I was trained, without ever being told directly, to sacrifice my needs in order to feel loved. To become invisible, calm, useful—while still somehow always under the microscope.
Everyone I met seemed to believe they had the right to fix me. And because they could all see things I couldn’t do well, I assumed they must be right.

And it’s no wonder, really, that my self-worth eroded before it had the chance to form. Because I’ve never been loved in my wholeness—only in my compliance.

What I thought was support was often control disguised as care.

The Ideal Me

Somewhere along the line, I built a fantasy self.

That if I could just:

  • Be more organised
  • Be emotionally balanced
  • Be productive, tidy, strong, regulated…

Then finally I’d be worthy. Then someone would stay.

I can trace this back to moments with my parents—when I did exactly what they asked, and for a brief second, I felt the warmth of approval. It never lasted. It wasn’t real love. It was transactional attachment.
And I internalised that my identity was a problem to be solved.

But What If I’m Not Broken?

Lately I’ve been learning that my ADHD traits aren’t moral failings. They’re just… traits. Differences. A different nervous system.

And maybe the way people responded to them—through shame, criticism, mockery—was never about me.

Maybe my parents didn’t understand their own shame.
Maybe my ex-partner called me broken because my realness reflected something she couldn’t face in herself.
Maybe the friends I had weren’t really friends—they just liked that I didn’t take up too much space.

And maybe I’ve never truly been loved for who I am… because I’ve never felt safe enough to show who that is.

So Here I Am

I’m tired of chasing a better version of myself.
The version that finally earns love.
The version that doesn’t get dysregulated.
The version that’s not too much or too scattered or too sensitive.

I’m not interested in becoming “better.”
I’m interested in becoming more fully me.

And I’m learning—slowly—that the people who stay when I do that are the only ones who ever mattered.

A Quiet Goodbye

So this is a quiet goodbye to the Ideal Me.
You kept me safe. You got me this far. But I don’t need you anymore.

I’m not broken.
I’m not lazy.
I’m not too much.

I’m just someone who has never been truly met.
But I’m starting to meet myself.
And maybe, one day, someone else will too.

Not because I’m perfect.
But because I’ve finally stopped trying to be.