Lately, I’ve been dealing with intrusive thoughts. As I get older and begin losing loved ones, it’s hard not to think about my own mortality. I want to take care of myself — not just for me, but for my daughter. I want to be here to guide her as she grows, to show her what it means to keep showing up even when life feels heavy.
But even with good intentions, thoughts sometimes creep in that make me question everything: Am I good enough? Have I done enough? Will people like my work? Will people judge me?
Those thoughts have a way of circling until they feel real. They whisper small stories that can pull me out of the present. When I catch myself in that loop, I try to remember: thoughts are not facts. They’re not predictions, punishments, or truths — they’re just thoughts. They come and go like weather.
The Noise of an Overactive Mind
Having ADHD means my brain can turn up the volume on everything at once. I’ll start one thing, then another, then another — chasing every spark until I burn out. My mind rarely quiets; it just changes subjects. I can feel creative and restless at the same time.
It’s a strange balance — wanting to do it all and yet feeling frozen by the noise. There’s a moment right before burnout when I can feel my body saying, slow down, but my mind keeps whispering, just one more thing.
In those moments, I’ve started to practice catching the thought before it runs away with me.
Sometimes I’ll say to myself, “This is just a thought.”
Other times I acknowledge it and move on, reminding myself I don’t have to answer every thought that knocks.
The Fragility of Health and Control
Just when I think I’ve found a rhythm — I get sick. Life has a way of humbling me that way. My body reminds me that I’m not separate from the cycles of being human. I can eat well, rest, try to manage my stress, and still be knocked off my feet.
It’s easy to slip into self-pity in those moments. To feel like I’ve failed, or that all the progress I made has been undone. But lately, I’ve been trying to meet that voice with something softer: This, too, is part of life.
Getting sick, losing momentum, having hard days — it doesn’t mean I’m broken. It means I’m alive. It means my body and mind are asking for attention, not perfection.
Returning to Myself
The truth is, this is a constant battle — to stay present, to quiet the noise, to accept the ebb and flow of health and focus. Some days I manage it with grace. Other days, I stumble through it.
But I’m learning that acceptance isn’t about giving up — it’s about giving myself permission to exist as I am. To see my own imperfections not as evidence of failure but as proof of humanity.
When the thoughts get loud, I remind myself why I keep trying: for my daughter, for the art that brings me back to center, and for the version of me who still believes that showing up matters — even when it’s messy.
Because what I’m going through doesn’t define me.
How I move through it does.
