ADHD in girls

“In the middle of winter I at last discovered that there was in me an invincible summer.”

— Albert Camus

If I had to give one chapter of my life a title, I think I would simply call it The Lost Years.

The reason I would call them that is because it was a time filled with doubt, struggles, and uncertainty. Not because those years didn’t matter, but because I felt lost within them. I didn’t really know who I was, where I was going, or how to find my way back to myself.

In my mid to late twenties, I went through a really difficult period in my life—socially, physically, mentally, and internally. I felt like I had no sense of direction. Which path do I choose? That question was constantly on my mind.

But it wasn’t just the big life decisions. It was all the little things that added up each day.

I was in a deep state of depression. I barely left my bed. Tears seemed endless. My mind replayed everything that had ever gone wrong in my life and convinced me that things would never change. That I would never find stability, happiness, or a sense of safety.

There was one major event during that time that changed me in ways I never expected. I don’t really want to get into the details, but it left a lasting impact on me.

For a long time, I felt worthless. Like I was an afterthought. Like everyone else was moving forward while I remained stuck.

I had one friend during that time who helped pull me out of my funk every once in a while. He had the kind of personality that could always make me laugh and smile. We were practically inseparable for years.

Looking back now, I realize I spent much of my twenties helping him pursue his goals, dreams, and plans for the future. Mine, however, quietly took a back seat.

I’m not blaming him for that. If anything, it made me realize how much of a people-pleaser I was. At the time, I didn’t see it that way. I thought I was just being supportive and being there for someone I cared about. It wasn’t until later that I realized I had become so focused on helping someone else build their life that I stopped asking myself what I wanted for my own.

I didn’t socialize much outside of him and his partner. I had never been in a relationship, which made me feel behind in life. I felt like everyone else was moving forward while I was somehow stuck in the same place.

And because my depression had convinced me that I was somehow unworthy, I never really focused on building a life for myself.

So instead, I lived vicariously through him.

When I look back now, I think, it is what it is.

I can’t go back and change it.

I can only learn from it.

The reason I call them “The Lost Years” is because I only knew how to be there for other people. I didn’t know how to be there for myself.

I didn’t know who I was outside of helping others. I didn’t know what I wanted, where I was going, or what kind of life I wanted to build.

I think we all have a chapter like that. A season marked by grief, uncertainty, burnout, disappointment, anxiety, and simply trying to keep our heads above water.

I remember isolating myself from the outside world. I’d spend day in and day out locked away in my room, trying desperately to quiet the negative, nagging thoughts about how much of my life I had wasted.

I kept thinking, my life could have been what I always envisioned if I had only tried to make it a reality.

But no.

I was stuck.

Stuck in a never-ending cycle of past decisions, past experiences, and things that changed the trajectory of my life.

I kept myself “entertained” by watching comfort shows and movies. I couldn’t read because it was too hard to focus on anything other than my misery.

I ate comfort foods: cheese quesadillas, grilled cheese sandwiches, beef taquitos—anything familiar and safe.

Exercise was out of the question because I could hardly move beyond my comfort zone.

It’s funny how the place that brings you the most comfort can also become the place where you hide from your life.

I felt so disconnected and dissociated that I couldn’t even imagine who the real person was beneath all of the weight I was carrying.

Essentially, I had zero clue who I truly was.

Mind you, I was undiagnosed at the time and didn’t understand my feelings and emotions as well as I do now.

For years, I carried all of this without understanding why I felt the way I did. I thought I was lazy. I thought I was too sensitive. I thought I was too emotional. I thought everyone else had somehow figured out life while I was still trying to understand myself.

Then, a few years ago, I attended an ADHD conference.

Something there struck me to my core.

For the first time in my life, I felt seen.

I remember listening to people describe experiences that I had spent years thinking were just personal flaws or things that made me different. Suddenly, I had words to explain things I had struggled with for years.

It was a true “aha” moment.

That conference changed me.

Not because everything suddenly became better.

It didn’t.

I still had struggles. I still had difficult days.

But something shifted.

A massive weight lifted from my shoulders because I finally had a better understanding of myself.

It gave me hope.

It gave me a reason to start again.

I felt a little more comfortable in my own skin.

So, I started writing. A lot.

Eventually, I created this blog to share my story in hopes that others might resonate with it.

Writing became a way for me to process my experiences. It became a way to connect with others. It became a reminder that the things I thought made me feel alone were actually things many other people quietly experienced too.

It gave me passion. It gave me a desire to make improvements and small changes.

I no longer wanted to sit back and watch life happen.

I wanted to be a part of it.

That’s why the quote above resonates with me so much.

Even in the midst of winter, there was still an invincible summer within me.

I just couldn’t see it yet.

Looking back now, I realize I spent so much of my life trying to become who I thought I should be that I never stopped to ask myself who I actually was.

I was constantly comparing myself to other people. I was measuring my life against timelines that didn’t belong to me. I thought I was behind.

But I think that’s the thing about difficult seasons.

You don’t always recognize how hard they were until you’re on the other side of them.

At the time, I thought I was wasting years of my life.

I thought I had fallen too far behind.

Now, I have a little more compassion for that version of myself.

She was depressed. She was overwhelmed. She was carrying more than she realized. She was trying to survive without understanding why everything felt so difficult.

And maybe that’s why I don’t look at those years quite the same way anymore.

Were they hard? Absolutely.

Were they years I wish had looked different? Yes.

But they also shaped me.

They helped me understand myself.

They led me toward writing.

They led me toward building something meaningful.

They led me toward finally asking myself what kind of life I wanted.

Maybe they were lost years.

But maybe they were also the years that slowly brought me back to myself.

Have you ever had a season of life where you felt lost? What helped you find your way back?

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #Depression #Anxiety #AutismSpectrumDisorder #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #MightyTogether

This question really got me thinking.

For the longest time, I thought all chaos was bad.

Now I realize there are different kinds.

There's the kind that overwhelms me...and there's the kind that turns into a memory I wouldn't trade for anything.

What kind of chaos feels good in your life—and what kind doesn’t?

I'd love to hear your thoughts!

#Thoughts #Neurodiversity #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Anxiety #chaos #quote #MentalHealth

Failure doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong. Usually it means we just need to change routes.
#Addiction #Agoraphobia #AnorexiaNervosa #Anxiety #Autism #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BipolarDepression #ChronicFatigueSyndrome #CeliacDisease #Depression #Epilepsy #Dysautonomia #KidneyDisease #ObsessiveCompulsiveDisorder #Cancers #Migraine #PTSD #POTS #Hemophilia #SjogrensSyndrome #Endometriosis #Endometriosis #InterstitialCystitis #HearingLoss #Deafness #SuicidalIdeation #Selfharm #Selfcare #EhlersDanlosSociety #EhlersDanlosSyndrome #JointHypermobilitySyndrome #IrritableBowelSyndromeIBS

Did you know that gratitude has so many benefits?! It does!
Which one from the list do you need the most today?
#Addiction #AnorexiaNervosa #Anxiety #Agoraphobia #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Autism #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BipolarDisorder #ChronicFatigueSyndrome #Depression #Epilepsy #KidneyDisease #ObsessiveCompulsiveDisorder #Cancers #Grief #Lupus #Migraine #AutonomicDysfunction #PTSD #POTS #Hemophilia #SjogrensSyndrome #Endometriosis #InterstitialCystitis #HearingLoss #Grief #Selfharm #Selfcare #EhlersDanlosSyndrome #JointHypermobilitySyndrome #IrritableBowelSyndromeIBS

Having a weekend plan that differs from the week routine is one of the best tips I ever learned in therapy, and I wanted to share!
How can you find time for an enjoyable hobby, outing or self care this weekend?
#Addiction #AddictionRecovery #AutismSpectrumDisorder #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Anxiety #AnorexiaNervosa #BulimiaNervosa #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #BipolarDisorder #ChronicFatigueSyndrome #CeliacDisease #Cancers #Depression #Epilepsy #Grief #ChildLoss #HemiplegicMigraine #Lupus #Fibromyalgia #BackPain #Selfcare #Selfharm #MightyTogether

Silence has never been unfamiliar to me. I’ve always been someone who sits in quiet spaces with comfortability. Personally, I don’t like if there’s constant noise or distraction because it feels too overwhelming. So, silence is where I stay. It’s where I feel the most like myself.

Silence as comfort and early solitude

For the most part, I grew up alone. I’m an only child, so I learned early on to entertain myself—playing solo games, writing stories, reading fun mystery novels.

I remember going to the toy store with my mom and being brought little projects for me to do. I remember getting science kits, fun fill-out books like “about me” or Mad Libs, and board games like Operation that you could play alone.

Of course, there were moments I felt lonely. But I grew comfortable and used to being solo that it didn’t affect me the way it may have others.

I think it’s because I choose silence over noise because of my anxieties and fears. I noticed that I didn’t need constant background sound or distraction. It was easy to sit in silence in peace. I was okay with it.

To me, silence has always been my form of rest.

I just always craved time alone. Time to be by myself because I could just be freely authentic without any outside unwanted judgment. When I’m doing things that I genuinely love to do—my hobbies, my interests—I rarely ever feel alone.Silence, identity, and relationships

I’ve been fortunate enough to always have friends by my side. They became my social lifeline and a place of feeling acceptance. They saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself at the time.

I’ve always been hard on myself, so the fact that I actually had friends often boggled my mind.

I’ve always considered myself to be too quiet, too shy to make friends. But people naturally gravitated towards my quiet nature. They saw me as reliable, kind, and perhaps even fun.

I’m so grateful to have had a social life from an early age because that’s what made me feel less lonesome.

When silence becomes heavy

But sometimes, being alone in the silence too much creates an overwhelming discomfort.

My thoughts get so loud that emotions surface and my anxiety goes haywire. I’ll start overthinking everything in my life. I start doubting myself and shrink in the process.

That’s why I don’t need outside noise—I have enough of it going on in my mind.

Emotions rise when things get louder.

Lately, I’ve been feeling isolated. I haven’t really left my house much and I’ve been disassociating—being there but not fully being there.

Whenever I do leave my house, I feel so much anxiety that it’s nearly hard to breathe.

There have been moments where I’ve felt overwhelmed in ways I didn’t immediately understand until later—when everything quieted down and I was left sitting with it.

When I do go out, my emotions are high. If something or someone irritates me or triggers me in some way, my emotions come out all at once. I think it’s because I have so many buried feelings that they all come to a head at that point.

Internal processing and emotional buildup

I sit with things for a long time instead of expressing them. My thought process is quiet and internal.

I had a recent experience where I held things in too long that I couldn’t hold them in any longer. I made the decision to face the situation head on and be upfront and honest with my feelings. Needless to say, they were shut down.

This made my rejection sensitivity intensify to limits I had never reached before. I became angry, frustrated, and quite frankly hurt.

That’s why I feel more comfort in silence because I’ve learned vulnerability can often be detrimental.

But over time, I realized that I shouldn’t live my life in fear of opening up and that I should let things out before the tension builds.Reflection on silence

I’m starting to understand that silence hits differently for me. It holds comfort and clarity but can also hold heaviness and disconnection.

But if you were to ask me if I prefer silence or noise, I’m always going to choose silence.

I’m an introvert and I love to be alone. It’s my space for recharging my social battery, engaging in things I love, and sorting through my thoughts on my own time, no pressure.

And through the heaviness that comes along with it, I can manage it more easily when I’m in my own space quietly.

What does silence feel like for you—comfort, heaviness, or a mix of both?

“Silence is a source of great strength.”— Lao Tzu

#MentalHealth #Anxiety #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Autism #AutismSpectrumDisorder #AutismSpectrum #Depression #Neurodiversity #MightyTogether

I’ve been wanting to create a space like this for a while now.

Somewhere that feels a little quieter… a little more honest. A place where you don’t have to show up perfectly.

So if you’re here, I’m really glad you found your way into this space.

I thought I’d start with something simple.

How has your week been—really?

Not just the surface-level answer, but how you’ve actually been feeling underneath it all.

You can share as much or as little as you want. Even just a word or two is enough.

And if you feel comfortable, you can introduce yourself too—but there’s no pressure at all.

I just wanted this to be a place where we can show up as we are.

— Nicole

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Autism #AutismSpectrumDisorder #AutismSpectrum #Anxiety #GeneralizedAnxietyDisorder #Depression

Lately, I’ve been feeling very off. I know I’ve been talking about what it’s like to live on autopilot, but I really want to go a little deeper into what that actually looks like for me.

For me, it feels like being here, but not fully here. It’s like I’m living my life at a distance—going through the motions without really feeling connected to them. It’s subtle, which makes it harder to explain. Nothing is obviously wrong, but something feels off in a way I can’t quite name—like a quiet internal fog I can’t fully step out of. And for a long time, I didn’t understand what that feeling was—I just knew I wasn’t fully present in my own life.

I’ve felt that way for a long time—empty, absent, hollow. It’s a strange feeling because I’m such an emotional person. But when I’m in this daze, this heavy fog, I don’t feel very much of anything. Everything feels muted. Someone could be telling me something awful, something painful, and my mind just passes it by in an instant—like it never fully sticks. There’s no feeling, no weight, no reaction sitting in my body. It’s not done purposely. It’s just dissociation.

I used to think I was just flighty. Ditzy, maybe. Either way, I didn’t feel good about it. I didn’t like presenting myself to others when I wasn’t fully aware—fully present. It’s embarrassing to be in the middle of a conversation and completely forget what someone is saying as they’re saying it, like the words slip right through me. I’m just… lost.

I’ll sit down to do something simple, like read a book, and realize I’ve reread the same sentence multiple times without absorbing it—like my eyes are moving but nothing is registering. I’ll watch a movie or TV show and not be able to explain what it was about, like it never fully made it into me. And often, I’ll walk into a room and forget why I went there in the first place, standing there in this quiet mental blankness.

Emotionally, it feels like I’m muted. Not sad. Not happy either. Just… distant.

I remember one time a friend and I were chatting about an upcoming trip we had planned. She kept telling me the details—when we’d get into town, when we’d leave, small things like that. But I kept asking her over and over again without even realizing I had already asked. My brain couldn’t hold onto it. I was too far from the moment.

She jokingly called me out for it, but I could tell she was getting frustrated. And I just remember feeling embarrassed afterward—like a sinking feeling in my chest—like I couldn’t trust my own attention, or my own mind in that moment.

After conversations, I would replay everything in my head—not because something went wrong, but because I couldn’t trust what I experienced in the moment. I’d wonder if I seemed off, if I was engaging enough, if I missed something important without realizing it—like I was trying to reconstruct moments I didn’t fully hold onto.

And slowly, that started to shape how I saw myself in relationships. Like I wasn’t fully there for people the way I want to be. Like I was slightly out of sync with everyone else, even when I was trying my best to connect. That disconnect starts to feel like something other people might notice before I even say a word.

It also started to affect how I thought about myself more broadly.

It’s disorienting—feeling present in your life on the outside, but not fully connected to it on the inside. Like I’m doing all the “right” things, but not fully experiencing them the way I should—like life is happening slightly beside me instead of through me. And over time, it turns into this feeling of being behind in your own life.

Like everyone else is moving forward in ways I can’t quite access.

I think it happens when I’ve been overwhelmed for too long—when too much has been happening internally or externally, and something in me pulls back quickly, almost instinctively. And I don’t always notice it while it’s happening. I notice it after.

I still don’t have a perfect way of explaining it yet. But I’m learning not to be so hard on myself for it. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person because I drift sometimes, and I’m learning to stop judging myself for it. For me, it’s about learning how to notice when I’m not fully there—and to try not to abandon myself in the process.

When do you first notice yourself feeling “not fully here”—and what do you usually do in those moments without even realizing it?

“Sometimes the hardest part is not knowing you’ve drifted until you’re already far from yourself.”— Unknown

#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #ADHDInGirls #AutismSpectrumDisorder #DistractMe