Every morning, before I dive into work, I make space for something that feeds me personally.
Sometimes it’s journaling. Sometimes it’s just unloading the chaos in my brain onto a note app.
(Shoutout to the legendary Evie McLeod for inspiring what I lovingly call my “dump list.”)

Yesterday and today? It was all about the shame that comes with ADHD.
The parts no one really sees — but so many of us silently carry.

Truthfully, I’ve been battling this since first grade. And still, after all these years, the shame lingers.
It’s a huge part of my therapy. A huge part of my healing. A huge part of how I’ve come to understand myself.

So I wrote.
Because naming the mess felt like a release.
And maybe, just maybe, it’ll feel like one for you, too.

 

“Basket of Doom, Reporting for Duty”

Oh hey.
You again.
Surprised?
I told you I’d be here.
Front row seat on the coffee table,
watching you walk by
like I’m not your problem.
Spoiler: I am.

I’m your “deal with it later.”
Your “I don’t have the energy right now.”
Your emotional support pile.

You give me new names: 
basket, bin, tray, tote.
Cute.
Still just me.
Still waiting for my moment.

You curse me
like I showed up uninvited.
But baby, I’m your girl.
You summoned me
Every time you get overwhelmed
and needed to pause.

And yeah,
maybe I’ve overstayed my welcome.
But I’m not lazy.
I’m not dirty.
I’m layered.
I’m complex.
I’m every unfinished intention
You tried to finish.

You don’t need to defeat me.
Just know—
When you’re ready,
I’ll be right here.

Probably covered in mail.
But still.
Here.