Today landed hard. Not in a devastating way — just in that full-body weight-of-it-all kind of way. It was one of those days where life handed me a thousand moments, big and small, and I carried every single one.
The morning started like many do in my house — filled with noise, repetition, and an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. My partner began his day with a long stream of plans — things he’s "going to do." I’ve heard them before, countless times, and while I want to stay open and encouraging, I’ve learned to temper my expectations. His ADHD means he often lives in the future version of himself — the one who has already achieved, already acted, already moved. But what he doesn’t always realise is how hard that can be to live alongside, especially when you’re in the here and now, doing all the things.
On top of that, his emotional regulation — heavily shaped by undiagnosed BPD traits — means our mornings aren’t just busy, they’re loaded. A simple situation like our son needing a shower becomes layered. Instead of expressing his needs directly (like saying he needs the upstairs toilet), he defaults to control: telling me to manage our son, criticising routines that actually work perfectly well, or muttering under his breath when I don’t react the way he wants.
And when I look down at my leg mid-conversation? It’s assumed I’m ignoring him, on my phone, not prioritising him. If I say otherwise, it’s brushed off with a dismissive "whatever." It's like there’s no room for nuance — only his interpretation, and the emotional fallout that follows.
This morning also brought a fresh wave of frustration when he commented on the cost of a taxi for my daughter’s CAMHS appointment. I explained that, because we don’t drive, occasional taxis are still cheaper than running a car. He dismissed it entirely, made it about him, and doubled down when I calmly explained I’d factored it into my budgeting. It’s never really about the taxi though — it’s about control, uncertainty, and the discomfort that surfaces when someone else takes charge.
But the CAMHS appointment itself? That was the part that truly drained me.
I walked in prepared — experienced, self-aware, and ready to advocate for my daughter with confidence and clarity. But the assessor barely let me speak. He asked why I thought ADHD was a possibility, but before I got into it, he diverted to asking my daughter soft, disconnected questions: who her friends were, what she draws, her favourite teacher. Lovely questions… but not diagnostic ones.
Every time I tried to give context, I was interrupted. He made comments about her drawing while I was trying to speak. When I explained I wasn’t chasing a label, just trying to ensure school understood her needs — he basically said that wasn’t their concern. Then, almost to cover himself, he booked a second appointment with the line: “I don’t want you to leave feeling like you haven’t said everything.” Which really just confirmed what I already knew — I wasn’t allowed to say everything.
When I got home, my partner’s response twisted the knife a little. He initially said he should’ve come, so they had “a reference for ADHD.” Then quickly turned it around, saying I was making things worse, that our daughter didn’t need doctors, and that labels didn’t matter. The truth is, when he feels inadequate or out of the loop, he often reacts by discrediting my efforts — it’s a defence mechanism, not cruelty, but it stings all the same.
Later, our daughter asked for toast after leaving one chicken strip because it was slightly burnt. He flew off into a rant about food waste and bad habits, pushing me to discipline her for it. But I know her. I know it wasn’t about being wasteful — she just didn’t want burnt food. I spoke to her gently, reminded her it wasn’t about her or the chicken, and let her know I was there. That’s how I show up — not with shame, but with presence.
And in between all this?
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I took her to that appointment
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Foraged two huge bags worth of fresh plants
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Found three new tree spots
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Pulled leaves off apple sticks to dry
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Cooked dinner
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Answered customer emails
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Re-prepped and arranged a new delivery for a missed parcel
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Handled a nail trim request
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Fed the boarding animals
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Oh, and launched a blog
By the end of the day, my partner complained I’d ignored him.
But here’s the thing: I didn’t. I just didn’t cater. I didn’t wrap myself around his discomfort or his disorganised energy. I moved through the day with clarity, purpose, and love for the people who needed it — especially my kids.
I don’t hold onto this stuff in the same way anymore. I don’t spiral or fester. But I still need to say it. To write it. To release it somewhere outside of my own head. Because even though I can navigate the noise more skillfully now, the noise is still real.
This blog? It’s my space. A place to ground myself in truth, compassion, and accountability — to reflect honestly, even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.
Here’s to showing up with gentleness. Here’s to being real. Here’s to not needing permission.
– T
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