This Is How My Brain Loves- Overwhelms & Shows Up Real

The People Who Stay
Recently, the Merriment Maker shared a post about cycling through friendships — about the cosmic, electric connections that light us up… & sometimes fizzle out. (link shared below)

I felt it so deeply.

She wrote about showing up fully, creating waves of impact, & still watching the energy shift. She was honest about how some people come into your life just for a moment… & then leave different.

That truth resonated with me.

Over time, I’ve pulled back when people don’t connect with parts of me. I took it personally. I mean, I gave my full self, then they pushed away. (or worse ghosted).

But I’m reminding myself, I’m not meant for everyone.

My people who stay. . . they’re the ones who hold space while I unfold. They let me be messy. They embrace the parts of me I see as flaws. They see the strength inside the struggle.

They’re my sunshine. They’re my home.

But even with these sunshine people, my ADHD sometimes clouds our connection

How so?

I love being social.

I love storytelling.

I love listening, learning, laughing.

And if we’ve ever talked — chances are, I’ve interrupted you.

I leave drawers open. I pop my gum. I bite my nails. I have flaws, sure. But interrupting? That’s the one I’m the worst at —

I know I do it. I feel it even as it’s happening.

This isn’t an excuse post. It’s an honest one.
Because if my blog is my floor to speak, today I’m using it to unpack something that affects me daily, quietly, & sometimes painfully.

3 Reasons, According to…

My therapist said people with ADHD typically interrupt because: 

• 🌀 Impulse control may not be great.
  
• 🔄 Attention regulation flips — either hyper focusing or zoning out completely, so I interrupt as a course correction
  
• 💭 Working memory glitches — if I don’t say something right then, it might vanish, so I panic

It’s Not About Talking Over

I could, situationally, blame it on energy — tired, tipsy, or distracted? But the truth runs deeper. I feel it’s about trying to connect.

I don’t interrupt because I want to be rude. I interrupt because I very poorly am attempting to show I care.

My brain listens intensely — maybe too intensely — always trying to prove, “I’m with you. I get it. You’re not alone.”

It’s like I create a pop quiz mid-convo:

“Show them you understand.”
“Prove you’re listening.”
“Don’t lose the thought.”

I jump in — not to hijack the story — but to build a bridge between us.

I’m Practicing. I Really Am.

I focus on noticing cues:
Is this a pause or are they still talking?
Is this silence okay?

(I appreciate friends who gently or bluntly say, “Wait, I’m not done yet.”)

I work on recognizing, “Oops, too excited — keep going.” Because I mean it.

I rehearse exit phrases like armor:
“Sorry, go ahead.”
“My bad—I got excited.”
“Didn’t mean to cut you off.”

It’s exhausting.

& I’ve lost people over this.

One moment—me cutting in, excited or anxious or impulsive, gets labeled as “too much”, & suddenly, I’m not worth the effort.

The fullness of our conversation—the laughter, the care, the intention—forgotten.

& that’ makes me spiral. I replay every word.

I snowball into shame.

Interrupting can be my poor attempt at leaning closer.
Like I’m finally relaxed enough to stop scripting & just be myself in the moment.

So My Rejection Sensitivity Is Real

After these conversations happen,

I replay it all.
The way I jumped in.
The sentence I didn’t wait to finish hearing.
Should I message & apologize again?
Was I awful? Too much? The worst?

I want to disappear—
cancel everything, shrink, stay silent, & small.

I loved where the moment was going. But I worry am I accepted for my ‘extroverted talkative self’ or because I slipped will this be our last conversation.

This Is a Window.

A window into what it’s like to live with a brain that rushes toward connection—
even if it crashes through a few cues along the way.

It’s also a moment to share awareness of something you may have vented about in the car ride home after a party—

“She talks too much.”
“She overshared.”
“She was a lot.”

A moment to agree, yes I am a lot.
But I care, hard.

My brain says, “Now! Connect! Or lose the moment.”

It’s taken me a long time to realize this doesn’t make me the worst & I’m learning to hold space for both the joy of conversation it brings with the crashes after.

So, if I’ve interrupted you, I’m sorry.
If it felt like I wasn’t listening — I promise, I was.

& if you’re still reading?
Thank you for letting me explain.

If any of this feels familiar, I hope you know you’re not broken—you’re beautifully wired.

Find the ones who still invite you out for coffee,
who stay in your book club just to talk about everything, who interrupt you right back—not to silence you, but because they feel safe too.

know connection isn’t always quiet—
but it can always be kind.

View this post on Instagram