My brain has this weird switch that flips on around 12:30 a.m. That’s when things come alive. Thoughts move faster. Connections form. I start thinking about time travel, stick figures, motion, the way things bend and shift. When I was younger, I’d grab a pencil at that hour and draw what I saw in my head, convinced I could figure everything out. I thought I was smart enough — good enough — to do something amazing. Sometimes I still believe that. Usually it slips away just as fast as it comes.

A Snowball to the Face (and the Memory That Stuck)

There’s this one memory I can’t shake. Winter night. Not my backyard — someone else’s. Snow everywhere, laughter, chaos. And me, the easy target, getting nailed with snowballs over and over again until I lost it. “Jesus fucking Christ, can I just get a minute of not getting hit by snowballs?” I remember that moment vividly. That’s emotional dysregulation — what I now know is part of living with ADHD. It wasn’t about snowballs. It was about being overwhelmed, overstimulated, and not knowing what to do with it.

I looked up and saw a mother in the kitchen window, bathed in yellow fluorescent light, watching me melt down. That’s when shame hit — like a physical wave. I walked out through the back gate and made my way home through the cold, feeling embarrassed, confused, angry, sad, disappointed. Probably a few other emotions that don’t even have names. I never spoke to that friend again. And I still don’t remember who it was. But that memory — that exact moment — still lives in me. It’s the kind of moment that defines what ADHD feels like when it’s ignored for decades.

Shame: The Word That Lingers

Shame isn’t a word people use much, but when I heard it recently, it hit me right between the eyes. Because yeah — shame is real. It’s that internal voice that whispers, you’re flawed, broken, less than. It’s a quiet self-punishment that lingers long after the moment’s passed. Do I feel shame over small mistakes? Not usually. Those roll off. But the big ones — the ones that touch your identity — they hang around. They bury themselves deep until a late night like this brings them back to the surface. Shame feeds feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy, and it makes you want to hide. And yes — I hide. Often. But there are also days when I feel strong, capable, proud. ADHD is weird that way — you can feel both things at once.

Where Shame Comes From

For me, shame comes from two main places:

1. Childhood trauma

2. Not living up to certain standards

I haven’t really unpacked the first one yet — not properly. But my sister once told me she knows exactly when it started, and who caused it. A teacher. I think she’s right. I remember this teacher vividly. She had a praying mantis in the classroom — and honestly, kind of looked like one. Sharp cheekbones, angular face, cold stare. I never got the sense she liked me much.

The Buffalo Paper

I once wrote a paper on buffalo for one class — because I was into Native stories, Grey Owl, cowboys, all that stuff. I got an 85%, which for me was a win. Then I decided to hand the same paper in for another class — science — because, logically, why write two reports on two different topics? The praying mantis teacher gave me a 55%. Same paper. I fought it. That’s when they figured out I reused the same assignment. I got in more trouble for that than she ever did for grading unfairly. Nobody cared about the double standard. That’s a moment I still carry — not because of the grade, but because it taught me something about how differently my brain works. What I saw as efficient, others saw as lazy or cheating. That’s ADHD in a nutshell — misunderstood intentions wrapped in the wrong assumptions.

Learning to Stop Apologizing for It

Looking back, a lot of my shame comes from trying to fit standards that were never meant for me. Expectations built for different brains. I’m learning that living with ADHD isn’t about fixing yourself — it’s about understanding how you operate and forgiving the parts that never fit neatly into the world’s boxes. So yeah — this post isn’t neat or polished. It’s another piece of the puzzle, another late-night download from a restless brain that won’t stop thinking. But that’s okay. It’s all part of figuring myself out — shame, snowballs, mantis teachers and all.