I’m sitting here on my floor, the same spot where I’ve spent years unlearning the versions of myself that didn’t belong to me, and I’m feeling the weight of a loss that feels ridiculous to say out loud, but feels heavy in my chest nonetheless. I lost my Threads account. Actually, I lost the community I had started to build there, the digital home where I felt seen for the first time as an adhd woman who finally understood why her brain never quite fit the mold. For someone with ADHD and a history of narcissistic abuse, a platform isn’t just an app, it’s a lifeline to a world that finally makes sense.
The old me would have spiraled for weeks. I would have lived in a constant cortisol spike, my heart racing, my mind looping through every possible failure, every “why me” and “what now.” I’ve spent my life in that state of high alert survival, a legacy of growing up with a narcissistic mother where the environment was never safe and the rug was always being pulled out from under my feet. When your body has been conditioned by trauma, loss isn’t just loss, it’s a threat to your very existence.
But as I sat there, feeling the familiar pull of sadness and regret, something shifted. I’ve spent the last five years obsessively studying neuroscience, not just because I’m a psychology graduate or a hypnotherapist, but because I had to heal myself from chronic illnesses that were literally the physical manifestation of my trapped emotions. I know, deep in my marrow, that these emotional spikes are dangerous for a body that has fought so hard to find balance again.
I realized I was caught in a loop of anticipating a future that I now believed was gone. I was looking for freedom, for expression, for a connection with other ADHD women who survived similar childhoods, and I thought that future was tied to a specific account. By mourning it, I was energetically signaling to my body that I was separated from that reality.
The science of the present moment tells us something radical, in the quantum field, every potential reality already exists. If I can sit in this moment and actually feel the freedom and connection I’m seeking, my brain doesn’t know the difference between that internal experience and the external world. Neurologically, it becomes the same thing.
So, instead of scrolling through the ruins of my digital presence, I closed my eyes and started to meditate. I chose to rewire my brain and body right in the middle of the loss, while the sting was still fresh. This isn’t about some overnight success story or a magic trick to get my followers back. It’s about the raw, human potential to stay in the present moment when everything in your environment is screaming at you to run back into the past or panic about the future.
When we live in survival mode, we are constantly anticipating the worst based on what has already happened to us. We become addicted to the stress hormones that keep us tethered to our trauma. But when we step into the now, we take our power back from our environment.
Here is how I’m navigating this, not as a teacher from a distance, but as someone doing the work alongside you:
Acknowledge the spike without becoming it. I felt the cortisol hit my system, I felt the “I’m not safe” signal from my ADHD brain, and instead of fighting it, I just watched it.
Identify the separation. I realized I was feeling less than because I thought my freedom was out there in a future account. I had to pull that energy back into the present.
Find the frequency of the desire. What did I actually want? It wasn’t just a number on a screen, it was the feeling of expression and being understood. I can feel that right now, in this breath, regardless of the algorithm.
Meditate to bridge the gap. I sat until the feeling of loss was replaced by the feeling of being whole. This is the work of neuroplasticity, literally forging new paths in the brain while the old ones are still trying to fire.
Stay in the unknown. It’s uncomfortable to not know how I will find my tribe again, but the unknown is the only place where something new can actually happen.
This journey is messy. It’s about catching yourself in the middle of a meltdown and deciding that your nervous system is more important than your ego. I want you to know that healing is a daily practice, a constant update of the mind to keep up with the life you’re trying to build.
If you’re feeling that same sense of separation, whether from a person, a job, or a version of yourself you thought you’d have by now, maybe we can just sit in the now for a second together.
I’m still here, still healing, and still writing. If this resonated with you, I’d love for you to join me on Substack where we can keep this conversation going, far away from the reach of a deleted account. You can also book a session if you’re ready to start your own rewiring process. We’re in this together.
