Why Do I Have to Keep Explaining Myself?
The emotional labour of proving a struggle no one can see.
I keep seeing a familiar question — in support groups, forums, and conversations with other ADHDers:
“How do I explain my executive dysfunction better… to my partner? To my boss? To my parent?”
The situation varies. But the pattern is the same.
Someone is overwhelmed. They’ve already tried to explain what’s happening in their brain.
They’re not being lazy, careless, or unmotivated.
They’re drowning.
And still, they’re being asked to explain it better — as if the issue is clarity, not compassion.
And more recently, my first thought has shifted from:
“How do we explain this better?”
to something quieter — but firmer:
Why are they the one doing all the explaining?
🧠 When you have to prove your brain
This is one of the most exhausting dynamics of ADHD and executive dysfunction:
You don’t just live with the struggle.
You also have to defend it.
You explain why the laundry didn’t get folded.
Why the report is still open.
Why you’re late again — even though you tried.
Why you forgot something you deeply care about.
Why a simple task feels like a mountain.
You explain.
Then explain again.
Then collapse from the emotional weight of still not being believed.
🧍♀️ Performance in exchange for permission
Living with executive dysfunction often means performing just well enough to keep people comfortable.
If you look like you’re coping, you must be fine.
If you can explain your struggle, you’re too articulate to be struggling.
If you can’t explain it, you’re overreacting or not making sense.
You can’t win.
So many of us learn to perform wellness just enough to be accepted — then crash behind closed doors. Quietly. Alone.
🧍♂️ When even your people don’t get it
There’s a deeper kind of pain when the people closest to you — your partner, your family, your friends — still don’t understand.
Sometimes it’s because they’ve never heard the words.
Sometimes it’s because they don’t want to.
There’s a big difference between someone who’s confused but curious —
and someone who’s dismissive, defensive, or unwilling to learn.
If you’ve explained — honestly, vulnerably — and the response is irritation, disbelief, or withdrawal…
that’s not about lack of information.
That’s about lack of effort.
💭 The real question
So when someone asks:
“How can I explain this better?”
Sometimes the better question is:
Why am I the only one trying to understand what’s happening?
Why is the emotional labour mine — again?
Why aren’t they Googling “executive dysfunction”?
Why aren’t they sitting down and saying, “I haven’t been listening. I want to do better”?
🪨 Being believed shouldn’t require burnout
You shouldn’t have to collapse to be taken seriously.
Or intellectualise your trauma to earn empathy.
Or write an essay to justify your own lived experience.
You shouldn’t have to keep explaining yourself at all.
Being believed the first time — that’s what safety feels like.
⚠️ And sometimes, it’s not them — it’s everything we’ve carried
Here’s the harder truth:
Sometimes, we are believed.
The person sitting across from us does understand.
They’re doing the work. They care.
But it still feels like we’re not being heard.
Because of RSD.
Because of internalised ableism.
Because we’ve spent years being misunderstood, dismissed, or punished for how our brain works.
So even in safe spaces, we find ourselves over-explaining.
Just in case.
To stay ahead of rejection.
To prove we’re worth the grace we’re finally being offered.
It’s not a flaw. It’s a wound.
And it deserves healing — not more pressure to perform.
🧵 For me, this started with my child’s diagnosis
When my eldest and I were both diagnosed, I went straight into explainer mode.
I wanted to prevent judgment.
To protect us both.
To manage the narrative.
Sometimes that voice still slips out — even now.
But I’m unlearning it.
Our normal is still normal. It’s just different.
We don’t owe anyone a perfectly crafted explanation to be respected.
Sometimes it’s enough to live the truth — and let others do the work to meet us there.
💬 Final thought
If you’re someone who constantly explains yourself —
to your boss, your partner, your family, even your doctor —
You deserve support without interrogation.
You deserve relationships where you don’t have to fight to be understood.
You deserve softness, not suspicion.
And if someone truly loves you,
they’ll stop asking for another explanation —
and start doing the work to understand what you’ve already said.
