The ADHD Hook Blog

 Let’s be honest — none of us know what the hell we’re doing. Adulthood is basically running on caffeine, anxiety, and vibes, while hoping nobody notices we’re just winging it. Here’s the thing — we’re all out here winging it, but pretending we’ve got some kind of master plan. Spoiler: none of us do. Half of adulthood is googling “can you reheat rice without dying” and the other half is forgetting you even bought rice. We don’t say: “I’m exhausted but if I stop for five minutes, the guilt monster eats me alive.” “I’m scared people only like me when I’m funny or useful, not when I’m lying on the sofa staring at the wall like it owes me rent.” “Sometimes I wonder if everyone else got the manual for life and I just got the Argos leaflet that only gives you the dimensions.” And yet — if you strip away the polished Insta grids and the ‘yeah not bad, you?’ small talk? We’re all living some version of the same feral chaos. 🧶 The ADHD Flavour of Relatable Losing your glasses… while they’r...

 What happens when ADHD , IBS , and gut health collide? My first 4 days on the low FODMAP diet — the chaos, cravings, kids waving snacks in my face, and the shocking benefits I’ve already noticed Trust Your Gut? Yeah, Right. Living with ADHD and IBS feels like my brain and belly made a toxic friendship pact behind my back. One’s bouncing off the walls chasing dopamine, the other’s sulking in the corner like a diva with a hangover. And me? I’m the referee stuck in the middle. ADHD & Food: The Savage Truth ADHD brains run on chaos fuel. Forget to eat until you’re starving, then inhale crisps like you’re in training for the Hunger Games. Hyperfixate on one food (Pepsi Max & hash browns 👋) until your gut calls the police. Executive dysfunction makes “meal prep” sound like a war crime. Food isn’t just food with ADHD. It’s dopamine, comfort, rebellion, and sometimes, pure gut sabotage. IBS: The Diva of the Gut IBS has one personality trait: dramatic. Too much fruit? Flare. Wro...

  Because motherhood doesn’t count unless it’s posted. Sucker-Punched by a Picture year and a half later and I still get sucker-punched by a picture. Not just any picture, the kind carefully staged to scream “look how close we are, look how perfect we are.” The “daughter she always wanted,” front and center, spa days, smiles, the works. The kind of photo designed to rake in likes faster than a cat meme. And me? I see it for what it is: a desperate grab for the Mum of the Year crown she never earned. A photo-op. A cover-up. A pathetic attempt at rewriting history with someone else’s child drafted in as her supporting actress. Because why settle for being a mum when you can be a content creator with trauma merch? Performance Over Parenting She doesn’t want a daughter. She wants an audience. She doesn’t crave connection, she craves applause. Motherhood, to her, isn’t love. It’s PR. No late-night talks. No “I’ve got you, even when you’re a mess.” Just hashtags and halo-polishing. #Best...

 Hey lovelies, welcome back to another little slice of chaos from my world 🌸🧶 If you’ve been here a while, you know my life is a mash-up of crochet, kids, ADHD brain dumps, and emotional metaphors that sneak in like uninvited guests at a party. Today’s story isn’t about yarn (for once) — it’s about Rosie, sunshine, and a paddleboard. And honestly, it’s one of those memories I’ll carry forever. So apparently my daughter has decided she’s a paddleboarding prodigy. Rosie is two years old — TWO — and today she just casually stood up on a paddleboard like she’s been training her whole life. Meanwhile, I’m still tripping over my own feet on dry land and she’s out here unlocking “board legs” like it’s a video game achievement. 🏆✨ I was stood on the riverbank ready to dive in fully clothed (because let’s face it, I would) convinced she’d topple straight in. But nope. She planted those tiny toes, wobbled for a second, and then stood there steady as anything. Smug. Unbothered. Like the bo...

Yesterday I got diagnosed with CPTSD. And honestly? It hit me like a sack of shit to the face. I’ve had labels before. ADHD. PMDD. Fibro. IBS. Basically, I’ve been collecting acronyms like Pokémon cards. But this one… this one hit different. This one explained the lot. Suddenly it all made sense — why I’m constantly on edge, why I wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a bus, why my brain thinks “calm” is some mythical creature like a unicorn. The truth is: I’ve been in fight-or-flight mode my whole damn life. No wonder I’m exhausted. My nervous system’s been stuck on “DEFCON 1” since childhood. Adrenaline isn’t just a hormone for me, it’s basically a personality trait. And the toll? Brutal. My body is screaming, my brain is fried, and my mental health has been hanging on by a thread thinner than the cheap yarn I swear I’ll never buy again but somehow always do. And considering I’m only 4ft 11 and 7 and a half stone — how the hell has someone this small been lugging around this much tra...

 My mum stole £11,000 and left me with trauma, anxiety, and silence. Here’s how I found the truth – and why I’m done being quiet. You know what’s worse than growing up in a toxic family? Realizing, 15 years later, that your mum didn’t just mess with your head—she emptied your bank account too. And the cherry on top? A family who told me I was “over the top,” “making a fuss,” and, my personal favorite: “She’s your mum, why would you walk away?” Spoiler: because she stole £11,129.38 from me. For 15 years, I was made to believe: ✔ She was ill. ✔ It wasn’t a big deal. ✔ I was dramatic. ✔ And if I just kept quiet, everything would be fine. Meanwhile, she lived mortgage-free, with two holidays a year, a fully decorated house, and zero consequences… while I battled trauma, anxiety, and fear so heavy I still hesitate to leave my house in case I bump into any of them. The Day the Truth Slapped Me in the Face sat down to check old bank statements, thinking maybe a few hundred quid… maybe a g...