This is the post I’ve been avoiding writing. Not because I don’t know what to say, but because it means telling you about the bed. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗩𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗮 𝗔𝘁 𝟭𝗽𝗺 I’m lying on my bed. My chest feels like there’s an elephant sitting on it. My jaw is clenched so tight my cheeks ache and my teeth are sore. My eyes are swollen and blurry from three days of crying I can’t stop. My whole body is heavy — the kind of heavy where even rolling over feels like too much. It’s 1pm. The sun is blazing outside. Birds are singing. White walls around me, the floor fan oscillating past, sliding doors open to the light pouring in. Geckos clicking somewhere on the wall, the faint thump of Balinese music drifting over from the hotel down the road, the odd moped buzzing past in the distance. My phone screen is dark, unopened messages piling up, notifications pinging through that I can’t bring myself to look at. A bottle of water sits untouched on the nightstand. 𝗪𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗦𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗛𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗕𝗲𝗲𝗻 This is meant to be paradise. This is the villa I chose. There’s a version of this exact afternoon where I’m on the sun lounger with the sun warming my body, taking dips in the pool to cool off, doing a bit of work, spending quality time with Lily — enjoying life instead of just surviving it. That version of today is happening for someone, somewhere on this island. It is not happening for me. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗩𝗼𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝗜𝗻 𝗠𝘆 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱 Instead there’s a voice on loop, over and over: “What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel like this? I just want to feel normal. I just want to embrace the life I started to create here in Bali. I want to be the best mum possible for my kids, the best nana possible for my grandkids.” Worrying about everyone back home. Feeling so alone. Constantly thinking there must be something wrong with me, because I am in this absolutely beautiful place, surrounded by beautiful people, and I still feel so alone and so broken that the smallest thing is tipping me over the edge. Three weeks before this, I’d have told you I was thriving. Working, out most nights, socialising till the early hours, up again at 6am to do it all again. Then my body sent the bill — a kidney infection, then a brutal Endo flare on top of it. And underneath both of those, the thing that was really coming for me. Full-blown neurodivergent burnout. The kind that doesn’t care how put-together you usually are. It took whatever “I’m fine” mask I wear and stripped it clean off.

Ever Notice You Can Suddenly Get Things Done… When Someone Else Is Around? You’ve been stuck for hours. Avoiding the task.Overthinking the task.Feeling frozen by the task. Then somebody walks into the room… And suddenly your brain starts cooperating. That’s not laziness. That’s called 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴. If this helped you understand body doubling in neurodiversity, explore the rest of the A–Z of Neurodiversity (Round 2) for real talk, real life, no fluff. And if you’re navigating this as a mum or for yourself, you’re welcome inside Mums Embracing Neurodiversity 💗

I left her alone in the villa for the evening. Something I have never, ever done. Not because I didn't want to — because she couldn't bear it. Her whole nervous system wouldn't allow it. Until Bali. 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗟𝗜𝗙𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗗 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 Back in Bedford, I couldn't go out and do anything independently for more than an hour. Lily became fearful, scared, overwhelmed about being on her own. She wouldn't leave the house without someone with her. She couldn't be left in the house alone. Her anxiety was constant. Her outbursts were frequent. Her nervous system was dysregulated for most of her life — and we tried everything. Everything the UK had to offer. For years. 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞 Within the first week of being in Bali, I noticed something very different about Lily. Her outbursts were much less. Her overwhelm was much less. And her anxiety had more or less disappeared. I went shopping because she didn't want to come. I was out for a good couple of hours. She was perfectly fine. The first full weekend, I was invited out with friends for the evening. No children. I was nervous — this wasn't something I'd ever done. I went anyway. And she was happy to be left at the villa on her own. She didn't feel scared. She didn't feel overwhelmed. She didn't feel unsafe. That is huge. For a child whose nervous system has been so dysregulated for most of her life — that is enormous. 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗠𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗟 In five weeks, Lily has gone out on her own. Navigated crossing busy streets by herself. Got on the back of a motorbike with people she doesn't know. Been left at home alone in the evening. Gone to music events she's never experienced before. Gone to bars she's never experienced before. I asked her — would you have thought five weeks ago that you'd do any of this? A resounding no. She couldn't have imagined it. And honestly? Neither could I. I could dream it. I could hope for it. But to actually be living it, experiencing it, watching it happen in real time — fuck me. It's surreal. It's unreal. It is just so igniting.

She was still in her UK tracksuit when we landed in Bali. I'd told her to change on the plane. She didn't. The heat hit us like a wall the second we stepped off and I thought — yeah. That's about right. Nothing about this was going to go smoothly. 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗕𝗜𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗡𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗬 𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗗 𝗨𝗦 𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗪𝗘 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗗 Just before we got to passport control, I realised I hadn't done Lily's entrance forms. In all the chaos of leaving — the packing, the goodbyes, the absolute state of the last few weeks — I'd forgotten something completely basic. So there we were, standing in a queue at Denpasar airport, me on my phone frantically filling in forms so we could actually enter the country we'd just flown twelve hours to get to. And then the passport control officer looked at Lily's 30-day visa, looked at my two-year visa, and said — why has she only got 30 days if you've got two years? I could feel the panic rising. Shit. Are they going to turn us away? Have I done all of this and we're not even going to get through the door? Every worst case scenario hit me at once — and if you've got an AuDHD brain, you'll know that is not a small number of worst case scenarios. He let us through with a big smile. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗟𝗜𝗟𝗬'𝗦 𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧𝗖𝗔𝗦𝗘 𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗟 𝗔𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 We got to baggage collection and her suitcase had burst open on the plane. It was wrapped in a clear bag. The staff were lovely about it — came straight over, asked us to check everything, said they'd file a missing items report if needed. Luckily nothing was gone. But we were two big suitcases, two backpacks, two handbags, both sweating, Lily absolutely roasting in that tracksuit, and I'm thinking — we haven't even left the airport yet. 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗟 Our driver was a friend of our usual driver — lovely, really lovely. And the drive from Denpasar to Ubud, I just kept looking out the window. The statues. The greenery. The people on motorbikes carrying things you genuinely cannot believe are on a motorbike. It was surreal. Beautiful. Like nothing I'd ever seen in real life before, only in pictures I'd been staring at for fifteen years.