I'm Not Unmotivated, I'm Overstimulated.

Lately, I keep saying I’m overstimulated. It’s kind of a trend now…a joke, a meme. But sometimes it’s really not that funny—at least not to me. I don’t even know where to start — which feels ironic, considering how overstimulated I am. The feeling itself is hard for me to define without giving you a glimpse at all the mental tabs I have open…which I think would be scary for most people. Honestly, it kind of scares me too. The pressure to get it perfect? Kind of turns my brain into a tight, noisy apartment with no windows. I used to call it lazy. Or dramatic. Or “just not trying hard enough.” But looking back, I don’t think I ever stood a chance in a world that never quiets down. 

I never really thought something was wrong with me. I just wished it didn’t take so much…energy, effort, or silence for me to feel okay. I’d watch other people (and still do) glide through their days while I was still trying to get my brain to stop buzzing long enough to pick out an outfit. Things take me longer to do. I have to organize the mental tabs alphabetically before I can even start the task. Plans I’ve looked forward to all week start to feel draining before they even happen. What I used to call flakiness or distraction was really just exhaustion—the kind that sleep doesn’t fix. 

I’ve always lived a little more in my head than in the room. It’s not a flaw, just…the way I’m built. The noise isn’t always external—sometimes it’s just me, narrating, analyzing, remembering, planning. But lately, calling it overstimulation has helped. It’s not a perfect word, but it’s better than lazy or unreliable. At least now I know it’s not that I don’t care—it’s that I’m already carrying too much. I’m still learning what to do with the awareness once I have it, but for right now, just knowing how to assign it slightly lessens the load. I’ve gotten better when dealing with internal chatter, but sometimes at work, the external clashes with the internal and my world crumbles.

Full. Blown. Overstimulation. 

A line at the register. The phone ringing four or five times in a row. Multiple clients (and their kids) waiting in the lobby for haircuts. One person needs to return an item. Another needs change.

Cue: the dreaded moment of “I have to count out dimes, nickels, and pennies immediately and I don’t even know my own name right now.” 

Not to mention the tag on my sweater that’s making me itch. 

That’s when the short temper kicks in. And the deep breaths. I have to ground myself. And remind myself that this is only temporary, that I will be home snuggling my cat in only two short hours…or… shit. Going to meet Cass for drinks and apps. Get home…freshen up, change clothes, drive downtown, circle the block for parking, and try to be present with a friend I miss but never quite catch. Even joy starts to feel like noise when I haven’t had a moment to come back to myself. I want to be present, to show up, to mean it—but sometimes I’m still peeling myself off the day. 

To even think about sending in that application or doing the dishes throws me into orbit. But I’m starting to see that it’s not about the size of the task—it’s about that state I’m in when it finds me. On a different day, in a quieter mind, maybe even the dishes feel doable. Maybe the application feels like a step forward, not a mountain.

The truth is, this world wasn’t really designed for people who feel everything. Hustle culture especially—the constant chasing, doing, proving—was never going to work for a brain that needs rest to function. My affirmation this week has been: My worth is not dependent on my productivity. And I’ve had to say it more than once, out loud, just to believe it. I used to think “rest” had to be earned, and “doing nothing” meant falling behind. But lately I’ve been trying to measure my days differently. Not by how much I got done, but by how kind I was to myself when I couldn’t do it all. Some days, that means showing up. Other days it means stepping back before the noise swallows me. Either way, I’m learning that I’m still worthy—even when all I did was survive the buzzing.