You Believed Every Word
The voice in your head has been lying to you for years.
It’s Friday night. Bar’s closing.
A questionable stranger is handing you one last drink with an invitation back to their place.
Out of nowhere, one of your parents materializes: “Make good choices, sweetie!”
Or maybe yours skips the warmth entirely and goes straight to: “This guy reminds me of Jeffrey Dahmer, but hey, you do you!”
That’s your inner voice. Most people have one. If you’re lucky, it mostly shows up when you actually need it.
For some of us, it’s constant. It doesn’t wait for Friday night. It’s running at 6am, and it is not kind.
That’s what mine is like. Twenty-four hours a day.
My ADHD voice announced himself first thing Sunday morning. Like I need a reminder.
He’s the uninvited guest who moved into my head over fifty years ago and never left.
I was nearly done editing a story I was working on. It was due the next day. Perfect time to create some mischief.
“Are you sure you want to run that piece?” he started. “Don’t you think you overshared just a bit too much this time?”
When I ignored him, he only got louder and meaner.
“You’re not smart enough to be a writer. You didn’t even go to college. Maybe you just sit down and let intelligent people tell the stories.”
Chase and I were on our first walk of the day. He’s a rat terrier, and he has more energy than Cade and I combined.
While Cade is on his ten-week rotation in Florida, I get to be single doggy daddy! And long walks are essential if I expect to get any work done.
My phone “ding’d”, so I fished it out of my pocket. I was wearing the same jeans I had on yesterday because I couldn’t be bothered to do laundry.
It was a Substack notification from a publication I follow called The Dopamine Dispatch. The author, Kelly Banks, had just posted an article titled “The ADHD urge to not trust yourself.”
I nearly looked over my shoulder to make sure she wasn’t following us. We’ve never even met. How did she know?
Chase was just getting started hunting for flies, so I clicked the link.
The more I read, the more suspicious I became. Because the truth is, I’ve never trusted myself.
Turning the corner toward the park, the thought pulled me backward. I was suddenly on a superyacht, watching a grown billionaire throw a tantrum because I’d switched the dessert at the last minute.
The chocolate soufflés had collapsed. He was making a scene. And people call me dramatic! I was embarrassed for him.
Rarely does anything good come from extreme wealth, zero accountability, and someone with no respect for the people around them.
It wasn’t just the billionaire owners. There were captains on power trips and stews who were full-on bullies. That my life for twelve years.
Reading Kelly’s article had me remembering just how long that voice had been in my head. Long before it had a name. All of that had made it louder than ever.
My cooking was good. I wasn’t a high-maintenance diva with control issues like most yacht chefs. I was a people pleaser above all. Friendly and accommodating.
But I didn’t trust my instincts. Every compliment went in one ear and out the other.
One tiny suggestion, and my inner voice was whispering, “You suck.”
You probably know that voice. It’s the one that ignores the ten things you did right and sets up a permanent camp on the one thing you didn’t.
And I had a secret. Menu planning and provisioning gave me so much anxiety my heart would race just thinking about it.
I would spend an entire day deciding what I was going to make, and I hadn’t even started my shopping list yet.
Relying on my memory for anything was reckless. Lists were essential. Come provisioning day, they would go missing.
Every single thing around me was a distraction. It’s amazing I lasted as long as I did.
Eventually, I’d had enough, so I left. No more big white boats. No more billionaires. And this time, no second-guessing myself.
Chase and I were finishing up our walk. He’s in charge. I just follow from a leash length behind and do what I’m told.
We went inside and I gave him the three treats he requires, or rather, demands after each walk.
I don’t even know what he’s getting rewarded for. Always three. He can count, so don’t try and pull any funny business!
As I gathered up some laundry, I caught a glimpse of a strange man in the mirror. I actually flinched.
It was me. And of course, the voice had to give his two cents: “You look like shit.”
He wasn’t wrong.
It had been a couple of days since I showered. My hair looked like it was styled with bacon grease. What is typically a tightly trimmed beard had transformed into something tangled and unkempt.
I couldn’t believe Chase let me out of the house looking like that!
It’s not the first time I’ve seen that guy in the mirror. It happens when I’m in the zone. Those rare moments when I feel completely focused.
It’s then that I ignore even my most basic needs. I forget to eat. I’ll go a couple of days without a shower, because that’s ten minutes I can never get back.
If Cade’s on rotation and there’s no one around to notice, taking care of myself doesn’t even cross my mind.
Most days I’m anything but focused. There’s the brain fog. I’m scattered.
For the life of me I can’t remember the simplest of words when I’m trying to speak or write. Sitting in one spot and putting them together to form sentences feels impossible.
Maybe you don’t write. But I bet you know the feeling. The absolute frustration of staring at a simple task and watching your brain refuse to engage.
Sometimes I feel envious of neurotypical people. Especially when it comes to this writing thing.
Even some of the neurodivergent creators seem so switched on compared to me. Consistently posting their Notes. Flawlessly interacting with fellow creators. Mastering the algorithm.
I can’t even remember where my switch is!
For me, it’s a lot of ups and downs. I’ll be beaming for an hour when someone new subscribes. Then someone unsubscribes and for three days you would think the sky was falling.
Having ADHD is challenging. There’s no question. You can see it in everything I do. Even how I talk.
There’s the self-doubt and the days when I can’t figure out why I’ve been so busy yet accomplished nothing.
I’ve been called dramatic. Too much! That I’m overreacting.
Sometimes I interrupt. Not because I’m rude or don’t have manners. It’s because I’m paying attention. I want to contribute so you know I’m engaged, but if I wait, the thought will be gone.
I’m passionate and I feel things deeply. Some people find it to be a lot. Maybe. At least it’s genuine.
When I walk into a room, I can feel the vibe instantly. If you’re sad and you’re trying to hide it, I can tell. If you cry, there’s a very good chance I’ll cry too.
The guy in my head isn’t going anywhere. Some days I want to give him a muzzle.
He’s spent half a century trying to convince me that because I’m too much, I’ll never be enough.
But the truth is, he’s full of it. I’m am too much, and I’m exactly who I’m supposed to be.
There’s not a single other person in the world who sees things exactly the way I do. That makes me an expert by default.
He’ll probably be waiting for me when I finally take that shower, whispering that I should delete this whole piece.
I guess we’ll see who wins tomorrow.
—R. Michael
R. Michael is a gay, married, neurodivergent father who went from cooking for billionaires on yachts to building a farm in Nicaragua. He’s a reliable source of opinions nobody asked for. This is Ungarnished.
If you made it this far, you might as well make it official.
“The ADHD urge to not trust yourself.” was written by Kelly Banks
Kelly is the author of The Dopamine Dispatch.
From the Archive
One story pulled from the shelf. These were written under a different name, on a different road. The ink is older, but the voice is the same.
Fresh Off a Yacht Charter, Deep in the Woods: Camping, Courage, and Finding the Right Person
That voice in your head can be a bully, but like the champ you are, you know how to deal with bullies. This story was beautifully written and I’m glad you “won”. You keep telling your stories. You wear your heart on your sleeve and you deserve to be heard. I love you more than you’ll ever know.
It’s weird how similar your description of your days as a yacht chef sounds to my days teaching college students. I guess it’s the combo of ADHD, severe inner critic, sensitivity, and serving highly entitled people (rich kids school). And how similar your writing life sounds to mine. Tortured. I have no answers for it. But you’re doing good work, and I appreciate it.