Sometimes the loudest voices aren’t the ones around us, but they’re the ones inside our own heads. For me, those voices tend to rise in the quiet moments, when a message goes unanswered or when someone I love doesn’t respond right away. My mind starts spinning its own stories, convincing me that I’ve become too much, too caring, too present. I start to wonder if my affection feels like I am nagging them.
This mental health struggle has been a part of my life for a long time. And if you deal with something similar, any trigger can send you on a downward spiral, where the voices in your head make you feel like a failure to yourself and others.
Living with ADHD and anxiety means I’ve come to know rejection sensitivity all too well. It’s that twisting feeling that silence must mean rejection, that a pause in communication must signal that someone no longer wants me around. The rational part of me knows this isn’t true. I know people have busy lives, that silence often has nothing to do with me. And yet my brain doesn’t always play fair. It pulls me back to old wounds, to memories of high school hallways where I was bullied, ignored, or abandoned by people I thought were friends. Those scars linger, and sometimes the smallest trigger can make them ache as if no time has passed.
On those days, I find myself slipping into familiar patterns of doubt. I start imagining what others must think of me, such as that I’m too needy, too emotional, or too much. But then, if I take a
step back and truly breathe, I remember that my mind is not always telling me the truth. That pause allows me to see that my caring nature is not a burden, it is a gift. The same qualities I used to see as flaws, the way I love fiercely, the way I check in on others, the way I care deeply, are the very things that connect me to people in meaningful ways.
Still, it takes practice. I’ve learned that when the spiral starts, disconnecting helps. Sometimes it’s as simple as turning my phone face down, stepping outside, and listening to the rhythm of the world instead of the chaos of my mind. Other times, it’s journaling, letting the words spill out until they carry the weight away. And often, it’s reminding myself that silence from others doesn’t mean rejection, it means life is happening for them, too.
This isn’t a perfect process. Healing never is. Some days the old voices are louder than I’d like, and I feel pulled back into those teenage fears of being left out or unloved. But other days, I win, and I choose to believe the best, to hold space for both myself and others, to trust that caring deeply isn’t something to apologize for.
What I keep reminding myself, and what I want to remind you too, is that we are not defined by someone else’s response time, or lack of it. We are defined by how we show up for ourselves. To disconnect is not to walk away from others, but to step back from the noise long enough to reconnect with who we really are.
And sometimes, like today, that means giving myself permission to sit in quiet, to practice self-care, and to remember that solitude isn’t loneliness.
It’s a necessary pause, a way of finding myself again, so that when I do reconnect, it comes from a place of strength, love, and hope.
