People think ADHD is just about being distracted.
But for me—being a mom and running a business—it’s like living with an amplifier on my heart. Every joy is electric. Every disappointment is a gut punch. There’s no middle volume.
It’s a superpower because I can ride waves of joy higher than most people ever get to feel.
When one of my kids bursts into the kitchen with a huge smile because they aced a test… when a customer leaves a glowing 5-star review on our site… when someone tags us on Instagram with a photo of their child wearing something from Doodlebugs—that’s my dopamine jackpot.
Those moments light me up from the inside out. I’ll stop what I’m doing just to stare at that photo of a toddler in our bamboo pajamas or reread the review five times, grinning like I’ve just been told I won the lottery. It’s fuel. It’s the reason I keep pouring myself into this business.
But ADHD is also a disability because the same intensity that makes joy feel so big… makes the hard things feel bigger.
A comment from a customer saying “I sent you an email” can sink my stomach before I even click it open—even when it’s been less than 24 hours and well within our promised response time. I instantly start wondering if I messed up, if they’re upset, if I’ve failed in some way.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve done nothing wrong. My brain takes it personally—because to me, everything is personal. Every customer. Every order. Every kid I see wearing something from our shop. These aren’t just transactions to handle. They’re heart connections.
The Mornings
Morning in my house feels like trying to run two marathons at the same time—one for my family, one for my work.
I’m packing lunches while reminding one child to brush their teeth and another to grab their backpack. The oatmeal’s on the stove, the dog’s barking, and the dishwasher is beeping like it’s auditioning for a band. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I’m mentally lining up my workday so I can focus while they’re at school.
But my ADHD brain is a master at detours.
Halfway through breakfast prep, I’ll remember yesterday’s wet laundry. I’ll run to switch it to the dryer, see toys scattered in the living room, and start picking them up—only to spot crumbs on the counter and grab a cloth. By the time I get back to the kitchen, the oatmeal is boiling over and my coffee is cold for the third time.
The Afternoons
When school pickup rolls around, the shift is supposed to happen.
Work hat off. Mom hat on. Present. Engaged. Ready to hear about their day.
But ADHD doesn’t always respect that boundary. The email I saw at 2:47 p.m. is still buzzing in the back of my mind. The half-finished project is whispering for attention. And yet, the part of me that loves fiercely knows my kids deserve a mom who isn’t just in the room but is with them.
Some days I nail it. We play Uno after homework or bake cookies just because. Other days, my head is in two places and my patience is thin. ADHD doesn’t make those transitions easy—it makes them feel like a sharp turn on a slippery road.
Why ADHD Feels Like Both
ADHD gives me boundless creativity, empathy, and the ability to find magic in everyday moments.
But it also means I feel everything at full volume. The highs? They’re breathtaking. The lows? They hit bone-deep. There’s no “just handle it” for me—whether it’s my kids, my customers, or my work, I feel it all.
Coping Strategies That Help Me Stay Grounded
I’ve learned I can’t change the wiring in my brain, but I can give it rails to run on.
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Morning Brain Dump – Before the kids wake up, I spill everything in my head onto paper. It’s the only way to slow the mental ping-pong game.
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Chore Pairing – I pair boring tasks with something enjoyable, like folding laundry while listening to an audiobook I love.
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Sacred School Hours – I protect that time for deep work so I can truly unplug when they’re home.
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Celebrate the Small Joys – I let myself pause to soak in every 5-star review, every tagged customer photo. Those moments matter.
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Forgive Myself Quickly – I’m going to miss things. I’m going to overthink things. But my kids don’t need a perfect mom—they need a loving one who’s present more often than not.
ADHD hasn’t made me less of a mom or a business owner—it’s made me different.
Messier, yes. But also more emotional, more passionate, more relentless in my love for my kids and my customers.
Because in this brain, every high is dazzling, every low is humbling, and every connection—whether it’s at my kitchen table or through a package I ship—is deeply, achingly personal.