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Identity isn't only built from within; it's also reflected back to us by the people who've known us the longest. Moving ...
21/08/2026

Identity isn't only built from within; it's also reflected back to us by the people who've known us the longest. Moving abroad quietly removes that mirror, and for many expats, that loss is one of the least talked-about parts of the adjustment.

In practice, it can look like small, ordinary moments: catching yourself over-explaining your own history to someone new, or noticing that an old achievement doesn't land the way it used to, simply because no one here has the context for it.

There's often an unspoken question underneath it all: was that person I used to be actually me, or was I partly shaped by everyone who remembered me that way?

This isn't a sign of losing yourself. It's a natural part of rebuilding identity somewhere new - and, for many people, an opportunity to figure out which parts of who they are were truly their own all along.

A woman sitting alone on a bench, looking out at nothing in particular; that's what this kind of homesickness actually l...
20/08/2026

A woman sitting alone on a bench, looking out at nothing in particular; that's what this kind of homesickness actually looks like. Not a dramatic scene. Not a specific occasion. Just a quiet, ordinary moment that suddenly feels unbearably far from home.

Nobody warns you about this part. You brace for Christmas, for birthdays - the big, obvious days. What catches you off guard is missing a completely unremarkable Tuesday - your mum's weekly shop, your friend's commute, the small, boring rhythm of a life you're no longer inside of. It creeps up in the in-between moments, the ones too small to explain to anyone who hasn't lived it.

That's not a small kind of homesickness. It might be the realest kind and it deserves somewhere to be spoken about, not just quietly carried.

That confused, chin-in-hand feeling is one a lot of ADHD adults carry around at work every day; not because the job is t...
19/08/2026

That confused, chin-in-hand feeling is one a lot of ADHD adults carry around at work every day; not because the job is too hard, but because nobody ever told them there's support they're entitled to ask for.

Written follow-ups after verbal meetings, so instructions don't just evaporate the moment the conversation ends. Flexible deadlines that account for how ADHD focus actually works, not how a calendar assumes it should. A quieter workspace, or permission to work somewhere that isn't an open-plan minefield of noise and movement. Access to Work funding for coaching, software, or equipment that makes the day genuinely more manageable.

Most of this already exists. It's just rarely offered, because most workplaces don't know to offer it and most employees don't know to ask.

You're allowed to ask. A diagnosis, or even an ongoing assessment, is often the first real step toward support that makes work sustainable, not just survivable.

You weren't lazy. You weren't careless. You were the kid staring out the window, losing library books, forgetting the se...
18/08/2026

You weren't lazy. You weren't careless. You were the kid staring out the window, losing library books, forgetting the second half of every instruction; the one whose school reports said "bright but doesn't apply themselves" without anyone asking why.

You could focus for hours on something that interested you, and barely at all on something that didn't, and got told that was "inconsistent." You finished everything at the last possible second, every time, and it was framed as a habit rather than a struggle you were quietly having. Conversations would drift past you mid-sentence; not because you weren't listening, but because your attention had already moved somewhere else without asking permission. You were praised for being "so imaginative" in the same breath as being told to focus more, as if the two things weren't connected.

A lot of the adults we see for ADHD assessments were never disruptive enough to be flagged as children. They were quiet, bright, a little scattered, and easy to overlook. If any of this sounds familiar, it might be worth asking what was actually going on underneath.

You arrive prepared. You take notes. You ask the right questions in meetings and laugh at the right moments. You appear,...
22/07/2026

You arrive prepared. You take notes. You ask the right questions in meetings and laugh at the right moments. You appear, by every external measure, to be completely on top of things.

By 4pm you're running on nothing.

This is Masking, the process of concealing ADHD traits in order to meet the expectations of a neurotypical environment. And for many adults, it becomes so automatic that they don't even realise they're doing it. It's simply the version of themselves they've always had to be at work.

The performance is sophisticated. It might look like over-preparing for every meeting to compensate for difficulty thinking on your feet. Scripting conversations in advance. Arriving early to get a feel for the room before it fills. Keeping meticulous notes not because it helps you but because it signals competence. Laughing off a mistake before anyone else can react to it.

None of this is dishonest. It's adaptive. But it comes at a cost that accumulates quietly; the cognitive load of managing two things simultaneously, the actual work, and the performance of doing the work normally.

The exhaustion that follows isn't laziness or weakness. It's the predictable result of spending eight hours doing twice the work everyone around you is doing, half of it invisible.

What tends to get missed is that this level of effort often masks genuine capability. The person masking hardest is frequently among the most competent in the room. They've just been spending enormous energy getting there by a route nobody else can see.

You shouldn't have to work that hard to be allowed to work.

You say yes when you mean no. You manage other people's feelings before your own. You leave conversations wondering if e...
17/07/2026

You say yes when you mean no. You manage other people's feelings before your own. You leave conversations wondering if everyone is alright; everyone, that is, except you.

This isn't kindness. Or rather, it's not only kindness.

People-pleasing is often mistaken for a generous personality trait. And there is genuine care in it. Most people-pleasers do truly want others to be well, but underneath the accommodation, the smoothing over, the endless readiness to make yourself smaller, there is usually something else; a learned belief that your needs, your discomfort, your preferences are less important, or less safe than other people's.

That belief doesn't come from nowhere. It tends to form early, in environments where keeping the peace mattered more than being honest, where expressing needs led to conflict or withdrawal, where being easy to be around felt like a condition of being loved.

The pattern it produces is exhausting. Not because you're doing too much for others, though you often are, but because you're doing it at the cost of yourself. Every yes that should have been a no is a small act of self-abandonment. Over time, those add up.

What makes people-pleasing particularly hard to shift is that it works, in the short term. It keeps the peace. It avoids the discomfort of disappointing someone. It's only in the longer term that the resentment, the exhaustion, and the loss of self become undeniable.

Therapy offers a space to understand where this started, and to slowly, carefully, practise something different.

Not selfishness. Just the radical act of including yourself.

Perfectionism and ADHD seem like they shouldn't go together.One is associated with chaos, forgetfulness, or half-finishe...
16/07/2026

Perfectionism and ADHD seem like they shouldn't go together.

One is associated with chaos, forgetfulness, or half-finished tasks. The other with impossibly high standards, meticulous attention to detail, or nothing leaving the desk until it's exactly right.

For many people with ADHD, perfectionism isn't a personality trait. It's a coping strategy.

When you've spent years producing work that didn't reflect your actual ability you learn that the gap between what you're capable of and what you deliver is painful. Perfectionism is the brain's attempt to close that gap. If I make this absolutely right before anyone sees it, maybe this time it will match what I know I'm capable of.

The problem is that perfect is never quite reachable. So the work doesn't get submitted. The email doesn't get sent. The project that matters most gets avoided longest, because the stakes feel too high to risk getting it wrong.

This is sometimes called paralysis by analysis. But underneath it, more often, is shame; the accumulated experience of trying hard and still falling short, and a fierce determination not to let that happen again.

If this sounds familiar, the answer isn't to lower your standards. It's to understand what those standards are protecting you from, and to find a way to work that doesn't require perfection as the price of entry.

You've done the reading. You know the terminology. You can explain your patterns to other people with uncomfortable accu...
14/07/2026

You've done the reading. You know the terminology. You can explain your patterns to other people with uncomfortable accuracy. And somewhere along the way, understanding yourself became a substitute for actually doing anything differently.

It's a comfortable place to stay. Insight feels like progress. It has the texture of change without the risk of it.

Real change is less articulate. It happens in moments you can't always explain afterwards; in a conversation that goes differently than it usually would, in a reaction that surprises you, in something small that doesn't undo you the way it once did.

That's what therapy is actually for. Not the explaining. The doing differently.

If you've been understanding yourself for a while and not much has shifted, it might be time for something more than insight.

You used to know exactly where you were from.Now it's more complicated than that.Something shifts when you live abroad l...
13/07/2026

You used to know exactly where you were from.

Now it's more complicated than that.

Something shifts when you live abroad long enough. You go home for a visit and find yourself noticing things you never noticed before; the pace, the unspoken rules, the things people take for granted. You feel, for the first time, slightly outside a place that was once simply yours.

This is one of the quieter disorientations of expat life; not the loss of your new country, but the gradual, unexpected loosening of your original one. Home stops being a fixed point and becomes something more ambiguous; a place you carry complicated feelings about, a question you've stopped being sure how to answer.

It shows up in specific ways. Defending your home country to people who criticise it, while privately agreeing with them. Finding old conversations smaller than they used to feel. Feeling like the person your family thinks you are no longer quite matches who you've become. Loving a place and feeling relieved to leave it.

None of this means you've lost where you're from. It means you've grown around it.

Identity is not a single fixed thing. It expands with experience and living between cultures is one of the more profound ways that expansion happens. The disorientation is real. So is what it's making room for.

If you're navigating who you are across more than one place, we'd be glad to help you think it through.

The bill you forgot until it was a fine. The subscription you signed up for and never cancelled. The impulsive purchase ...
03/07/2026

The bill you forgot until it was a fine. The subscription you signed up for and never cancelled. The impulsive purchase that felt urgent in the moment and baffling a week later.

If you have ADHD, money can feel like a system designed for a brain you don't have.

The connection between ADHD and financial dysregulation is real, and it goes deeper than being bad with numbers. Impulsivity makes spending feel immediately compelling in ways that future consequences can't compete with. Executive function difficulties make it hard to track outgoings, plan ahead, or follow through on financial intentions; even ones you care deeply about. Time blindness means bills due in two weeks feel abstract until they're overdue.

And underneath all of it, often shame. The belief that a functioning adult should be able to manage this. That the problem is character, not neurology. It isn't.

ADHD affects the brain's reward and regulation systems in ways that make financial management genuinely harder; not as an excuse, but as an explanation that opens the door to actually useful strategies.

What tends to help isn't more willpower or better intentions. It's removing friction, automating what can be automated, making financial information visible rather than avoidable, and building systems that work with impulsivity rather than against it.

Therapy can also help; not as a budgeting tool, but as a space to untangle the shame, understand the patterns, and build a more workable relationship with money.

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