The Wild Inside Her

Am I going to talk about all the science and medical stuff here?

Nope.

I’m not a doctor—and honestly, after reading the first couple of ADHD books, I realized that part got real repetitive, real fast. I get it. I don’t need to read about dopamine levels and executive function in every book I pick up.

So if you’re looking for all the technical “why this happens” explanations, you might want to go bookmark this blog and come back later. Go read a few of those science-y books first if you need that foundation—then come back here when you’re ready for the real-life side of it all.

Because this blog?

This space is for relating, connecting, expressing, and sharing what life is actually like as a late-diagnosed woman and mom with ADHD.

Imagine us sitting across from each other, sipping coffee in our comfiest clothes—no small talk, no social performance, no pretending we’ve got it all together. Just honest connection in our own safe spaces, when it works for us. Masks off. Hearts open.

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This Blog Isn’t About Teaching—It’s About Relating

I’ve always loved those ADHD memes and quotes that make you stop scrolling and say, “Oh my gosh, yes—that’s me.” The ones that make you feel seen, even if you forget to save them, screenshot them (only to never to look at them again) and only rediscover them months later when they pop up in your feed again.

That’s the energy I want here.

I don’t want to write a textbook or a how-to guide. I want to write something that feels like an easy conversation—a book or blog post that makes you exhale and think, “Yep, I feel that.”

This space is for sharing life with ADHD: the messy moments, the funny realizations, the tiny victories, and the things I’ve figured out along the way that actually work for me.

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The Notes Behind the Blog

When I first decided to write about my journey, I dove right in—making note after note after note. But every time I thought about starting this blog, the overwhelming thought of sorting through them all stopped me in my tracks.

Scattered notes.

No organization.

Scribbles in half a dozen notebooks.

Random thoughts buried in my phone’s notes app.

Scraps of paper stuffed in journals.

Basically, a perfect replica of what my brain feels like on most days.

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Cue Imposter Syndrome

And then, right on cue, Imposter Syndrome waltzed in—smug grin and all.

“Who do you think you are?” it said.

“Why would anyone want to read your stuff? You’re not a doctor, a scientist, or a counselor. What value could you possibly bring to the table?”

And honestly, I listened for a while. Because he made some good points. What did I bring to the table?

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Maybe This Is What I Bring

Maybe I bring the voice of a mom who has spent her whole life living for her family—trapped within invisible boundaries of shoulds and shouldn’ts—trying to keep up with the Pinterest-perfect version of motherhood that social media sells us.

Maybe I write for the woman who masks her way through every day to make sure everyone else is okay, even when she’s not. Trying to balance it all without falling to pieces.

Maybe I write for the girl, like me, who grew up thinking she just wasn’t enough. The one who daydreamed through class, lost herself in doodles, and lived more in her imagination than in the real world.

The one who fell asleep scared of her own thoughts because her imagination wouldn’t stop spinning.

Maybe this blog is for her.

Maybe this blog is for us.

Maybe it’s time to not feel alone anymore.