Ever have one of those moments where you realize your body and brain have been gaslighting you for years?
For me, that moment came in my 30s. I was sitting on the couch, covered in heating pads, staring blankly at a reminder on my phone for a doctor’s appointment I had already missed twice. My muscles ached like I’d just finished a triathlon (I hadn’t), and my brain felt like it was buffering in the middle of a sentence. Again.
Somewhere between the fifth time I forgot where I put my keys and the second time I forgot I was cooking pasta until it fused to the bottom of the pot, I started wondering: Is this just stress? Or am I unraveling?
Turns out, it wasn’t just stress. It was ADHD. And fibromyalgia. A dynamic duo I never asked for—but finally made everything make a little more sense.
When You’re the “Hot Mess” Friend, But It’s Medical
For most of my life, I thought I was just a little… scattered. You know, “quirky.” The type of person who remembers obscure trivia from childhood but forgets to eat lunch. Who can hyperfocus on a project for hours, only to burn out so hard she can’t finish it. Who cries because everything hurts, then laughs about it 10 minutes later because the crying hurt more.
People always told me I was “too sensitive,” “too forgetful,” or “just not trying hard enough.” And because I didn’t know any better, I believed them.
The pain? I chalked that up to aging, bad posture, or maybe that one time I twisted my ankle getting out of bed. (Yes, out of bed. Don’t ask.) The exhaustion? Must be from poor sleep. The forgetfulness? Clearly I just needed to drink more water and download another productivity app.
But deep down, none of that felt like the whole story. There was always this nagging feeling that something wasn’t adding up—like I was living in a body that had its own secret language, and I hadn’t been given the translation key. I kept trying to organize the chaos, not realizing the chaos was neurological.
The Diagnosis That Wasn’t on My Bingo Card
When I finally got my ADHD diagnosis, I was stunned. Not because I hadn’t suspected something was “off,” but because I’d bought into the stereotype that ADHD was for wiggly little boys who couldn’t sit still in class. I wasn’t hyperactive—I was exhausted. I wasn’t bouncing off the walls—I was fighting to stay upright.
Then came the fibromyalgia diagnosis, and suddenly my entire adult life clicked into place like a jigsaw puzzle I didn’t even know I was building.
Oh. So that’s why I feel like I have the flu every morning.
Oh. So that’s why no amount of sleep makes me feel rested.
Oh. So that’s why I forget words mid-sentence and have to say “the thingy” more than any grown woman should.
I finally had the missing pieces. Not just names for what I was experiencing, but validation that what I was feeling was real. I wasn’t imagining it. I wasn’t being dramatic. I wasn’t lazy. I was dealing with two invisible conditions that had been pulling the strings behind the scenes for decades
It’s Not Laziness. It’s Neurochemistry and Nerve Signals.
I can’t overstate the relief that came with having names for what I was dealing with. ADHD isn’t just about distraction—it’s a neurological condition that messes with how your brain regulates focus, memory, and emotional responses. And fibromyalgia? That’s a chronic pain disorder that dials up your nervous system like it’s auditioning for a horror film.
According to the Cleveland Clinic, both conditions involve dysregulation in neurotransmitters like dopamine and norepinephrine. In normal-speak: the stuff that helps you concentrate also helps you process pain. If those chemicals are out of balance, your brain can’t focus, and your body feels like it’s under constant attack.
So when I say “I forgot to reply to your text and also everything hurts,” I’m not being dramatic. I’m just short on neurotransmitters.
And guess what? Living with both means that sometimes your nervous system throws a party your brain forgets to attend.
The Emotional Whirlwind That Comes With It
There’s a unique kind of grief that follows diagnosis. First, you mourn all the years you spent blaming yourself. Then you get mad—at doctors who dismissed you, at a society that told you to push through it, at your own body for being such a drama queen.
But eventually, if you’re lucky, you reach acceptance. It’s not a finish line—it’s more like a pit stop where you can finally breathe, regroup, and stop calling yourself lazy.
I had to relearn how to live with compassion for myself. Some days that looks like canceling plans. Other days it means using every brain cell I have to remember to take my meds. And some days, I get it all wrong—but I’m still trying.
Getting diagnosed didn’t fix everything—but it gave me a lens to understand my life better. It helped me unpack a suitcase I didn’t realize I’d been dragging around since childhood, filled with misplaced shame and quiet confusion. And that? That’s its own kind of healing.
So What’s Next?
Well, I’m not cured, if that’s what you were hoping for. I still lose my train of thought mid-conversation. My muscles still ache like I just ran a marathon (again, I haven’t). I still have days where I cry because my brain and body both decided to take the day off without notifying me.
But I also laugh more now. Because at least now I know what’s going on.
I track patterns. I advocate for myself in doctor’s offices. I let myself rest without shame (okay, less shame). I even leave myself little voice notes because I can’t always trust my memory to hold onto the good stuff.
And I’m learning that showing up for myself, even in small, imperfect ways, is still showing up.
If you’re reading this and thinking, “Wait… this sounds a little like me,” you’re not alone. Whether you have a diagnosis, are seeking one, or are just tired of feeling like your brain and body are working against you—know this:
You’re not broken. You’re just working with a different operating system. And you’re doing the best you can with the patchy Wi-Fi signal your brain insists on using.
Let’s Keep the Conversation Going
If any of this resonated, I’d love to hear from you. Drop a comment below or share your own story. And if you want to keep following this journey (and maybe laugh-cry with me through the mess of it all), hit that subscribe button. Part 2 is coming soon—and it’s full of sticky notes, brain fog, and a few surprisingly useful life hacks.
Fellow Fibro girlie here— thank you for this!!!!