Emotional Dysregulation in ADHD

One of my intentions this year is to understand my ADHD more deeply, especially the parts of it that show up in my relationships. Not just the visible, functional stuff, but the emotional turbulence I’ve struggled with for as long as I can remember.

Emotional dysregulation is something I’ve been learning to name. Simply put, it’s the difficulty regulating emotional responses. For me, it feels like emotions arriving quickly and with intensity, sometimes before I’ve had a chance to make sense of them. Feelings of sadness, frustration, defensiveness, and overwhelm. At times it can look like reacting too strongly or pulling away completely. Neither feels good afterward.

What I’ve come to understand is that this often happens with the people I feel safest with. In the outside world, I hold it together. I read the room, choose my words carefully, push feelings down, and keep moving. That kind of self-monitoring takes a lot of energy. When that energy runs out, usually at home or with someone I love, everything I’ve been containing finds its way out.

ADHD is often talked about as an attention issue, but beneath that is so much more, and what some call the ADHD iceberg. Attention, impulses, motivation, and emotions all live under the surface. The pause that helps someone to stop and think before responding is the same pause that softens emotional reactions. With ADHD, that pause can be hard to access, and emotions can take the lead before wisdom has time to arrive.

I’ve written about this before, but another layer of this is Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Small moments others might brush past can land deeply. Whether it’s a change in tone, a slower reply, or a gentle correction. People with ADHD are often highly intuitive, able to read emotions and energy in others in ways that many might miss. We can also be creative, energetic, vibrant, and deeply empathetic, but with that comes an intensity to ‘leak’ our emotions onto the people we feel safest with. In those moments, our nervous system is trying to keep us safe, even if the response doesn’t reflect what’s actually happening.

For anyone who has a loved one with ADHD, learning about how ADHD shows up for them can make a real difference. Even just trying to understand why someone reacts the way they do can reduce misunderstandings, deepen connection, and create space for patience on both sides.

Lately, I’ve been marinating in the words, Philippians 4:6 ‘Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.’ Instead of fighting my feelings or judging myself for having them, I’ve been trying to entrust God with what’s rising in me. And sometimes it’s simply about sitting in His presence which gives me peace in the midst of everything.

One practice I’m learning is something called Opposite Action. It’s a CBT tool, and it means doing the opposite of what an intense emotion is urging you to do when that emotion isn’t helping the situation. If the instinct is to shut down, Opposite Action might look like staying present. If the urge is to defend yourself or snap back, it might mean pausing and listening instead of absorbing. Depending on what works for you, some other good options could be taking a few deep breaths, holding your breath for 20 seconds, walking away from the situation until you’ve reached a calm state, or splashing your face with cold water. I’ve come to know that it’s not about dismissing or suppressing emotions but about creating that positive distraction that causes less harm to yourself or to others.

This is an ongoing process, but my hope is to both understand my own brain better and share a little awareness of how ADHD shows up, while learning strategies and tools to cope along the way.

To those who mask through the small talk

‘How are you?’

‘Good, how are you?’

‘Good, thanks.’

We’ve all had that conversation. Probably today, and probably more than once.

It rolls off the tongue like clockwork, a memorised vocal pattern, a default setting. But I’ve been pondering lately, what does that actually mean? What are we even saying?

Because, more often than not, we’re not really good. We’re tired. We’re anxious. We’re overwhelmed. We’re heartbroken. We’re numb. And sometimes, we’re barely holding it together at all. But still, we say, ‘Good, thanks.’

It’s small talk, aye. It’s just something to say when we greet people. But what happens if we answer honestly? Like, really honestly.

“How are you?”
“Not great, aye. I’ve been super depressed lately. I’m having some dark thoughts. Feeling like my life isn’t worth much right now.”

It’s not normal to say that, right? And most people wouldn’t know how to respond – unless they work in a field where they’ve been trained to. You might see the awkward shuffle, the panicked look, the quick change of subject because society doesn’t prepare us for raw truth. We’re conditioned to keep things light. Keep the energy high and maintain a positive vibe.

I’m not saying we need to trauma-dump on every stranger who asks us how we are. I’m not even saying we should crack ourselves wide open at every opportunity. But I am questioning why the norm is to mask and minimise, and why we’re so uncomfortable with being real or with someone else being honest.
It’s no wonder so many people struggling with mental health feel like they can’t open up. Like they’ll be met with silence, confusion, or worse – a change of subject. All of that would add to the weight they’re already carrying.

We’ve created a culture where people feel like a burden for being human.
And part of the issue, I reckon, is that we’re not taught how to hold space for discomfort. We don’t learn how to respond to someone who’s hurting. Not in school. Not in most homes. Unless you’ve had first-hand experience with a loved one, work in social services, mental health or a similar field, chances are no one’s ever taught you what to say or even that it’s okay to sit in silence with someone.

But imagine if we did learn. Suppose we were taught trauma-informed, culturally sensitive ways to respond. Suppose holding space for others wasn’t seen as a job for professionals only but a part of being a decent, compassionate human. Imagine if it was normal to check in beyond the surface and to mean it.

I know there are times and places where it’s not appropriate to unravel. Vibe is a real thing, and sometimes it is safer or smarter to hold it together. But that doesn’t mean the default always has to be ‘I’m fine.’ Bottling it all up, that’s not healthy either.

So, how do we find the balance? Between being real and protecting our peace? Between sharing and oversharing? I don’t have all the answers. But I think it starts with us becoming more comfortable with honesty and not shying away when someone else shows us theirs. Maybe we don’t need to offer solutions or fix everything. Perhaps just being there is enough.

So, next time someone asks, ‘How are you?’ maybe pause before answering. Perhaps we ask ourselves, How am I really? And if we have the space to answer honestly, we probably should. And if someone answers us with something tangible, maybe we choose to stay with them in it.

We’re only human after all.