There are moments in life when everything within you appears to stop. Not because you’ve given up. Not because you’ve become lazy. But because your body quietly decides it can’t carry any more.

After my ADHD diagnosis, I disappear. Not because the world stops.Because I stop.

I reach a point where there’s so much to do that my mind and body simply freeze. The smallest tasks become impossible.

My favourite mug is sitting in the sink. I want a cup of tea, but washing the mug first feels like one step too many. So instead of making a drink, I go without. I know taking my medication will help. I want to take it. I know it will ease the pain and help settle my nervous system, yet I stay exactly where I am. Sometimes two hours pass before I finally manage to move.

It’s knowing you need the toilet but physically not being able to get there until your body leaves you with no other choice. It’s making the choice to go without. Not because you want to.

Because your nervous system simply says no.

Housework builds up around me. Emails wait. Phone calls go unanswered. Even advocating for myself about my delayed car becomes physically and mentally exhausting because every conversation demands energy I simply don’t have.

Before my ADHD diagnosis, I begin noticing just how much my environment affects my nervous system. Even the two soft pink walls in my bedroom feel overstimulating. I upload photographs of my room into AI and completely redesign the space. I need visuals to help me piece ideas together. Neutral tones. Soft textures. Minimal furniture. Less visual noise.

A bedroom that feels like an exhale.

Feeling held is something I realise my nervous system is constantly searching for. I don’t just want my home to look beautiful. I need it to help my body regulate. Then I find out my building is being sold. I’m being relocated, I just don’t know when. Or where. There’s no point investing in creating a sanctuary somewhere I’m about to leave. Waiting for the phone call telling me they’ve found me somewhere I can finally call home.

Until then, my white walls feel harsh. The black sofa against them creates a contrast that’s almost blinding. Every room reminds me of jobs that need doing. I need the chaos gone so I can regulate. But the chaos only exists because I’m so dysregulated. It’s a cycle I can’t seem to escape. The only place in my flat where I truly exhale is the bath.

For a little while, the water holds me in a way the rest of my home can’t. I don’t feel dissociated. I feel disconnected. Home is where I usually grow roots. It’s where I regulate. But when I know I’m leaving and don’t know where I’m going next, I stop putting roots down altogether. Without somewhere to ground myself, I slowly disconnect from my own life, like I’m watching it happen. I’m present. But I’m not fully participating in it.

Through all of this, there is one thing I keep holding onto. Winnie the Mini. At least I’ll be able to drive to Granny’s. I’ll see my best friend. I’ll escape to the countryside whenever my body asks for quiet. I’ll finally have somewhere to exhale. She isn’t just a car. She’s certainty. Until that certainty begins slipping further and further away too.

I realise I’m beginning to move through life from a place of lack.

So many pregnancies are happening around me at once, and while I’m genuinely happy for the people I love, I can’t help but feel the sadness of not knowing whether I’ll ever experience that myself. Instead of focusing on where I am, I become lost in everything I don’t have.

That’s when I return to gratitude. Always gratitude.

I’ve been without a home. Without belongings. I rebuilt my life from a mattress on the floor and a couple of storage tubs.Yet here I am. I have a home. I’m about to get a new one, that’s more suitable for me. Somewhere I can lock the door and know that everything inside belongs to me. Somewhere I don’t have to mask. Somewhere I can simply exist.

I can’t tell you how many times I prayed for a place where I could just be myself. Now I have it. But I’m so focused on what hasn’t arrived yet that I’m forgetting to acknowledge everything that already has. Then it hits me. Winnie isn’t uncertain. She’s already been built. She’s travelled from Germany. She already has my VIN. My registration has already been assigned.

She is coming. It isn’t a question of if. It’s simply a question of when.

Instead of going to Willow simply to release, I begin going with the intention of sharing the good too. The little wins. The signs I’ve noticed. The moments that remind me life is still moving, even when I feel as though I’ve stopped. I consciously create moments to reconnect with nature.

For now, socialising feels impossible. Conversation is genuinely draining. But as long as I can connect with Mother Nature, I know I’ll get through this. On the days leaving the house feels too much, I stand in the sunshine and thank it for rising another day.

I follow the lunar cycle and sit beneath her light. I’ve never been one to need grand gestures. I simply need reminding that life continues to move in seasons. When I’m overwhelmed, there is one thing that never fails to bring me back to myself.

Nature.

While I’m waiting, I make a decision. I’m going to stop waiting for life to begin and I’m going to use this time to support my mind and body. To prepare for the freedom that’s already making its way towards me. Gratitude changes my mindset completely. I begin noticing the beauty in the smallest things.

Flowers beginning to bloom. Birdsong outside my window. My dogs curling up beside me for a cuddle.

Moments that might have passed me by before suddenly become everything.There was a time I prayed for this very moment. A home. Peace. Safety. The freedom to simply be. So I remind myself of something I know deep in my soul.

If life has already brought me this far… It only gets better from here.

I also realise how harsh I’ve been on my body, critiquing her and blaming her for the things I cannot do. Again, I’m moving from a place of lack. Instead, I begin thanking her for carrying me every day, for keeping me safe and for letting me know when environments aren’t good for me, even when I don’t yet understand why. She goes through so much, and I’ve met her with nothing but resentment. Not anymore. We’ve been through a lot together, and now she deserves to be my priority.

Showing gratitude begins to look different. It looks like consciously checking in with myself, noticing where I’m holding tension, taking conscious breaths and signalling to my body that it’s okay to be off guard, that it’s okay to rest. I’ve been mistaken in thinking it’s all been in my mind. My mind isn’t me. It’s the silence and the calm that lies beyond the running voices. In order to reconnect with myself, I first have to take care of my body.

I also realise how harsh I’ve been on my body, critiquing her and blaming her for the things I cannot do. Again, I’m moving from a place of lack. Instead, I begin thanking her for carrying me every day, for keeping me safe and for letting me know when environments aren’t good for me, even when I don’t yet understand why. She goes through so much, and I’ve met her with nothing but resentment. Not anymore. We’ve been through a lot together, and now she deserves to be my priority.

Showing gratitude begins to look different. It looks like consciously checking in with myself, noticing where I’m holding tension, taking conscious breaths and signalling to my body that it’s okay to be off guard, that it’s okay to rest. I’ve been mistaken in thinking it’s all been in my mind. My mind isn’t me. It’s the silence and the calm that lies beyond the running voices. In order to reconnect with myself, I first have to take care of my body.

I’ve spent so much of my life trying to understand my mind. But what if my body has been holding the answers all along? What if, instead of asking my body to fit into this world, I begin building a world that fits my body?