I’m torn. Did you know that Natalie Imbruglia’s version of Torn is a cover? I didn’t. I can’t unsee the entire music video. It’s seared into my memory from the sheer amount of times I’ve seen it. Just like Titanic. Choir killed that Celine song for me. Grade 7 is a prime age for repetitiveness. Add in the ADHD and wow.

I’m rambling.

Back to the task at hand. I’m torn between two paths. I thought giving up on the idea that I’d be a mother would solve this but it did not. Well, okay, it did, but what ended up happening is the childfree path split into two.

I have so many options open to me right now except none of them feel safe. Being an entrepreneur doesn’t feel safe at the beginning though. At least I don’t think it does or should. The fear of failure either squashes the start or fuels it. I’ve experienced both. I know I can do what is needed, but do I want to?

Social media is so confusing. Add in the everchanging rules of capitalism. Advertising is inherently manipulative. Marketing isn’t far behind. There is a way to be ethical in these industries but it comes at a cost of a smaller audience with a higher pricetag. I sound jaded. It’s because I am. That’s not a really great way to be while in said industries. It’s a great disrupter though.

I waffle between putting my entire life out there on the internet or saying nothing online. Both are strange. Both feel weird. I grew up without social media. I was 23 years old when Facebook opened to the masses. I knew what it was like to gossip in real time and not read about it in someone’s vaguepost the next day. I was still getting pictures printed at London Drugs. I didn’t have a LiveJournal or a MySpace page. I was an Early Adopter, not an Innovator. It has taken over all of my friendships. It’s taken over how I share my life with people.

My love/hate for the internet is detrimental to my career. My career is based on the internet. I have to be here to make money to survive. I also have to decide on how much I’m willing to sell myself for. My productivity needs to come with a cost. Do I continue to share parts of myself, my life, for views? Or do I focus on the products and services I can offer and sell?

I used to love sharing my life on social media. It wasn’t for views or likes or to sell something. It wasn’t riddled with ads and the need to monetize every little thing. Consumer fatigue, there’s always a term for these things.

I’m tired.

There is a path in between these two paths I’m stuck in front of. It’s obviously the one that needs to be carved out.

too, enough.

I’m supposed to be working, but instead, I’m diving into what some people call ADHD kryptonite. I’m cleaning up my ‘downloads’ folder which is a treasure trove of fun things like my wedding vows amongst pictures of me in a banana costume and old zoom recordings of graphic design classes.

The common thread in the kryptonite is learning and growing which I don’t feel like I’ve done much of lately which is a ridiculous thing to say. I’ve grown so much in the last 5 months that I’m struggling to know who this new person is. I finally have the missing puzzle piece but only I can see the hole it filled.

There was so much resistance to my ADHD diagnosis. External resistance I didn’t anticipate. My own resistance was due to a distrust in the medical system that had traumatized me as a kid. I had fought this fight before, I could do it again and I did. I knew deep down for so long that I was different. There was something about me that was ‘othered’ in a quietly detrimental way. Having a doctor tell me all of a sudden made it real. Maybe too real for the people who had ‘othered’ me. The people I mask the most around. The people who said that I’m:

Too: loud, quiet, scatterbrained, sensitive, lazy, aloof, blunt, open, accepting, naive, outspoken, confident.

That I don’t have enough: confidence, drive, thick-skinned mentality, penis (you needed one to work in construction, apparently.), gumption, focus.

We’re not all too much/not enough all the time. There are places and spaces we can be ourselves. As I watched my friends and acquaintances reveal their diagnoses, I realized that we had all come together over the years because we were othered. We were drawn to each other’s otherness. We protected each other. We still do.

Why is my downloads folder ADHD kryptonite? It’s a digital junk drawer with layers of memories folded in. That banana costume had me laughing again after being so depressed, I wanted to unalive myself. Those wedding vows poured onto the page and were some of the easiest yet hardest words I’ve ever written. They mean so much. The zoom class was my very last class before I graduated. It had words of wisdom and encouragement from a man who truly cared.

As I work through resolving all the loose threads in my past that hurt me, I’m reminded of all the really tight threads that hold me together. Some threads are looser than I remember them to be. Some threads are even tighter.

Maybe I am actually working after all.

shattering masks.

content warning: suicidal ideation, mentions of suicide, anxiety, and depression.

I was diagnosed with inattentive ADHD back in September of last year and it’s been a whirlwind of acceptance, hurt feelings, and tears. I have an amazing support system that helped me through these last few months. I was also taught how to advocate for myself at a young age, thanks Mom, and knew how to walk the path to a diagnosis.

I have what therapists call good scaffolding. But even with good scaffolding, I struggled through life internally. My masks were strong. They started to crumble around 2014 when I lost my routine after being laid off. ADHD’ers hate routine, yet we thrive on it. We need it to live. But it physically hurts sometimes to follow through. I know how, I just can’t.

In 2015, I added a whole new layer of routine when I started college part-time and worked full-time. I had done this before with very different results. In 2004, at 21, I failed classes, lost friends, ruined relationships, and spent money like I had it. I was embarrassed to talk about failing out of college, but I realize now that I set myself up for failure, being undiagnosed in a world that barely understood ADHD was a failure in itself that I had no control over.

This time around at 34, I was determined to do well. I liked the classes I was taking. I liked my job. My mind was still holding onto negative coping mechanisms and masks that weren’t working. It manifested into migraines, anxiety, and depression. I sought help and was told to break up with my boyfriend and to avoid stress by my gp. Only one of those suggestions was good. I didn’t listen to either. I went to therapy in hopes of fixing myself and was told to do neurotypical solutions. Some of them worked. Most of them failed miserably and I was back to feeling like a failure. Except, I wasn’t failing school or work. I was succeeding. I’m actually smart!

The pandemic stole my routine from me but really, I gave it away willingly. It wasn’t serving me. It was soul crushing. My inability to not cry at every little thing spoke volumes. Those tears said RUN. As fast as possible. Run. You don’t belong here and that’s okay. You belong somewhere else.

I ran straight into my husband’s arms. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. 2020 would have been my last year alive and I would have left this wonderful life I’m living now behind for what I thought would be peace. It turns out, I was in a mild psychosis from severe depression. Meds were the answer. A more accepting and compassionate inner narrative has been the maintenance. None of this positive thinking crap. Positivity isn’t always compassionate and it isn’t always accepting either. My brain found comfort in death even though my body railed against it.

I’m glad I didn’t leave.

Would you be interested in reading about my diagnosis journey? Would that be helpful?

don’t slap that fish.

cw: mental illness, intrusive thoughts, suicide.

Writing about mental health isn’t necessarily a pleasant process. Usually, there are giant tears rolling down my cheeks as I type about the struggles mental illness comes with. There are people in my life who really don’t like it. They won’t say it in so many words but they tell me by asking me why I do it. Why do I pour my tears onto a page? Because I’m compelled to. I need to write out the struggles so they leave my mind a little breathing room.

The other problem is I’m too blunt. Bluntness can be a dagger just waiting to slice. I don’t mean it to be that way. I just don’t know how to fluff up the information. I’m also at a stage where I’m tired of wading through other people’s crap just to make them feel comfortable when I feel incredibly not. People don’t like that very much.

Talk about the fish! Okay fine, the fish.

I’ve been to Pike Place Market enough times to know that they throw fish there. They make the fish talk and do silly things with them. My first instinct was to walk up to one of those fish and slap it. Straight across its dead little face. For no reason whatsoever. You see, intrusive thoughts are the weirdest little neuron firings. Where the fuck did that come from? I never wanted to slap a fish until I saw them being thrown across a marketplace, I guess.

Intrusive thoughts have confused the fuck out of me since I was little. They weren’t always violent. I was about 7 years old when they started to tell me to jump off things, to harm myself. The anxiety was a way of preserving myself. The anxiety mixed with depression was the recipe for coming up with a plan. How many plans have I had? Too many. How many plans have I told other people? One.

The thing about having chronic anxiety and depression is it’s chronic. I’ve had both for as long as I can remember. I have them because I’m neurodivergent. The answer is simple. Blunt. I developed both as a coping mechanism for being different. I’ve spent the last few years untangling all the mixed wires in my brain to show myself that life doesn’t have to be so loud. I don’t have to slap the fish.

Saying that one plan out loud was enough to seek treatment and finally realize what life is like without either sitting on my shoulders. I don’t have to hate myself. I don’t have to be angry all the time. I still get intrusive thoughts but I know what they are now. They are absurd neurons firing in my brain and not violent little fact nuggets infecting my thoughts and feelings.


Blogging is weird. It’s Live Journal* for the masses but it can also be used to sell us stuff, teach us how to bake, knit, weld, whatever you want to learn, and show us the world. Is this an ad for blogging? This sounds like an ad for blogging. The title says “struggling.”, let’s get to the point.

I’m struggling right now.*** I have been diagnosed many times in my life with various illnesses. Being told you have something wrong with you doesn’t get easier. It’s not a round of golf that you can practice. Although, if you go into an anxiety-induced thought spiral, you can practice feeling shame and dread over and over again in your head. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? My mental 200 yard swing is looking pretty good these days. Don’t hit the golf ball cart, they don’t like that.

It’s hard to write those words. I’m struggling. When I spoke those words to certain people in my past, I’d be met with some sort of invalidation. I’m too sensitive. If I had just started sooner, I wouldn’t feel this way. I let it get to this point so deal with it. Get a thicker skin. Come out of my shell. Say how I feel, but not like that. Take a break, alone. Sit over there. Get used to it. I’m ugly when I cry. Why am I like this?**

I was apprehensive about being assessed for ADHD. I would usually go into detail about the process and how I felt throughout but I’m not going to do that in this post. I’m tired of doing that right now. I will though because my experience is valid and people have asked me to share it.

Anyways, I was apprehensive about having to convince multiple medical professionals that I did indeed have ADHD. Here are the facts, over and over again. Please believe me. They did. I found the pros that listened and cared and was able to get diagnosed fairly quickly because I was able to pay $300 to get assessed. Is this blog post trying to sell you an ADHD assessment? NO. It’s a comment on private healthcare. You figure out the comment. I’m feeling rather sarcastic today.

There’s dealing with the diagnosis itself and then there’s dealing with the reactions to the diagnosis. Who do I tell? I’ve already told the internet so who is left? Should I even write this post? What is my blog about? What do you, dear reader, even want to read? I’m off-topic again. See? struggling. I have ADHD but it does not define me. I need to take the time to forgive my past self for not knowing any better and to show her grace and respect for dealing with it all. She gave herself bangs so many times and still didn’t learn how to make them look good. Poor thing.

*LiveJournal is Russian owned? WHAT?

**Yes, these things were said to me. No, not by everyone in my life.

*** I will be okay. I have a support system that loves and respects me. I have a health system that is looking out for my needs. I will be okay.

notebooks, pens, & things.

I wrote about having no motivation this week and received quite a few “I feel the same way too.”s. It made me feel better and a little worse. We’re all struggling with something. Or many things. There are ways to self-motivate, sometimes. One of those ways for me is using notebooks, pens, and things that I find useful and don’t actually have to think about at all.

I’ve said from the very beginning of starting this blog that I would be transparent with you, my dear reader. You are important to me and I don’t want you to feel like you’re at one of those awkward MLM parties that your co-worker, Pam, invited you to while reading my blog. Sorry, Pam but those parties are awkward. I’m sorry to all the people I’ve made go to those parties.

This blog post contains affiliate links to products on Amazon. When you click on the link and buy through it, I may make the tiniest amount of affiliate commission from your purchase at no extra cost to you.

I buy beautiful notebooks, am gifted even nicer ones than I buy, and still don’t use them as much as I use a 3 subject notebook by Hilroy. The pages are smooth, the lines are the right height, and I can write nicely in it with my left hand.

Speaking of being left-handed, The R.S.V.P. pen by Pentel is one of the only pens that doesn’t smudge and is thick enough to be held comfortably in my small hands. Thin pens don’t feel right to me. I asked for these at Christmas, I like them so much.

I had this brilliant idea that a bullet journal would get me organized and productive. I was wrong but the journal is lovely. If you’re able to continue on with a bullet journal or just want to see what it’s all about, I suggest starting with this one by Panda Natura.

I bought these dual ink doggo pens last year and love them! Aside from being adorable, they don’t streak and they have black and red ink which is what I use daily. I’m not a fan of blue ink. Sorry, blue ink.

This Daily Planner Tear Off Pad by Bliss Collections has been so handy for me. I don’t always use it because, duh, I forget I have it but when I remember! Look out tasks, you’re getting done!

I also turned an old framed picture into a whiteboard that I use for my to-dos and goals. I use a weekly calendar whiteboard when I remember to, that I found at the dollar store. Honestly, I usually use my notebook to write my weekly to-dos. It looks like I’m organized! Here is a similar one on Amazon.

All of my markers are stored in this space themed pencil box. It’s sturdy and holds so many markers.

I may or may not have some things listed on Redbubble… Okay, I do. Check them out here.

These supplies aren’t fancy really. They’re functional and reliable. I need reliability in my life especially in my office.

What products do you swear by? What gets your nerdy office supply heart beating?


I have so many ideas swirling around in my head about what to write here. I have none of the motivation to sit down and write.

This is a much bigger issue than just not feeling motivated. I feel no motivation. None. Every task seems daunting. Every line on my to-do list is overwhelming. But why? I wasn’t like this before the pandemic! Or was I?

Did I thrive in the 9 to 5?

No. I didn’t. I struggled. I burnt out. I became cynical and distrusting. Conforming to the 9 to 5 eventually ruined my passion for working. Losing the structured routine of 9 to 5 has also affected my ability to function. So something’s wrong. It feels wrong. Will I go back to a 9 to 5 job? Not right now. I have no interest in working full-time for a company right now.

Do I feel shame in saying that? Yes. I was taught that working and working hard is the marker for success. Making bank is the life goal. Live to work. Having money is the only way to thrive.

It’s true, that a person can’t truly thrive in today’s society without having at least a little bit of money. So creating my own job, and my own way of living seems wrong. It seems odd not to have the drive to hustle. I don’t wake up at 6am like I should in order to be successful. The ‘shoulds’ are plenty when you’re trying to be an entrepreneur.

Maybe my brain doesn’t work the way it ‘should’.