Coffee Does Not Count as Water

I had my annual physical this morning—two months overdue, because I forgot to schedule it—and my doctor looked at me with hopeful eyes as she asked the question I most dread: “So, how much water do you drink?”.

My face flamed, eyes dropping to where my rainboots were shuffling against the linoleum floor. “It depends,” I answered, hoping, but not really believing that would be the end of it.

“On average, how much would you say?”

It’s in these moments that I sometimes regret having a doctor that actually cares and who I respect the opinion of. It’s a lot easier to admit your faults and bad habits to someone you know is barely listening to begin with. Not only did they probably not hear you anyway, but if they did, they don’t give enough of a crap to do anything other than enter your answer into the computer and move on.

I’ve had more doctors like that than I can even count.

But, that’s a huge part of why I spent so much time and mental energy weeding through the doctors in our area to find one who does care. It took years, and more than half a dozen flops, but I finally found my unicorn in a sea of horses with exceptionally bad attitudes. I honestly wasn’t sure one existed. My doctor not only genuinely cares, but takes the time to listen in a way that makes me feel heard, never brushes me off, and takes me seriously—no matter how neurotic I may sound.

So, okay, I don’t really regret having a doctor this awesome. I promised myself that I would start taking my health more seriously, and this is part of that. Which only added to the sting when I finally worked up the nerve to answer her question.

“On average? Probably only eight to thirty ounces.” I winced. “Most days, I just…forget.” Without thinking, I add, “I drink a lot of coffee though!”

My doctor sighed and shook her head. I was quickly informed that coffee in no way counts toward my water intake, which I find unfair. Coffee is mostly water after all, just mixed with the magic go-go beans.

Finally, when faced with my doctor’s actual medical degree, I was forced to concede the point. When prompted again, I reluctantly repeated my average daily water intake. I felt her disappointment as a tangible thing. It joined the embarrassment and shame I already felt, forming a tight ball in my chest. It’s not like I don’t know I need to drink more water. And not just as a normal part of a healthy lifestyle. I am very aware that I have several health issues that make it particularly important to stay on top of my hydration (apparently, water is super important for your heart to function properly…shocking news, I know)—which makes it all the more frustrating that I just cannot seem to do it.

It sounds so simple. Your body needs to take in a minimum amount of water each day. You drink that amount of water. Congratulations, you did it!

That’s it. That is literally it.

So, why am I seemingly incapable of doing this one basic task that is necessary for staying alive? It’s not like I’m not capable of making sure other people drink water—in fact, I think I have two of the most well hydrated children in the state. So why can’t I do the same for myself?

It’s a question I’ve asked myself a lot over the years. My whole life I’ve struggled with doing simple, everyday tasks that everyone has to do. Like the aforementioned drinking of the water. I’ve also struggled with things like eating and brushing my teeth. Gross? For sure! Embarrassing? Absolutely! But, it’s true.

A huge part of it is exactly what I told my doctor: most days, I just forget. That may sound impossible to some—and if that’s you, I’m just going to call you a lucky asshole and move on. To others, it’s just the reality we live with.

I used to think I was alone on the island of somehow forgetting these basic human needs. Come to find out, it’s just one more way the ADHD brain enjoys complicating our lives. If a task isn’t exciting, new, or of particular interest, our brain will almost immediately replace it with one that is.

Surprisingly enough, I don’t find drinking water all that exciting. It’s not that I don’t like the taste of it or anything. I actually enjoy it. But the literal act of drinking the water just doesn’t do anything for me. As a result, pretty much anything else that jumps into my head is going to immediately become a higher priority task. At least until the dehydration headache sets in—and trust me, I’ve had enough of them to tell that one apart from, say, a sleep deprivation headache, an overstimulation headache, a caffeine withdrawal headache…at this point I’m an expert in Excedrin, essential oils, and cold compresses, but not actually drinking the water in the first place.

Food is the same way. It tends to go forgotten unless what I’m planning to eat is something that will trigger the happy chemical in my brain. So…carbs, basically (mmmm carbs). This is one of the reasons that making healthy eating a lifelong habit is so hard for people with ADHD. The recommendation to eat many small, healthy meals throughout the day often seems like a laughable concept.

On an average day, if I remember to eat at all before it’s time to feed my family dinner, I’m reaching for a bag of chips or a chocolate granola bar. Something quick and dopamine inducing.

The mental contortionism I’ve attempted over the years to trick my brain into remembering to do these things is wild. Like the time I convinced myself the key to staying hydrated over the summer while I hang out on the deck was to buy a huge pitcher, fill it with ice water and sliced fruit, and just keep it on the deck—awesome, it would always be right there to remind me to drink more water and I wouldn’t even have to go back inside! And it worked great! …For about an hour and a half. At which point, I completely forgot about its existence until much later that day when the water was about as warm as pee and the fruit slices had mostly disintegrated. Money well spent.

Then there are my kitchen cupboards. They are literally filled with different types of water bottles. I have different sizes and brands, I have metal ones, plastic ones, ones with straws, ones without straws, ones with carrying straps, a wide array of colors and designs. I even have one with the timer fill lines on the side so I know how much water I’m supposed to have finished by when.

Each new bottled sparks a burst of excitement brought about from both the novelty of it and, usually, the rush of making yet another impulse purchase. I ride that New Water Bottle high for anywhere from a few days to a few weeks. During that time, I drink water like a freaking champ! I can easily put away a full sixty-four ounces and then some. Easy.

It’s also not uncommon for me to get inadvisably cocky during these times. I’ll be absolutely convinced that I am now some paragon of hydration and start handing out advice like a wise old master of the water drinking craft. ‘All you have to do is add fresh fruit!’, ‘Just get this water bottle! I swear it’s life changing!’, ‘The key is keeping the water cold. That’s why I have this nifty water bottle ice cube mold!’.

It’s the same feeling that makes me want to message my doctor and brag that I have solved the dehydration crisis. She can thank me later.

Though, I never seem to get that far before I am humbled by my ADHD once more. Whatever Shiny New Thing I thought would solve all of my problems is no longer, well, shiny or new, and thus no longer holds the same excitement it once did. Before too long, I’m back at square one, realizing it’s been seven hours since I last peed and I still don’t need to go, and then going right back to what I was doing without even taking one guilt-filled chug.

It’s the same pattern with all those other necessary life tasks I mentioned: eating, exercising, showering, brushing my teeth. No matter what Shiny New Thing I buy or interesting life hack I swear will be a game changer, nothing ever sticks.

No, that new set of workout clothes didn’t give me a six pack. The Nutribullet I got to make smoothies with ‘every morning’ is collecting dust. The fancy timed electric toothbrush my sister got me for Christmas is often only used once a day (and likely not with the timer on). And the fruity new shower gel no longer entices me to suds up every day.

It’s inevitable. Every trick eventually loses its luster.

That doesn’t mean I stop searching though.

Do I really think there’s a magical fix out there somewhere? Some as-of-yet undiscovered item that will re-wire the way my brain works? Well, no. But I don’t actually want to live this way. I want to remember to do these things. I want to create healthy habits in my life. And not just for me.

Kids are constantly watching and absorbing their surroundings. If I want to teach them that these things are important, then I need to set an example. Trust me, they’ll notice if you fail to follow your own instructions. Kids are annoyingly observant that way.

I’m supposed to be the grownup here. These are all things I should be able to do without even thinking by this point in my life. But that’s not my reality, or the reality for so many neurodivergent people out there.

It’s all too easy to fall into a negative pattern of hating on yourself for struggling with these things. ‘Everyone here will know you didn’t brush your teeth this morning’ I tell myself as I stand in line to check-in for my doctor’s appointment. ‘You’re too gross to go in public today’ runs through my mind as I’m getting dressed in the morning and realize I haven’t showered in a few days. ‘How did anyone let me take these tiny humans home from the hospital to care for if I can’t even take care of myself?’ I wonder as my three-year-old tells me she’s hungry and I realize it’s well past dinner time.

These thoughts of ineptitude still eat away at me some days, becoming more of the day’s theme song instead of the background noise it is other days. I constantly worry about whether I’m living up to being the Competent Adult that my children see me as. It’s taken a lot of time (and therapy) to begin re-framing my perceived failures. Rather than looking at it as not setting a good enough example for my kids, I can look at it as an opportunity for us all to build these habits together.

I don’t know everything, and I don’t have everything figured out. And that’s ok. My kids don’t need a mom who sets the perfect example in every area of life. Or in any area of life, really. We’re human. We make mistakes and we struggle with things, and that is all normal. Sure, my ADHD may mean I struggle more or with different things than a neurotypical person, but the fact remains that we all have things that we struggle with doing—or not doing, as the case may be—in our lives. It’s more important to me that I teach my kids to identify and accept their personal flaws, without beating themselves up because of them, and learn how to adapt in order to live full and healthy lives.

When I first left the doctor’s office today, I felt dysfunctional and embarrassed. I chugged half a bottle of water as soon as I got to the car (the one with the times on it…this still didn’t catch me up). As I drank, I wondered how long the shame could keep me hydrated. Historically, not very long.

I really needed to do something to stay on top of this. My health is important, and I need to take care of my body. For me and for my family.

So, I added a new water bottle to my Amazon cart.

Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day.