#oftentimes I’ll see someone say they have a disorder and I’ll think ‘I remember researching that for my OC’ lol

[poppyseed799]

My favorite pastime: roleplaying characters and just making them soso weird and then pulling up the DSM-5 to try to diagnose them

[moon-light-jukebox]

Learning Styles - [Reid x Reader]

Summary: Reader has worked hard to get to the FBI, but a misunderstanding has her feeling insecure. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Content Warning: Mention of normal criminal minds stuff briefly. 

A/n: I got these two requests and they were so similar I decided to combine them. I hope that’s okay, but I feel like the stories would have been almost identical. 

Requests:  - I have a fic suggestion. Reader pretends to be dumb but is actually really smart. I’m thinking of that quote about marilyn ”you have to be really smart to pretend to be dumb”. One day spencer realizes that reader is smarter than she lets people know.

- Hi! Can I request a spencer reid x reader fic where reader isn't great with numbers but brilliant with behaviour and humanities (i.e. literature, history, sociology, up to you)? Maybe a dash of insecurity to spice things up?

-- Learning Styles -- 

My favorite professor in college told me that everyone learns differently; what works for one person won’t work in the same way for another. We are all different human beings that are shaped in different ways.

I had always been oddly insecure about my intelligence level. One of my earliest memories was my mother yelling at me while I sat at the kitchen table when I was in first grade. I was the only kid in my class who still hadn’t learned how to read. I just didn’t understand. All of my friends were progressing so much quicker than me and my mother was losing patience.

It wasn’t until my grandmother stepped in that everything changed. My elementary school teacher was training children to read by memorizing sight words, a concept I didn’t understand. When my grandmother sat down and taught me phonics. I distinctly remember everything snapping into place.

I was in 1st grade and reading at a 7th-grade level by Christmas. Once I finally understood my learning style, I really began to thrive.

But no matter what I did, I could still hear my mother yelling at me, telling me I was stupid.

In my line of work, I see just how much the throw away comments that parents make can shape a child’s development. Luckily, those comments just made me a bit insecure, not a murderer.

Up until I was 22, I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to do beyond this desire I had to help people. SSA David Rossi had come to guest lecture in one of my abnormal psych classes during undergrad. After I heard him speak, I was done. I couldn’t have done anything else with my life. I had obtained my master’s in psychology before I joined the FBI.

It took some time, but I was finally assigned to the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. I was so excited on my first day that I remember my hands physically shaking.

Until they weren’t.

I can still remember my first day so clearly. SSA Hotchner had introduced me to the team, saving the “best” for last.

“And this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he had said. “He’s our expert on…well, everything.”

Reid was my age and he had his Ph.D. I remember feeling awed by him.

Until I didn’t.

"I hold 3 Ph.D.'s in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics. I also have BAs in psychology and sociology."

I remember my jaw almost hitting the floor. While I was impressed by him, I wasn’t insecure about my place on the team.

Until I was.

My grandmother may have helped me master reading, which opened the door to me mastering anything else I put my mind to…except math.

I was fine at statistics, luckily. You couldn’t get a psych degree without a ton of statistics work. But statistics was different, I could see the practical use of statistics. I just couldn’t wrap my head around calculus or algebra.

On my first case with the team, Reid had calculated some insane mathematical equations on the whiteboard, running down the probabilities and applying a mathematical formula to the unsub’s behavior.

It wasn't until later, after the case was solved when I was standing in front of the whiteboard that my confidence was hit. Reid had come into the room and saw me looking at his work.

“Don’t bother trying to understand it,” he had said. “You’d have to be a genius to understand what I do.”

I didn’t have a word to describe the feeling that settled in my stomach at his words, I wasn’t sure such a word existed. The feeling was cold and heavy, but also made my body burn with shame.

I had just offered him a tight smile before I left the room.

On the plane home I had made a decision. I was no match for Dr. Reid, I doubt anyone was. So, I would take myself out of the competition. I couldn’t get hurt if I wasn’t playing the game.

And that is how the next year of my life went. I allowed Dr. Reid to explain things to me that I was an expert in, never saying a word. I acted like I didn't understand concepts that I had written papers on. The only thing I didn't dumb down was my profiling skills. Those were necessary for my job and for saving lives.

I don’t think anyone realized what I was doing.

Until they did.

--

The team had been called to Colorado to assist in capturing a serial rapist.

All of our cases bothered me, every last one…but something about ones with this vile element really struck me.

We had the unsub’s name, Tyler Childress. He had spent time in prison for sexual assault and burglary. It seems while he was in prison, he spent time perfecting his methods; it was only by pure luck that we found his fingerprint inside the victim’s house, making him the main suspect.

When we paid Mr. Childress a visit, he had managed to get the drop on Prentiss and Morgan, allowing them to escape. Morgan was furious.

All of us were sitting around a conference table in the local prescient while we let Dr. Reid talk.

I was trying to be calm, I was, but my nails were digging into my palm so deeply I was worried I was about to draw blood.

“Guys,” the expert on everything said. “He has to have some sort of accomplice.”

Rossi just sighed. “But the profile doesn’t point to him being the sort to do well with others; he’s a narcissist.”

Reid wouldn’t budge. “I know that, but he isn’t intelligent enough to pull this off alone. He’s just not. He had an IQ test done when he was 20. He scored in the mentally handicapped range. I’m telling you he has to have help.”

“Are you sure, Reid?” Hotch asked.

“Positive. I have his results right here.”

“IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence on their own.”

I was so startled that someone had contradicted Dr. Reid that it took me a second to realize it was me who had contradicted him.

He turned to face me; his brown eyes wide. “What?”

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “IQ tests aren’t a good measure of intelligence.”

Dr. Reid laughed. He laughed at me like my comment was funny. “I don’t know where you heard that,” he began.

But I interrupted him. "IQ tests are classist and oftentimes racist. The man who invented the IQ test never intended for it to be used as a complete measure of intelligence. He regretted making the test.”

Reid sputtered. “You…it’s not racist!”

“Yes. It. Is.” I ground out. “If it wasn’t it wouldn’t be illegal to administer an IQ test to a black child in the state of California.”

"Wait, it's illegal to do that?" JJ asked, her brows drawn together.

"Yes. There was a court case in the 1970s over it. Teachers were using tests to separate white children from black children. The black children were put into special education classes they didn’t need to be in. Just because the teachers didn’t want those children in their classrooms.”

I should have stopped, but I was on a role. “They’re also inherently classist. How can you expect a child to answer a question about Romeo and Juliet if they haven’t heard of it?”

That had Dr. Reid scoffing. “Everyone has heard of it.”

I shot to my feet, unable to hold back anymore. “No, they haven’t. Children in underfunded schools that don’t have access to resources might not have heard about the most famous play in history because their school wasn’t able to provide the materials to teach them about it. There was a study done in a remote part of Russia right after the IQ test was invented. Every. Single. Person. Scored in the mentally handicapped range. Because they didn’t understand.”

I knew my voice was rising but I couldn’t stop myself. “Once the researcher took the questions and applied them to things they understood, they all scored as above average. They didn’t understand math as an abstract concept, but they understood it when it was applied to their businesses, to something they actually knew about.”

I cleared my throat. “The test isn’t fair, it’s not equal. Tyler Childress didn’t go to a good school and he didn’t have a stable home life. You can’t use one measure to calculate his intelligence. He’s gotten away with 7 assaults so far that we know of. He’s not stupid.”

The entire room was silent once I had stopped speaking. I couldn’t bring myself to regret it though. What kind of person was I if I played dumb because I was afraid of being mocked when a monster was out there attacking women? No, those women deserved to have me at my best.

And I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t give it to them.

Rossi spoke first, his eyes twinkling when he looked at me. “Took you long enough,” he said. “But y/n is right. We trust the profile; we don’t let personal bias cloud the way. That’s how we catch this bastard.”

--

Later that day, we were cleaning up the conference room while the local police processed Tyler Childress.

Pathological narcissism is a complex disorder, but we followed the profile and Rossi was right. Hotch set up a press conference in which JJ and Prentiss took center stage. They tore Childress’s ego to shreds on live television.

His narcissism wouldn’t allow that to slide. He got angry, he made a mistake, and we got him before anyone else got hurt.  

While the cat was out of the bag about my intelligence and that made me nervous, I couldn't regret any of it. I got to be the one to tell our last victim that we got him. I got to hug her while she cried because now that he was locked up, she felt like her healing could begin. I wasn’t sure if my rant about structural racism and the classism of IQ tests actually helped anything, but that didn’t really matter. There was one less monster in the shadows.

Today was a good day.

I was alone in the conference room, untacking photos from the evidence board when I heard someone clear their throat from behind me. I turned my head to meet the wide, honey brown eyes of Dr. Spencer Reid.

Oh boy, I thought. “What’s up, Reid?”

He shifted from foot to foot, his hands twisting in front of him before he crossed his arms over his chest. “I asked Garcia to look into you.”

My eyebrows drew together. “I’m pretty sure any nefarious things I had done would have popped up on my initial background check.”

“Right, I didn’t mean like that,” he mumbled, the apples of his cheeks turning pink. “I asked her to look into you academically.”

Shit.

He went on. “You double majored in psychology and sociology before you got a master’s in cultural psychology. She pulled your thesis. I just read it.”

“I see.” I turned my attention back to the board.

“You also guest lecture on cross-cultural psychology at Georgetown several times a year. And you’ve co-authored two papers since I’ve known you.”

Meh, it’s three. But that doesn’t matter. “Did you read those too?”

I took his silence as confirmation.

He was so quiet I almost thought he had left, but the crackle of energy I felt in the air told me he hadn’t. “Do you need something, Dr. Reid?”

"Why didn't you get your Ph.D.?"

I had answered that question many, many times. “I didn’t need a doctorate to do what I wanted to do. I didn’t want to waste time. Once I figured out what I wanted, I charged at it.” Which was a far more honest answer than most people got about that from me.

“W-why did you pretend to be dumb?” he rasped out, causing me to look back at him. “32 days ago, you let me explain the long-term effects of gerrymandering and the complex causes of poverty.”

“Of course, I did,” I said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“One of the papers you authored was about generational poverty.”

“Just because I know a lot about something doesn’t mean I can stop listening to information. That sort of thinking breeds ignorance.” I smiled, unable to not tease him just a little bit.

Reid took a step closer to me. “You didn’t answer my question.”

I just shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t have a good answer.”

In all the months I had known him, Spencer Reid had never touched me, not even so much as a finger brushing against mine when he handed me something. That fact is why I was so startled when I felt his hand on my upper arm, turning me towards him.

He licked his lips, his eyes darting around. “Did everyone else know?”

I shook my head, my teasing mood long gone. "No. I mean, clearly, Rossi suspected but…No, I didn't tell anyone else."

“I just don’t understand. You’re brilliant.”

I scoffed. “No, I’m not. I’m decent a psychology, sociology, stuff like that. I can’t apply math to behavior to find patterns. I can’t even calculate how much something is gonna cost when it’s on sale without a calculator half the time.”

‘What do you…” Reid trailed off. “Wait. The very first case. You were looking at the evidence board.”

Goddamn eidetic memory.

The boy wonder was on a roll now. “I told you that you’d have to…is that why you didn’t tell me?”

What else could I do? I just nodded.

Those brown eyes closed, and he let out a groan. “I said that because I thought you were going to…I was worried…” He huffed out a breath and opened his eyes. “I wanted you to like me. I didn’t want you to think I was just a nerd.”  

Now I was confused. “Why?”

Spencer Reid’s blush went all the way down his neck. “Well…I just…Morgan said I should just talk to you. But I’m not…I’m not good at that. I panic, then I start to ramble. Like I’m doing now…”

“Reid,” I interrupted. “I’m not playing dumb now. I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I like you,” he blurted out right before he smacked both of his hands over his face. “Oh my god. I sound like a child.” I thought I heard him mutter idiot under his breath. “Emily says that my IQ gets slashed to 60 whenever I see a pretty girl.”

Much like that moment all those years ago when I was a child, I felt everything click into place. Oh.

I couldn't suppress my smile any longer. I rose up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Well, we've already gone over how IQ tests aren't a good measure of overall intelligence."  

With that, I quickly stepped away and hurried out of the conference room, leaving a stunned genius in my wake. When I turned back to look at him, I saw his fingers brushing over the place where my lips had just been.  

--

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[edxtsytlps]

Writing Characters with ADHD

This is another thing I personally experience. However, this won't just be about my experiences (basing it off mine, my cousin's, and my classmate/friend's[? Am I friends with him?]) and on Instagram will likely be divided up between posts. So let's get into it! AND DON'T HESITATE TO CORRECT ME IF I'M WRONG!!! I only know for sure what's in my brain, and I can only tell from my cousin what I see them do, and while I've done some research, it's different for everyone so if you have anything to add, just put it in the comments or DM me and I'll put them in a future post!

What is ADHD?

ADHD stands for Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. It is horribly named, though. "I have trouble focusing and doing daily tasks, and sometimes I find it easier to concentrate when I'm moving." And then the name says, "Oh! Maybe you have a trouble sitting still disorder." Sorry!! That was a joke I saw while scrolling through Instagram ADHD hashtags, but I can't for the life of me remember who posted it. ANYWAY, ADHD has an unknown for sure cause, but evidence is supporting that it's caused by a lack of the chemical dopamine in the prefrontal cortex of the brain.

There are three (3) types of ADHD!

Yep! You read that right (probably). There is the hyperactive type, the inattentive type, and the combined type.

The hyperactive type is the one most commonly thought of when someone mentions ADHD. They're the ones that seem to have the more impulsive side, however I have the combined type and I have some impulsiveness. So how do write characters with the hyperactive type of ADHD? Here are a few tips:

As stated above, they seem to be the most impulsive. This doesn't mean everyone that's impulsive has ADHD, but oftentimes the hyperactive type is the ones you see blurting out answers in class or inturrupting others.

The hyperactive type is often seen fidgiting. Whether it be with their clothes, a fidgit toy, or whatever. According to my cousin, they have an easier time focusing on things while his hands are fidgiting with something.

This type is more commonly seen in boys than it is girls, and often easier to diagnose as the symptoms are easier to recognize. I have a friend and she has the hyperactive type, so it's definitely possible for girls to have it; it's just less common!

Hyperactivity can also be in the mind! It doesn't always have to be moving around. It can also be having a hyperactive mind.

NOTE: I don't really have this type, so if anyone does and wants to add on or correct me please do so!

The inattentive type has previously gone by ADD, but that is now an outdated term. I have more of this type when it comes to my combined type than the hyperactive, so this one may be explained better with more helpful tips.

While the hyperactive type is more common in boys, the inattentive type is more common in girls. Like above, it's definitely possible for boys to have the inattentive type but it's more common in girls.

Daydreaming a lot is very common with this type. Maladaptive daydreaming is also often co-existant with ADHD and although there isn't evidence to back this up (I don't think), I've always had the idea that MaDD went more in hand with the inattentive type than the others. If you want more information on MaDD, check my other account (in bio)!

Touble focusing, poor hygiene, seeming socially withdrawn, etc. are common symptoms with both types, but considering the test my doctor gave me before diagnosing me I *think* they're more prominant symptoms in this type.

This type is most often diagnosed in your teenage years/adulthood as the symptoms are often mistaken for symptoms of depression and anxiety before they think it's inattentive ADHD.

The combined type has symptoms of both. Also! It isn't always 50% symptoms hyperactive type and the other 50% inattentive, it can be a mixture of percentages.

General Tips

Now that I've covered the different types and the main differences between all of them, here are some general tips! The ones above are more for specific types and so they're things that you may want to include as a way to develop your character more. Anyway, let's gooooooo!

Medicine sucks, okay. I often forget to take it when I don't have school (where I'm tracked down by the nurse if I forget). It has side effects, as well. I originally was on Strattera, but it would make me sleepy throughout the day and it would make it worse rather than better. However, Adderall makes me lose my apetite and my sleep schedule is really messed up. But, it helps! It doesn't affect us the same way it does people without ADHD.

ADHD and austism often go hand in hand. Not always, but oftentimes if a person has ADHD, they also have autism. You may consider putting your character on the autism spectrum if they have ADHD.

People with ADHD stim. There are many types of stimming, and I suggest that you research the types (as well as more research than just what I'm telling you or what other accounts have posted on the subject).

A focusing tip: I personally find it easier to speed up the playback speed on Youtube videos when I have to watch them as well as put closed captioning on. Not really a focusing tip, but it helps me retain the information and it *could* help your character too (remember, everyone is different). If I can't speed it up like that, I'll get out an index card and start drawing.

We go through periods of hyperfocus! This is where we focus on one thing for a lengthy period of time. Oftentimes after this, I personally go through a period of burnout where I find interest in nothing.

Emotions are very intense. Not that they aren't for other people, and I have no clue personally because I'm and empath (see @klenasboba 's post) and I only ever feel others' emotions but my friend and cousin both have very intense emotions. Even more so than the other people I've met.

That's all I know! Please remember, there is a spectrum and everyone experiences it differently. Also, this shouldn't have to be said but please don't self-diagnose based on the information I've told you. If you feel like you may have ADHD, please do more research. If you want to have a character with ADHD but aren't sure if you're writing them right, consider getting a sensitivity reader (see @chcmpagneandsvnshine 's post) and as always for anything like this, do research!!

[sarahburness]

Sensitivity Means Passion, Not Weakness

“The fact that you’re struggling doesn’t make you a burden. It doesn’t make unlovable, undesirable, or undeserving of care. It doesn’t make you too much or too sensitive or too needy. It makes you human. “ ~Daniell Koepke

A while back, during one of my therapy sessions, I became acquainted with the word “dysthymia.”

I was puzzled at first, but as my therapist dug deeper into the subject, I realized that complex-sounding term was, in fact, a birth name to the grizzly monster that has been shadowing me for years. It’s more commonly known as persistent depressive disorder.

I can’t exactly remember the onset of an extended period when I felt lower than usual. It might have sneaked in unnoticed in my early teens and grown out of proportion since then. It might have been born with me. I have no idea.

All I know is, I’ve had a pervading sense of hopelessness long enough to convince myself that something was wrong. It’s only natural for a child to feel threatened by the world around them. At least that’s how I felt, day in and day out.

I was told it would only be a matter of time until I grew out of it and became a self-assured woman. Well, I’m twenty years old and this day has never come, and I’ll tell you, the old times were paradise. I was lucky to have my parents’ back in every situation, and the thought of loosening my grip on their protection with the passing years was a scary prospect.

Inevitably, I grew up and things didn’t get any easier.

My generalized fear mingled with an endless hunt for the meaning behind words, people’s actions, and even life itself. The existential nature of these questions made it impossible for me to get concrete answers, which overloaded my brain with the untold possibilities, thus fueling an anxiety disorder.

Being an avid gobbler of pills and a depression sufferer herself, my mother suggested that I went to a psychiatrist. As expected, at sixteen I left the doctor’s office with an antidepressant prescription in hand, as I doubted both my sanity and worth.

In a different session, I can recall my therapist drawing a chart of sorts, in order to illustrate my situation: she traced three parallel horizontal lines and named them “euphoria,” “neutrality,” and “depression,” from top to bottom.

She then drew a squiggly line with stable highs and lows, yet mostly focused in the area between depression and neutrality. What that means is I’m bound to feel down most days, with the occasional bout of gloom and/or cheerfulness, depending on the situation. The mood sways aren’t fickle; they’re usually curbed into the same spectrum, but still, sometimes I wish the ups would last longer.

“Don’t worry, that is very common in highly sensitive people,” she said to me. “Now that you’ve named that feeling, it will become easier to deal with.”

At the time, that wasn’t helpful at all. Why did my personality have to be built this way? Would I have to deal with this for the rest of my life? That’s not what I came here for!

I developed an unhealthy habit of comparison, as I envied the life of every extroverted and confident person I knew, even if that meant scrolling through their social media pages (which, let’s face it, makes everyone seem at the top of their game on a daily basis).

For months on end I tried to stick to a fully positive lifestyle. Spoiler alert: I was doing it wrong. It took me a while to recognize that I didn’t have to be happy all the time nor rebuff my icky moments in exchange for a phony, dimmed spark of sunshine. I felt something was missing.

I was in denial. I was rejecting myself, whom I’ll have to spend the rest of my days with whether I want to or not. Little did I know, refusing who I was wouldn’t do anything for me; it would only hinder the process of acceptance.

All I had to do was skew my perspective, bit by bit. And I did, with the help of unexpected sources and events.

Sensitivity Means Passion

During a recent conversation with my brother, I came to the slow realization that I might have underrated what can prove itself to be a powerful attribute.

His girlfriend had broken up with him, and his devastation was painful to watch. However, his main objection was that he felt guilty for “feeling too much while she felt way less.” I could identify with him at that moment.

He would beat himself up and judge his past actions, wishing he could go back and suppress the excess emotion he poured into the relationship. Anyone who’s familiar with him would advise him to never change for a girl, and that the right one would see this supposed “defect” as a major quality.

Being his twin sister, of course we’d share some traits– besides in appearance. And that’s it: we feel too much. Too much of everything, whether it be the pain of a heartbreak or the delight of succeeding at something, for instance.

In discussing life’s matters, we’ve both agreed upon the fact that oftentimes we may be taken up entirely by emotion, to the point where even gazing at the stars opens our minds to an immensity of otherworldly interpretations. How amazing is that?

Besides, we’re eager seekers of beauty in the little things and lovers of kindness. That depth in our mindset is what allows us to express everything so thoroughly, especially through writing and other kinds of art.

What was supposed to be a wallowing session ended up giving us a different view of ourselves. Needless to say, we finished the conversation feeling way better than when we started it.

See It for What It Is: Just A Trait

About three years ago, something interesting came in the mail. One of my aunts resides in England, and she sends gifts every so often. This particular time, she had a special present for me.

It was a book, but not just any book. It was a self-help book called The Highly Sensitive Person, written by Dr. Elaine N. Aron. It had highlighted passages and comments scribbled all over it, as if Auntie wanted me to pay special attention to them.

I might have rolled my eyes at first, but that’s part of my proud nature. Also, never in my seventeen years had I read a self-help book, so I decided to give it a reluctant try in case she asked about it later and I had to whip off a review. I started reading, and to my surprise, it felt like staring at a mirror.

The book, first published in 1996, promotes the de-stigmatization around sensitive people, often mislabeled as weak, shy, and even antisocial, to name a few labels. It has offered me the best advice I’ve been given, from someone who has been through similar struggles.

It counts on interviews with hundreds of people like me—perhaps like you, too—who have offered their experience as HSPs. Their stories prove that we are not alone and that being sensitive makes us unique in our own ways; we just have to make an effort to see that amidst the haze of society telling us we’re somehow abnormal.

I can relate to my aunt on many levels, especially because we have strikingly similar personalities, which is always a recurrent topic during family reunions. At some point in her life she had the same doubts I do now—she felt unfitting and lost. She gets me, and she made sure I had that in mind by giving me that book.

“Think about the impact on you of not being the ideal for your culture. It has to affect you—not only how others have treated you but how you have come to treat yourself.” ~Elaine N. Aron. Ph. D.

For the first time in a while, I accepted my wholeness. I felt an overdue relief in being myself, comforted to know that being dysthymic and highly sensitive by no means indicates than I’m worse than everybody else.

I’m still coming to terms with my fragile essence. I haven’t left therapy or the medications, and I may need them for the rest of my life, who knows? Even so, in researching alternative ways to cope with my anxiety I stumbled across several posts that swore by meditation, so I decided to give it a shot—and it worked like magic!

I meditate for at least ten minutes daily, and the practice has helped diminish common anxious and depressive symptoms, such as a fast heartbeat and racing thoughts. This happens due to meditation’s scientifically suggested power to positively modify our brains—yes, it’s possible! If combined with consistent daily activities such as exercising or anything that sparks creativity, it becomes a strong healing method.

The good news is, my sensitivity has ceased to be a problem. Whenever it wants in, I won’t slam the door, I’ll just invite it in for a cup of coffee instead. Maybe acceptance is all it needs to rest cozy in my chest.

About Laila Resende

Laila is a Brazilian Portuguese/English student and full-time dreamer. She holds a deep passion for writing and aspires to make a difference to those who feel detached from this crazy, yet wonderful world we live in. You can find her blog at thoughtinventory.home.blog.

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