Hi, I’m Tash. Honestly, I’d rather eat a denim jacket than socialize right now, which makes starting a blog... questionable at best. I’m the kind of person who struggles with consistency; there’s a pretty good chance I’ll forget my password or even that this website exists by next Tuesday. But here’s to giving it a shot anyway.
This space is where I’m peeling back the curtain on burnout, the overwhelming static of a mental to-do list, and all those quiet struggles we usually keep tucked away. Some days, “I’m fine” is the biggest lie I tell. Other days, it’s just about surviving the nonstop noise in my head; it’s like trying to enjoy your favorite song while someone is vacuuming right next to your ear.
I’m here to be a voice for those of us quietly treading water in the background, just trying to stay afloat. To my ADHD, anxious, and chronically overstimulated friends: If you’ve ever felt "too much," you’re not alone. Welcome. This space is for YOU.
For most of my life, I’ve been an expert at blending in. If you saw me out in the world, you’d probably describe me as bubbly, talkative, maybe even outgoing. I’ve got a social switch I can flip like a pro. I’ve turned faking it into an Olympic sport, but that version of me is heavy.
At a party, BBQ, or work event, one of two things is happening: I’m talking way too much to cover for my nerves, or I’m staring at my phone like it’s the most fascinating object on Earth. I’m not being rude; I’m hiding.
When the event ends, the mask comes off, and my brain crashes like a family computer trying to download one song on LimeWire in 2004. Lights off. Phone on Do Not Disturb. All I want is to watch true crime while my mind untangles like a pair of knotted earbuds.
It took me a long time to realize that the ADA actually recognizes non-visible disabilities like ADHD and anxiety as life-changing. It was validating to know that the chaos wasn't a personal failing; it’s a legitimate hurdle.
Sometimes my brain feels like a crowded airport: alarms going off, luggage everywhere, and a flight I desperately need to catch, but no one seems to notice the emergency except me.
This didn’t start yesterday. Growing up with unmedicated ADHD meant I was often labeled the “troublemaker.”
Doodling while the teacher talked? They saw "disrespectful." I saw the only way to keep my thoughts from drifting out the window.
Talking in class? They saw "unruly." I was just vibrating with an anxiety that made sitting still feel impossible.
The "Sensitive" Kid: To everyone else, I was overreacting. To me, crying over a spilled cup of juice was the breaking point of a day spent being overstimulated by everything from the fluorescent lights to the texture of my socks.
I wasn’t stupid; I tested high, but I didn't have the tools to manage dozens of screaming thoughts at once. I spent years trying to white-knuckle my way through the noise until I realized I couldn’t do it alone.
Then something magical happened: I got Millie, a Golden Retriever puppy, for my birthday. She was a literal gift from the heavens.
Millie is helping me learn to live with my brain rather than constantly fight it. Right now, we are deep in the trenches of training so she can eventually step in with a well-timed "hey, maybe don’t do that" when my habits turn self-destructive. She’s my anchor, helping me exist in social situations without needing the mask. We’re taking it one walk, one command, and one chaotic session at a time.
Invisible disabilities are weird. You might want to vanish in a store to avoid small talk, but you also feel unheard because your struggles don’t have a visible shape.
Between a good book, too much coffee, and very selective socializing, I’m finally learning to speak up even if I’m doing it from the safety of my Kindle and a very comfortable blanket.