The Haunting Reality

At night, when the world quiets down and everyone settles in to sleep, my ADHD brain seems to hit replay on every awkward, cringeworthy moment I’ve been a part of. It’s like a highlight reel of things I’ve said or done—whether it happened today or ten years ago. I find myself daydreaming about how I could’ve handled things differently, how I could’ve been better. I know I can be a lot to handle. I talk too much sometimes, or I ask questions that come out of nowhere, questions people aren't always ready for—or maybe don't deserve to be bombarded with.

It’s in these late-night moments of reflection that I realize something painful: the heartbreaks I’ve experienced weren’t someone else’s fault. More often than not, they were the result of my own actions.

For so long, I thought there had to be something more out there—something bigger. Better jobs, better relationships, a life that looked different. I loved people the way I wanted to be loved, not the way they needed to be loved. I expected others to figure me out, to understand what I needed without me saying a word—and I’d get frustrated when they didn’t. In hindsight, that wasn’t fair to anyone.

Even now, as I read cheesy romance novels, I realize just how much time I spent hoping people would be who I thought they should be, rather than accepting them for who they actually were.

I wish I had learned this lesson earlier in life, and it stings that I can’t go back and change the past. All I can do is move forward, hoping that I can deprogram some of the bad habits and form new, better ones. And mostly, that I can love people the way they deserve to be loved, for who they are.