neurodiversity

From personal experience, I know that hope isn’t always easy to hold onto—especially during seasons when life feels heavy, uncertain, or overwhelming. We often pressure ourselves to “stay positive,” but real hope isn’t about pretending everything is okay. It’s about grounding yourself, finding direction, and taking gentle, meaningful steps forward even when the path ahead feels blurry.

That’s why I created this worksheet: to offer a compassionate way to check in with yourself. It’s meant to help you reconnect with hope in a way that feels realistic rather than forced. You can use it whenever you need to catch your breath, reset, or simply remind yourself that progress—even slow, quiet progress—is still progress.

Why This Matters
Fostering hope doesn’t mean ignoring your challenges. It means creating space for possibility. It means staying connected to what’s real while also allowing yourself to imagine something better. When you approach hope with compassion instead of pressure, you build a healthier, more sustainable mindset for the long term.
If you’re needing a moment of grounding today, I hope this resource supports you.

#ADHD #ADHDInGirls #Neurodiversity #Anxiety #Depression #Addiction #SubstanceRelatedDisorders #MentalHealth

Sometimes I don’t notice that I’m overstimulated right away. The signs and signals start out small. A flicker of tension behind my eyes. My shoulders tightening without my realizing. A low buzz of unease that I try to ignore. Then, little by little, everything starts to feel incredibly heavy.

For me, overstimulation lives in my body, not just in my mind. The sensations I feel are indicators that I’ve had too much. My chest will start to tighten. My hands start fidgeting. My thoughts race and loop over details that don’t need attention, making it nearly impossible to focus. It can be subtle at first, but if I don’t take a moment to pause, it escalates.

Sometimes it looks like me rereading the same text message five times and still not processing it. Sometimes it’s me standing in the kitchen, staring at the counter, forgetting what I walked in there to do. Sometimes it’s tears welling up over something small, and I don’t even understand why.

Crowds and noise are the most obvious triggers for me.

The other night, I went out with some friends to go dancing, listening to old hits from our generation. At first, I was doing okay — the crowd, the lights, the music all felt manageable. I was even laughing, singing along, enjoying myself. But as the night progressed, it became too overwhelming. The lights felt sharper. The bass thumped through my chest instead of feeling fun. The chatter around me blurred into a constant hum that I couldn’t filter out.

I had to step outside for a moment to regroup. People just kept pouring in, and my personal space started to feel impossibly small. I remember standing outside, taking a deep breath, trying to calm my body down before my mind could even explain what was happening. We thankfully left a little early. It was honestly all my mind and body could handle in that moment.

It’s not always dancing. Sometimes it’s the grocery store on a Sunday afternoon. There are too many carts. Too many decisions to be made. Too many bright florescent lights. I’ll find myself rushing through aisles, forgetting half of what I needed, just wanting to get out.

Even things that seem small — a strong perfume in an elevator, birds chirping nonstop outside my window when I’m already tired, or too many notifications all pinging at once — can make me feel uneasy. It’s like my nervous system has a threshold, and once it’s crossed, everything feels louder.

When I’m overstimulated, I can’t find the words I usually know. I struggle to prioritize, and small decisions can really feel monumental. What should we eat? What time should we leave? Do I respond to that message now or later? Simple tasks feel exhausting. All I want to do is escape, hide, and shrink into a space where I can breathe.

The Signs I’ve Learned to Watch For

Over the years, I’ve learned to recognize the early warning signs:

I feel restless but trapped. My body wants movement, but the environment feels inescapable.

I lose patience quickly. Even kind words or small inconveniences feel amplified.

I withdraw socially. I get quieter. I start counting down how long until I can leave.

I overthink everything — decisions, interactions, even what I should eat.

I crave sensory resets. Music, deep breaths, walking outside — anything to ground me.

Sometimes the biggest sign is simply this: I don’t feel like myself anymore.

Ways I Manage Being Overstimulated

I’ve learned that I can’t push through it the way I used to. That only makes it worse.

Now, I try to:

• Step outside. A breath of fresh air. The feel of sun or breeze on my skin.

• Sit in my car for a few quiet minutes before driving home.

• Use white noise or calming music to soften everything else.

• Dim the lights when I get home and let the house feel gentle.

• Take a shower or bath to physically reset my body.

• Disconnect from screens because notifications and scrolling add more mental clutter than I realize.

Sometimes it’s not about “fixing” the overstimulation. It’s about allowing myself to feel it, recognize it, and respond with care instead of shame.

My Reminder

When I notice the signs — my chest tightening, my mind racing, my patience running thin — I try and pause. I remind myself that I’m allowed to step away. I’m allowed to need quiet. I’m allowed to take up space and protect my energy.

I’m learning that overstimulation isn’t a flaw. It’s information. And every time I listen to it instead of fighting it, I feel a little more grounded. A little more whole. A little more like myself.

How does your body tell you it’s had enough — and do you listen?

“My body reacts before my mind understands.”

#ADHD #Autism #Neurodiversity #MentalHealth #AutismSpectrumDisorder

Communication comes in many shapes, forms, and modalities—from verbal, in-person conversations to phone calls, online messaging, connecting with others who share your communication style, body language, or the use of communication devices. Comfort and clarity in communication, especially as it relates to neurodiversity, can depend on the situation, your needs, and what makes the most sense for you.

What are your communication preferences? How did you come to understand what works best for you?

📘 Looking for something to read? Here’s a Mighty story on autism and communication you can read:
9 Things Autistic People Want You to Know Before Talking to Them

#Autism #Neurodiversity #CheckInWithMe #MentalHealth #Anxiety #Depression #ADHD #Parenting

For most of my life, I’ve lived by comparison. It’s not because I want to — it’s because my brain can’t help but go there. I’ve always felt inadequate and not up to par among my peers. I think it’s because I don’t perform like them. I don’t move through life with ease.

I’m more stuck in my head most of the time — either in my own little daydreaming world, or in my anxious overthinking mode. I spend much more time in the latter.

Growing up, I watched my friends excel at certain things. Joining extracurricular activities. Acing classes. Making friends effortlessly. For me, it was much more of a struggle. I always just wanted to go home after school because I was so burned out from masking all day.

Extracurricular activities weren’t something I wanted to partake in. I was uncomfortable socially most of the time, and the thought of putting myself through even more social battery burnout felt unbearable. Thus, I chose rest over productivity.

I didn’t know I was neurodivergent then, but all the signs were there. I never realized that what I was doing was actually recharging — choosing myself in the long run.

Still, I was jealous.

Other people seemed so vivacious. They had big personalities. They always looked comfortable and content — happy, joyful, loud, and able to command a room. I was shy. Quiet. Reserved.

I did do sports growing up. I played soccer for a long time, even though I was mentally exhausted from the constant socialization, focus, and burnout that came with it. Sometimes I’d skip practices — either because I didn’t have many friends on the team, or because I needed more rest after school.

But I stuck with it because I enjoyed it.

What I didn’t enjoy was the constant overthinking. I compared myself endlessly to the other girls on the team. I wasn’t pleased with my appearance, I stacked my weight against theirs, and I wanted to be included but had a hard time being noticed. It was hard because I was often the one lagging behind because I was a little overweight.

It’s hard to do something you love while constantly measuring your worth against others.

Still to this day, I often compare myself. I’m definitely not in the typical category of “accomplishments.” I’m not married. I don’t have a career, kids, or the life people expect by my age. And it’s hard not to wonder why I don’t have those things.

Why can’t I live like “normal” people?

Instead, I judge myself. I compare my lack of achievements to everyone else’s. Sometimes I feel like people think I’m childish or weird for not being those things — because my reality is very far from theirs.

Currently I live at home with my parents and work as my mom’s caregiver. I went to college and got my degree in journalism and mass communications, but I never really did anything with it. I didn’t follow a typical career path.

A lot of that comes from fear.

I’ve lived most of my life afraid of people and their judgment. Finding jobs — and actually being hired — has always been hard for me. Not because I’m not smart, but because my anxiety takes over my mind and body. Interviews are tough. People still frighten me. I’ve had unpleasant job experiences in the past.

And the truth is, my mind just can’t do a typical 9-to-5. It doesn’t operate that way. I want to work to live, not live to work and enjoy my alone time away from people.

For a long time, that felt like a hindrance. I didn’t feel accomplished, worthy, or that I was enough as I am.

Over time, I’ve realized that self-comparison is unhealthy. I’ve made a conscious effort to step away from it, and little by little, I’ve made progress. I’m not embarrassed by my situation the way I once was. My life took a different path than I expected, and I’m no longer apologetic for that.

This is my life. I’m living it on my terms — at my pace, in my comfort, and in the way that protects my inner peace. I’m learning to look at myself more gently and to appreciate what I’ve done and what I continue to do, even if it doesn’t come with trophies or traditional milestones.

It’s okay to move differently. It’s okay to move slower. And it’s okay to be exactly who I am.

Where in your life are you measuring yourself against someone else’s timeline instead of honoring your own needs and pace?

“Not every journey looks impressive from the outside. Some are quiet, slow, and still deeply meaningful.”

#MentalHealth #ADHD #Neurodiversity #Anxiety

THE SPITE THAT KEEPS ME BREATHING.

I exist with all the enthusiasm of mandatory overtime. Heart pumping, lungs filling, neurons firing—not from gratitude, but because dying would feel like admitting defeat.
So here I am, checking off survival's boxes with the energy of filling out paperwork. Awake? Check. Fed? Fine. Functional? Technically.
The universe insisted I participate, so I show up. Bare minimum. Present but not accounted for.
Call it living if you want. I call it the longest act of defiance I've ever committed. #MentalHealth #SchizoaffectiveDisorder #Schizophrenia #BorderlinePersonalityDisorderBPD #BorderlinePersonalityDisorder #Anxiety #BipolarDisorder #Disability #Neurodiversity

This is me at 2 a.m. 😅 How does your brain behave when it refuses to sleep?#MentalHealth #Neurodiversity #ADHD #AutismSpectrumDisorder #Anxiety