When Life Feels Heavy: Coping with Grief, Change, and ADHD
I don’t know how things are going in your life, but I am feeling pretty overwhelmed and so are a lot of people I know and love. Life, in its unpredictable nature, often throws us into seasons of challenge, and sometimes those seasons feel longer and heavier than we expect. It can be difficult to balance grief, external stressors, and the expectations we place on ourselves, especially when ADHD adds its own layer of complexity to emotional regulation and productivity.
For me, these are a few of the things that are taking up space in my mind:
My dad died back in October. He was 85 and had lived a very full and wonderful life, but losing him is still hard. So many little things remind me of him and bring back sweet memories of our time together on this earth. I know I will always miss having him around. Grief is hard.
Grief is never linear. There are days when the memories bring comfort and warmth, and other days when the loss feels as raw as the moment it happened. It sneaks up in unexpected ways—a certain song playing on the radio, a phrase he used to say, or even just the way the light hits the trees in a way that he would have loved. The truth is, we carry the people we love in our hearts, but that doesn’t mean the pain of their absence disappears. And when you're neurodivergent, processing grief can feel even more unpredictable. It takes up mental bandwidth, making it harder to focus, plan, or even complete everyday tasks. I remind myself often that grief deserves space, that it isn't something to be rushed or forced into neat little boxes.
The weather has been less than ideal for a whole lot of these past few months. It seems like we have had more wind and cold than usual, and I thrive when I’m able to be outdoors in the sun.
There is something about feeling the sun on my face that restores me in ways that nothing else can. Nature has a way of grounding us, resetting our nervous systems, and reminding us that we are part of something bigger. When the weather keeps me inside, I notice the difference in my mood and energy levels. The lack of movement, the absence of fresh air, and the constant gray skies take a toll. I've been trying to counteract this by adding small, intentional bursts of movement indoors—even if it’s just stretching by the window or pacing while on a call. And when I do get those precious moments of warmth and sunlight, I take full advantage of them.
A lot of people I know have been impacted by the greed of corporate America. There’s really no other way to put it when companies are making money hand over fist and still laying off people who have been doing excellent work so they can make even more money for their stockholders. These are real people with real lives, and it’s disgusting.
There is something deeply unsettling about watching hardworking, talented people be treated as disposable. It creates a ripple effect—financial stress, uncertainty, and a deep questioning of self-worth. I see it in my friends, my clients, and my community. And while the reality of these layoffs is infuriating, what gives me hope is the resilience I see in people. Even in the face of unjust decisions, people find ways to pivot, to support one another, to rebuild. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t exhausting. It’s a reminder of how critical it is to have a support system, to lean on each other in times of transition.
As a bright spot, I got to see several family members at a baby shower for my oldest son and his wife in early February. Even though we missed having my dad there, it was good to be together even for a few hours.
Moments like these remind me of the importance of community. It was bittersweet, feeling the absence of my dad while celebrating a new life coming into our family. Grief and joy can coexist. One doesn’t cancel out the other. I try to hold onto these moments of connection, knowing that they help refill the parts of me that feel depleted by stress and loss.
The very next week, our little 11-year-old dog lost his fight with congestive heart failure. It is still hard not having him greet us when we come home or scratch the fridge when it’s time to eat or all the other things he did to make our lives richer and more interesting. Again, grief is hard.
Pets become woven into the fabric of our daily lives. Their absence is felt in a million tiny ways—the quiet where their presence used to be, the unfulfilled rituals. Losing a pet is its own kind of heartbreak, one that is often underestimated. The unconditional love they offer, the way they ground us in the present moment, the comfort of their companionship—it all leaves a void when they are gone. I remind myself that grief is a testament to love. The depth of our pain reflects the depth of our connection.
It feels as if the work I spent most of my adult life on is being undone. I believe that the world is a better place when we encourage every single person to strive toward their potential. We know a lot about how the brain works and about how people learn things, even those who have learning challenges, and instead of embracing that knowledge, many are working to dismantle the progress we’ve already made.
This one feels deeply personal. Education should be about opening doors, not shutting them. Watching opportunities shrink for students who learn differently is disheartening. It’s a reminder that advocacy never stops. That progress is never guaranteed. And that while it can be exhausting to keep fighting, it is necessary. ADHD, learning differences, neurodiversity—these aren’t just buzzwords. They are real, lived experiences, and they deserve to be acknowledged and supported.
ADHD makes it harder to manage all of these challenges.
ADHD amplifies everything—the emotions, the overwhelm, the difficulty in prioritizing what needs attention first. It’s not just about being distracted; it’s about carrying a brain full of open tabs with no clear way to close them. I have learned that I need structure and strategies to help me navigate difficult times, but even with those in place, it is a challenge.
These are some ways that I’m trying to manage all the feelings and experiences I’m dealing with:
Staying close to my community. Even when I want to retreat, I know that connection is critical. It’s a lifeline.
Practicing mindfulness. The Healthy Minds app has been a game-changer for me, offering not just traditional meditation but active mindfulness strategies.
Being kind to myself. I remind myself that it’s okay to go slower. To rest. To not have all the answers right now.
ADHD impacts all of this—the challenges as well as my responses. Even with all of the training and experience I have, I find myself slipping into patterns that are less than optimal. My first line of defense is to try to reign in those feelings by myself, but I often realize that I need a coach to help me right the ship. I’m so thankful for good friends in my life who are also trained coaches who can help me to move forward in healthy ways.
If you are also feeling overwhelmed, know that you aren’t alone. Give yourself grace. Seek out support. And remember, it’s okay to take things one step at a time.