There are days where I feel like a brilliant father.
Present, engaged, silly, focused, warm.
And there are days — sometimes just hours later — where I feel burned out, empty, unable to give any more. Not because I don’t love you. But because my brain runs differently.

I have what’s called inattentive ADHD.
It’s not the hyper kind people usually think of — I’m not bouncing off the walls or constantly interrupting.
Instead, it’s quiet. Subtle. Invisible to most. But it’s always there, pulling at my focus, draining my battery just from managing the everyday noise of life.

And parenting — as wonderful as it is — is a lot of noise.
Emotionally, mentally, physically.

How It Feels Inside

When I know you’re coming over, I feel excited — I genuinely do.
But my body also tenses. I go into this state of readiness, even if you’re not arriving for hours. It’s like my brain goes, “Hold on — we’ll need all our power for this.”
So I stop relaxing. I stop resting.
And by the time you’re here, I’ve already spent half my energy waiting to need it.

It’s weird, I know.
And it’s not your fault. Or mine.
It’s just how my system works.

What I Want You to Know

Sometimes, when I go quiet, or seem a little distant — it’s not about you.
I’m not bored. I’m not annoyed.
I’m just trying to recharge enough to stay present with you.

And sometimes I don’t manage it in time.
Sometimes I parent from the leftovers — and that’s the part that breaks my heart a little.
Because I want to give you more than that.
And I will — I just need to learn how to pace myself properly.

You Might Be Like Me, Too

Maybe you’ve noticed that sometimes your thoughts race, or you forget things easily.
Maybe you feel overwhelmed in loud places.
Maybe it’s hard to sit still when your body says “go.”

It’s possible your brain works a little like mine. And if it does — there’s nothing wrong with that.

You don’t need to be fixed. You need to be understood.
And I’ll do my best to make sure you always feel that from me — even when I get it wrong.

A Note to Myself

If you’re reading this again one day, future me:
Don’t forget why you wrote it.
Not everything needs explaining in the moment — but you deserve to be known.
You parent from love, even when your energy runs thin.
And slowing down is not failure — it’s a kindness to you both.

This isn’t an apology.
It’s an offering.
A way of saying: “Here’s how I work. Here’s how I care. Here’s how we grow.”

And that’s enough.