It’s a bit harder for me to start writing this blog, because my brain is already going in a million different directions, all trying to decide where to begin. This topic feels like a lot for just one blog post, so you might be reading more about this in the future.
I find it hard to explain my brain, my thought process, and my everyday thoughts to other people. How do I put into words something that feels so normal and yet so suffocating at the same time? A process that feels incredibly natural, but can give me overwhelming feelings of dissociation, fatigue, disappointment, excitement, and pride — sometimes all within the same minute?
The answer is: I don’t. And yet, here I am, trying anyway.
I want to start with the evenings. They’re often packed with bath time with the kids, dinner that barely gets eaten, and frustration in the communication with my partner. He is just as tired and overstimulated as I am after a day full of toddler meltdowns and routines.
Even when I do get to shower all by myself, which already feels like a small miracle, I still can’t shut off my brain. Showering isn’t rewarding enough for me. It feels like a tedious task that requires planning, timing, and decision-making, things I’ve already done endlessly throughout the day while caring for our children.
So I end up in this strange in-between space. I don’t feel like showering because I’m already overwhelmed, but showering alone also doesn’t feel rewarding enough to push through that overwhelm. This often leads to decision fatigue, where I feel frozen in time. I know I *can* shower. It’s the perfect moment. And yet, I can’t bring myself to do even the simplest thing.
Within the ADHD community, this is often called ADHD paralysis. My brain feels overloaded while also lacking enough dopamine to start doing anything at all. So I stay exactly where I am, overthinking everything, while fourteen highly caffeinated squirrels — as Alex Partrigde once described it perfectly — fight for attention inside my head.
And it doesn’t stop there.
My thoughts jump to to-do lists, something interesting I heard earlier, something I suddenly need to look up because I don’t know what brand it is. I notice my socks are on the wrong way, while that same stupid song from 2011 keeps looping in my head. Meanwhile, my kids are waking each other up with their crying, and suddenly, I can’t move anymore.
What I struggle with the most is how this all looks from the outside. So often, this behaviour gets labelled as laziness. And for a long time, I believed that too. I guilt-tripped myself more than anyone else ever could, convincing myself that maybe I really was lazy.
Until I got officially diagnosed.
That’s when I realised this isn’t a character flaw — it’s an ADHD trait. The gap between how it looks on the outside and how it feels on the inside couldn’t be wider, and that’s exactly what makes it so hard to explain. I often feel like I’m not allowed to be tired unless I have a reason that makes sense to the neurotypical world around me.
Lately, I’ve been trying to release myself from the pressure of always needing to look busy. I’m trying to just sit with my thoughts sometimes and observe how fast they move. Some days, that feels almost fascinating. Other days, it feels impossible.
So I keep experimenting. I try to figure out what works for my brain and what doesn’t. I’m searching for that sweet spot of dopamine that quiets my mind — not so I can be productive, but simply so I can exist.
Last week, I realised I can’t truly relax and watch a TV show without doing something else at the same time. I’m usually scrolling on my phone, fidgeting, or snacking without thinking. One evening, I forgot to turn off the radio, while putting on my show. Yes, I’m one of those people who still listens to the radio. And for the first time in a while, I actually followed the storyline.
It turned out I needed an extra layer of auditory stimulation to be able to relax. It felt like a small revelation. But I also noticed it only worked because I was having a relatively okay day. On harder days, that same radio might push me further into overwhelm. Still, it’s something to explore, something to keep in my back pocket for now.
So this blog doesn’t end with a solution or a clear takeaway. Maybe it simply ends with recognition and naming something that often stays invisible.
Because I’m learning that rest doesn’t always look like silence. That doing nothing can still feel loud.
Some days I find what works. Some days I don’t. This isn’t about fixing my brain. It’s about understanding it one overstimulated evening at a time.
And if any of this sounds familiar, please know that you’re not alone. Not even close.
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