Freya has this thing she does when her energy is off.
She’ll grab her fluffy blanket, take herself to one of two spaces in the house (generally on ‘her’ beanbag), sit herself down and suckle. It’s her way of saying: “I need to regulate. Give me a few moments.”
And honestly? She’s better at recognising when she needs a reset than I’ve been for most of my life.
These days, I’m learning to pay attention to those signals too — in myself, not just my dog.
The Early Days: Trying to “Fix” Myself
When I was diagnosed with ADHD and autism at 45, I did what a lot of newly diagnosed people do.
I went into an information deep-dive.
I researched “ADHD-friendly routines.” I read about sleep hygiene, nutrition hacks, planning tips and time management systems. I bought books, downloaded apps and enrolled in courses. I followed the algorithm which delivered me so much ADHD content. And I told myself if I had ‘all of the information and knowledge’ I’d have everything solved.
Spoiler: You can’t out-plan your neurology.
What I’ve learned since then is that building a healthier life with ADHD isn’t about fixing yourself or forcing your brain into neurotypical systems — something I spent years doing pre-diagnosis.
It’s about finding what actually works for your brain and body — even when it looks different from what you “should” be doing.
And sometimes, it’s about giving yourself permission to stop things that aren’t working, even when you’ve already invested time, money, or effort into them.
The Pilates Story (Or: When “Healthy” Isn’t Actually Healthy)
Last year, I started reformer Pilates.
It seemed like a good idea. Everyone said it would help with core strength, posture, alignment. I wanted to feel stronger in my body after years of burnout.
For a while, I enjoyed it.
But then I started noticing something. I’d leave class feeling… off. Shaky. Sometimes tearful. One day, I found myself crying during a session, and not being able to stop — not from exertion, but from something deeper. This happened a few times.
My body was trying to tell me something.
It turned out that Pilates was making me stronger in some ways, sure — but it was also triggering my PTSD, aggravating my hypermobility, and ignoring my body’s actual needs around proprioception and regulation.
And so I stopped.
And it felt like failure at first. I’d paid for the classes. I’d committed. I’d told people I was doing it. I kept getting told ‘it will be good for your stability’.
But here’s what I know: Just because something is “good for you” doesn’t mean it’s good for YOUR body.
I’ve gone back to basics.
Gentle movement. Walking. Yoga stretching.
Working with a physio and an exercise physiologist who’s teaching me foundational things — like how to actually walk and move my body through space in ways that work with my hypermobility and neurodivergent brain, not against it.
Plus, they show me the exercises, provide me with tactile cues, and videos to follow at home, plus regular check-ins and tailoring.
It’s slower. It’s less impressive. But it’s what my body needs. And that’s what matters.
What’s Actually Helped (The Non-Prescriptive Version)
I don’t have a perfect system. I don’t have 10 steps that will transform your life. What I have is a collection of things I’ve learned through trial, error, and a lot of self-compassion.
Here’s what’s made a difference for me — not because they’re “right,” but because they fit my brain and my body.
Protein and hydration (especially with electrolytes)
This was a game-changer I didn’t see coming.
Protein at breakfast — especially for my ADHD brain — makes everything clearer. Without it, I’m foggy as hell. It’s also good for perimenopausal women, which, surprise, I am.
Hydration with electrolytes has been fairly new for me, but it packs a punch.
I’m learning I’m hypermobile and likely have POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome — something that’s becoming more recognised in ADHDers).
Electrolytes help.
So does a good water bottle that makes drinking water easier and more pleasurable. (I got a Yeti for New Year’s that can go in the dishwasher to accompany my other water bottles on cleaning rotation. It’s one of those small things that actually works.)
Eating all the colours (and fibre)
This isn’t about rigid meal plans.
It’s about nourishing my body in ways that support my energy, mood, hormones and gut health.
Colours. Fibre. Real food when I can manage it.
And when I can’t? That’s okay too.
Cooking and meal prep (simplified)
Cooking is challenging. Executive dysfunction is real.
So I simplify. Batch cooking. Body doubling with my husband. One-pot meals. List of easy-to-go-to meals to ease decision fatigue.
Sometimes, frozen curries or delivered gluten-free ready meals.
The goal isn’t perfection. It’s feeding myself in ways that don’t drain me.
Movement — my way
I’m not a “class girl” for fitness. I’ve tried. It doesn’t work for me.
What does work:
- Walking with Freya (though I’ve learned to say no when my body is too tired — which makes me sad, but my body matters too)
- Practising walking my new way on my new treadmill at speed 5 or less instead of 6
- Gentle yoga, rotation and stretching
- Working with a neuro-affirming exercise physiologist who understands hypermobility
- Not pushing myself to walk 1-2 hours every day just because I “should” or because Freya wants it or because I love it but I just can’t drive today!
Movement matters. But so does listening to my body.
Capacity planning and energy management
This has been one of the biggest shifts.
I’ve gone back to spoon theory and capacity planning — asking “What do I actually have capacity for today?” instead of “What should I be doing?”
I plan in quarters now, not years. I time-block with flexibility built in. I schedule rest and space first, because if it’s not in the calendar, it doesn’t happen.
And I’ve learned that my capacity fluctuates. Daily. Weekly. Monthly. That’s not a failing. It’s just how my nervous system works.
Understanding my sensory profile
Learning about my sensory needs has been life-changing.
Why fluorescent lights drain me. Why open offices feel overwhelming. Why soft textures, flowy pants, and fluffy blankets aren’t indulgent — they’re regulation tools.
Freya suckles her fluffy blanket to regulate. I have my own version. Comfort isn’t optional. It’s essential.
Building a support team
For years, I tried to do it all myself.
Now, I have a mostly neuro-affirming team: my psychologist, chiropractor, physiotherapist, exercise physiologist, hormone doctor, GP, and my ADHD coach supervisor.
It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign that I’m taking my health seriously.
And honestly?
Having people who understand my brain and body has made all the difference.
The INCUP Framework (Or: Why Things Stop Working)
Here’s something I wish I’d known earlier: If something stops working, it’s not because you’re not trying hard enough.
ADHD brains need novelty. Interest. Challenge. A sense of urgency or purpose.
That’s where the INCUP framework comes in:
- Interest — Does this feel engaging?
- Novelty — Is there something new here?
- Challenge — Is it the right level of difficulty?
- Urgency — Is there a reason to do it now?
- Purposeful — Does it align with what matters to me?
When something stops working — a routine, a system, a habit — it’s often because one of these elements has shifted.
The answer isn’t to push harder. It’s to be curious and experiment. Mix things up. Gamify. Try something different. Or give yourself a break.
Don’t judge yourself. Be curious.
Structure, Systems, Supports, and Strategies
For ADHD, AuDHD, and autistic people, these four S’s are essential:
Structure — Not rigid, but enough to feel held
Systems — That work with your brain, not against it
Supports — People, tools, accommodations
Strategies — Flexible approaches you can adapt
They’re not about fixing yourself. They’re pillars that support a healthier, more sustainable life.
And they’re allowed to change as you change.
Permission to Do Things Differently
If there’s one thing I want you to take from this, it’s this:
You don’t need to do it the way everyone else does.
You’re allowed to:
- Say no to things that don’t work for your body (even if they’re “healthy”)
- Need a support team
- Have routines that look different from week to week
- Rest without earning it
- Mix things up when something stops working
- Build a life that fits your brain, not someone else’s idea of what you should be doing
This isn’t about lowering standards. It’s about setting standards that don’t cost you your health.
What Freya Taught Me
Back to Freya and her blanket.
She knows when she needs to move. She knows when she needs to rest. She knows when her energy is off and what helps her regulate.
She doesn’t judge herself for it. She just… does it.
I’m still learning that lesson.
But these days, when she grabs her blanket or drops that ball at my feet, I pay attention.
Not just to her needs — but to mine too.
If you’re navigating your own journey of building a life that fits your brain — with all the trial, error, and messy reality that comes with it — you’re not alone. Coaching can be a space to figure out what actually works for you. No pressure. Just support when you need it.
