compassion.

My day job means I am often in front of large audiences. It's a massive juxtaposition to me because many people see stage and talking to equal confidence. To me it's just masking on a bigger scale (and the conversation about self-confidence vs self-esteem is for another day).

My biggest special interest is entrepreneurship... I've lived and breathed it for more than a decade. But every time I step on stage, I am awash with mixed emotion - the shame of a lack of care around my teeth when I was younger... the questions in my head as to why didn't I do something about it. But it's mixed with the pride of speaking with authority on a topic I love.

It shows the highs and lows of being neurodivergent in one story. I've spent a decade hyper focusing on entrepreneurship - understanding mentoring, coaching, fundraising, pitching and all sorts. I wouldn't be where I was in my working life without that ability to hyper focus. But equally, lurking around the corner is the shame of not being able to concentrate enough to brush my teeth as a child and teenager.

That's why I asked a good friend (and great photographer), Thomas McMullan, to take my picture to post on here. Because by posting this below, it has made the shame pile start to shrink. I look forward to the day I come off a stage and my only feeling is the pride of my expertise in action and not the shame of the past.