Scattered…or transitionning?


A mind racing, going through multiple directions at any given point. An inability to fully focus, fully finish anything.

A sense of getting lost in the immediate priority in front of your eyes – and forgetting everything else. Thoughts that collide in the middle of a sentence and have you pause mid-stream so that you remember what you initially intended to say, before that last thought just came in.

An inability to know what really matters to you anymore. A sense of questioning everything. Of being stuck in the familiar and wanting everything to stop and to go away so you can start anew, afresh.

A sense of overwhelm that has you on your knees some days. An anxiety about the future, an inability to project yourself that feels more relieving than a firm plan.

Sometimes wondering what the point of it all is, and whether you will ever see light at the end of the tunnel…

These are just some of the symptoms I live with on any given day.

Committing to any action feels challenging. Every now and then I try a new method to organise myself. A new ‘to-do list’. A new system.

And yet, nothing really changes. Barely anything gets done. The simple minimum, that is.

Old routines feel stale. There’s a desire to try new things, but not enough ability to commit to anything — to choose.

There’s a desire to be free from all forms. Even my meditation practice — once a refuge — ends up being a chaotic blend of practices that distract more than ground me…

Running, my lifelong companion, is slowly slipping away.

People keep on wanting to put a label on these behaviours.

“You’re sounding like ADHD to me.”
“This is menopause for you.”
“You’re still in grief and processing your divorce.”

And they’re probably right. Very likely, actually.

I remember feeling incredibly seen when I read Scattered Minds by Gabor Maté. My daughter has been diagnosed with ADHD, so yes — it probably runs in the family.
And yes, I’m 52. Post-menopausal.
And yes, there is still sadness from the divorce that lingers.

All of these may be true.

And yet — none of them feel like the whole story.

Because underneath the symptoms and labels, I sense something else is moving.

I’m in transition...

I know from where. I’m not sure to where.

And while part of me wants to fix it — to do the tests, to get the answers, to make it all go away — another part of me whispers: Don’t interfere. Just stay close. This matters.

A part of me senses there’s a deeper process at play, and that I just need to give it time.

It is okay to question everything.
It is okay to not know yet what is wanting to emerge.
It is okay to let go of what no longer fits.

Just be patient.
Let the answers come.
When you’re ready.

And I’m not quite ready yet…

This in-between isn’t comfortable — but it feels necessary.

It feels there are shadows I still need to explore. Times of my life I need to revisit.

It will come.

One day. My job now is to listen.
To listen to what is wanting to emerge.
It is also a time to listen to what is wanting to be let go of…

As I’m writing these words, my heart is shaking…

Can I sit with that discomfort?

Can I trust that this season isn’t a waste — that it’s part of something forming, quietly, beneath the surface?

I’m not sure.
But I hope so.

I will still explore the ADHD path. The anxiety. The hormones.
It doesn’t hurt.

It’s all part of the story.
Everything can co-exist.

But for now, I’m choosing to take it one day at a time.
To listen for what wants to emerge.
To let the letting go happen in its own time.
When I’m ready…

If you’ve felt this kind of scatteredness — the discomfort of not knowing, the ache to pause but not fall behind — you’re not alone.

You can reply here, or just sit with it.
Sometimes naming it is enough.