The Universe Inside of Me

Living with ADHD often feels like being trapped inside a heavy armour of shame and fear. That armour, forged from years of trying to fit into a world that doesn't always understand me, has forced me to conceal my true self.

Over time, I became so adept at hiding parts of myself that I forgot who I was underneath. Unmasking—revealing my raw, unfiltered version—felt like stepping into the unknown. It's terrifying, yes, but also incredibly liberating.

My anxiety doesn't look like what people expect. It isn't just nail-biting or visible signs of distress. Often, it takes subtler forms, like perfectionism, hyper-productivity, or the constant need to please others. These behaviours seem to be praised by society, making them harder to recognise as anxiety. But beneath that surface was a deep-seated fear that I had not even noticed I was battling.

For years, I thought giving endlessly was a virtue, and that selflessness was my strength. But it was a disguise—my way of shielding myself. Trauma had taught me to replace connection with protection. My body and mind, made for co-regulation and connection, learned to withdraw when human interaction became unsafe.

It's natural to close off when betrayal, neglect, or harm occurs. This instinct is protective, but when it lingers long after the threat is gone, it prevents us from being open, even when safety is present.

Healing and reconnecting with others after this kind of withdrawal is not a swift process. It's gradual, requiring patience and mindfulness. The key is to ask where, when, or with whom we feel safe being our true selves.

Is it with a trusted friend, a loyal pet, or perhaps while surrounded by nature's peace? Maybe it's in the gentle warmth of the sun.

Healing isn't about rushing to reconnect with the world—it's about slowly, deliberately finding solace and safety in small moments, in manageable doses of connection.

I find it impossible to contain my love within small boundaries. If I cannot love you with intensity and depth, then I cannot love you at all. My emotions are vast and boundless, and I experience life with profound depth, like a universe of exploding stars.

When people tell me I'm "too emotional," I can only respond with gratitude because I've spent years nurturing this part of myself. After all, to feel intensely is to live fully; I would never trade that.

In times of self-doubt, when I stumble, when my words falter, or when I lose my way, I am learning to extend love to myself. Even in moments of vulnerability and pain, when I am forced to confront the parts of myself I would rather avoid, I must remind myself that I am always worthy of love.

I have recently learned that the antidote to depression isn't simply joy—it's expression. I want to unleash my creativity, give voice to my emotions, and let my inner self shine.

Creativity is the balm that heals the soul's deepest wounds.

For many parents, particularly neurodivergent parents of neurodivergent children, staying busy becomes a refuge. The constant demands of caring for others can drown out the weight of our thoughts, and staying engaged helps us avoid confronting the overwhelming emotions swirling inside. But in those rare, quiet moments, we realise that there's an entire universe within us, waiting to be explored.

With all this emotion comes an overwhelming abundance of love. Often, it feels like it overflows, so much so that I could cry from its sheer weight. This intense love can be beautiful, but it can also be painful.

People sometimes ask me, "Have you considered toning it down?" But the truth is, I wouldn't know how, even if I wanted to. My response is always the same: "Nope. Never."

Often, I find myself grappling with an inability to self-soothe. When I can't calm the emotional storms within, I turn to external distractions—DIY, endless scrolling, or compulsive shopping—to ease the turmoil. True self-soothing is a skill, and it starts with co-regulation in childhood. Without that foundation, we may think we must handle everything independently. But the beautiful thing is that we can learn to self-soothe at any stage in life. Healing is possible as we gradually build our capacity to navigate life's storms with resilience.

And so, I refuse to diminish my emotions. I will not stop feeling deeply, loving passionately, or expressing myself fully. My life is too rich and abundant to settle for half-hearted love. I may be overwhelming for some, but I am 'just right' for those who truly understand me—a universe of stars and a heart overflowing with boundless affection.

In the end, I choose to honour the vastness inside me. Whether through love, creativity, or the quiet moments of connection, I am never too much.

I am exactly enough.