This week has been a challenging one, dominated by a strong sense of injustice felt on behalf of someone I care about deeply. This heightened sensitivity to unfairness, particularly when it affects loved ones, is a common trait associated with ADHD. While it fuels a desire to fight for what’s right, it also leaves me emotionally vulnerable and raw. The perceived injustice manifested as a dark cloud, impacting my overall well-being. It brought on brain fog, making clear thinking a struggle, a persistent headache, and a crushing fatigue that made even simple tasks feel overwhelming.
Adding to the week’s difficulties was a situation involving my own health. I’d been feeling dissatisfied with my clinician, a nagging sense that my needs weren’t being adequately addressed. Gathering the courage to request a change felt like a monumental undertaking. It shouldn’t be so difficult to advocate for one’s own health, to express needs and concerns. Yet, I found myself minimising my concerns, apologising for taking up time, and uttering phrases like, “I don’t want to complain,” and “I’m sorry to be a nuisance.” This pattern of appeasing and self-abnegation is a familiar one, rooted in past experiences where asserting my needs was met with resistance or dismissal.
It’s a stark contrast to how I would act for someone else. I would readily fight for them, fueled by righteous indignation, confronting any obstacle in their path. I’d find the words, the strength, and the unwavering commitment to champion their cause. But when it comes to advocating for myself, I become hesitant, apologetic, almost invisible. It’s as if a different part of my brain takes over, prioritising conflict avoidance and maintaining the status quo, even at my own expense.
Despite the internal struggle, I managed to push through. I articulated my concerns and requested a different doctor. Navigating the hospital bureaucracy wasn’t easy. There were f explanations to provide, and a palpable sense of resistance. But I persisted, and eventually, they agreed. Securing a new appointment brought a quiet sense of accomplishment. It was a small victory, but it felt significant. It was a step towards breaking free from self-denial and reclaiming my voice.
The weight of the world also loomed large this week. The constant influx of news, the pervasive sense of global unease, the feeling that everything is on the brink of collapse. I try to limit my exposure to “the news,” but I also feel a responsibility to stay informed. Finding the right balance is a challenge. I avoid social media battles, recognising their futility. I try to approach every story critically, acknowledging the existence of multiple perspectives. But it’s exhausting. The sheer volume of information and the constant negativity take their toll.
Even attempts at escapism proved counterproductive. I started watching a popular supernatural drama, hoping for some light entertainment. However, the first episode was unexpectedly frightening, triggering unwanted anxiety. I’m not someone who enjoys being scared. I value my peace of mind too much to willingly subject myself to that kind of stress. So, I turned it off, resisting the urge to continue. Sometimes, self-care means setting boundaries, even with entertainment.
Seeking a mental reset, I turned to mundane tasks. Folding laundry, cleaning the kitchen – these simple, repetitive actions proved surprisingly therapeutic, helped ground me, bringing me back to the present moment.
That night, I anticipated nightmares. The week’s intensity and emotional rollercoaster seemed destined to surface in my dreams. Instead of a monstrous figure, I experienced a different kind of nightmare. I was driving too fast on a narrow, winding road on a remote hill. The road was so narrow I couldn’t see what was ahead. Reaching the hilltop, I braked, but the car accelerated, sending me careening forward, out of control. The dream was filled with anxiety, likely a reflection of the feelings of helplessness and uncertainty I’d been experiencing.
Today, I recognise the need for rest. I need to allow myself to step back, to recharge. It’s tempting to feel guilty about taking a day off, especially with so much to do. But I know that neglecting my well-being will only hinder my ability to function effectively in the long run. So, today is for me. It’s a day for quiet reflection, gentle self-care, and simply being. Tomorrow is also a day off, a day dedicated to doing absolutely nothing. It feels both wasteful and incredibly necessary. A waste of time, perhaps, but also a crucial investment in my mental and emotional health. It’s a chance to disconnect from the noise, let my mind wander, and allow my body to recover. It’s a chance to simply be present, without the pressure of deadlines or obligations. It’s a chance to breathe. And in a world that feels increasingly chaotic and overwhelming, the ability to breathe, to simply be, feels like the most radical act of self-care.
Josie Moon 