Poetry as refuge, AuDHD shutdowns, internalised ableism, and the urge to apologise

It’s not a particularly beautiful day. It's bright, enough that I have to squint, but not sunny, and there's a grey quality to the air, not quite a haze, but a drabness. It’s warm/ish, with a slight breeze. The kind of temp that’ll have you pulling on a jumper when you’re still but pulling it right back off again as soon as you start moving. It’s not t-shirt weather but I’m out in a t-shirt, plus welly boots, and waders; the jet wash whirrs, kicks off as I release the handle then starts as I depress it again. I’m washing holds for the climbing wall, spraying the tops then turning them over with my feet to get at the undersides. Each time I finish one, push it to the side and reach for another with my left foot, a small, sharp pain fires in my right knee, enough to be uncomfortable, not enough to change what I’m doing. Deep electronica plays through my headphones, just a playlist I found on Spotify but it's good. I’m deep tired, back of my brain tired, close my eyes and sink tired, but just beneath the surface I’m also uncomfortable, unsettled, itching for some kind of excitement: the lovely paradox. I finish this hold, pull another towards me. The track I’m listening to fades into a moment’s white noise, then the next. There’s a funny feeling on the back of my head, like a patch of my scalp is extra sensitive; every so often the breeze moves my hair, causes a prickling sensation.

I’m thinking about this Substack, how it’s been silent for two weeks now. I’m sitting with the desire to apologise; questioning the necessity and what's driving that desire.

I’ve lost two weeks. If you read ‘Preparing for not writing’ you’ll know I had a big chunk of work coming up at the end of April I was doing my best to prep for. I pre-wrote some posts for here, prepped my expectations around how much capacity I’d have and what I could achieve, planned when I’d rest, sought support from my partner…

I forgot to prepare for the fall out afterwards.

I actually got through that period remarkably well. And then it was over and I thought, great, things can get back to ‘normal’. Wrong. Because all that capacity I’d used up didn't just magically refill as soon as the stuff I’d prepped for was over. And I still had to move rooms in my houseshare (so our new housemate could take my bigger room and I can pay slightly less rent), finish my MFA essay (due on the 5th and sooo much more complex than I’d originally planned), run Space Poetic, contact potential dissertation supervisors, and go to my upcoming shifts.

Unsurprisingly, I folded. Things got messy, tasks like washing didn't get done, I struggled with food and getting dressed and getting out of bed, I moved all my stuff into the new room then stayed at my partners house, I tried to write my essay and struggled to stay engaged for longer than a sentence, I went to work, I had an intense conversation with my housemate about things in our house (less ominous than it sounds!), I recognised I was close to burning out and tried to mitigate by cancelling plans with friends and reducing jobs like the printing for the Space Poetic gallery, and then my body ran out of capacity entirely and I had a shutdown day.

My AuDHD shutdowns look like waking up with a bad feeling deep, deep inside. My head is foggy and thick; the world feels impossibly, unbearably heavy. I cry, almost from the moment I wake up; everything is broken, irreparable; my life is desolate. Tasks as small as brushing my teeth feel inescapably huge, draining, any multi-stage tasks are impossible. The heaviness bleeds through my limbs, makes the weight of my body feel insurmountable. I can't access any kind of motivation, I am hopeless, unable to even approach meeting any commitment, anything world demands from me. My head is strangely quiet, I feel as if I’m viewing everything from a distance, peering out from far behind my eyes; I am both there and not there. There are things I might say, but they get lost before they reach my mouth. I cannot bear to interact with the world; the thought of trying to socialise fills me with dread. I am slow, the air is thick, plans and appointments get cancelled.

(Please note this is my individual experience, other people will experience shutdown differently and I do not suggest my experience is universal)

I lost that day. Unfortunately it was the deadline to submit an application for New Northern Poets which I had so, so, so wanted to apply for. An opportunity lost, but I had to shrug that disappointment off; this is how it goes sometimes.

After that it’s a case of re-prioritising. I need a space that feels like a refuge rather than a room I don't connect with sporting a large pile of my belongings, I need slow and I need quiet, and I need to get my essay finished. I cancel a trip I’ve really been looking forward to (hiking in the Lake District with friends over a rare bank holiday off work) and use the time to stay home and do those things. I also care for and repot my plants. These things help.

It was with a giant measure of relief that I hit submit on my essay mid-afternoon on Tuesday. And then a wave of joy because what's next is my creative dissertation; yep, a whole heap of creative writing! I did some house things, some writing, ran Poet's Nest. And since then I’ve done some working, some recouping, some slow solo time, and I feel like I’m approaching a kind of normal again. For me, at least.

Which brings me to this Substack, which I care deeply about but have barely been able to interact with, and the desire to apologise, which I feel the need to interrogate. Because what am I apologising for? Would I feel such a need if I’d had the flu for two weeks? There's something about apologising for the ways my neurodivergence interacts with a world that isn't set up for it that feels inherently ableist of me. There's an unspoken suggestion that I could have done better, should do better next time, won't let it happen again. But the truth is it will happen again. No matter how good I get at looking after myself, spotting the signs, and managing my capacity, as a working class person also trying to develop her art and build a career from it I’m always going to come up against conflicts and time pressures because what society wants from me and I want from life are at odds and I don't have the resources not to play the game. That's ok, that's just how it is, but it means I need to be prepared for what that does to my body and my nervous system and my capacity at times, be gentle and kind to myself, and be grateful for all the wins. Did you know I used to lose a day a week to shutdowns? A whole day, every week. I’m so grateful for how much I’ve learnt this past year and for the support I now have that's brought that number down to roughly one a month.

So I’m not apologising, even though I feel drawn to. Dear friends, if you’ve been following Poet Notes for a while you’ll have come across me discussing AuDHD before, though maybe not as explicitly as this, and if you’re new here (because quite a few are) then Hi and Welcome and This is who I am, and what you can expect is big love and lots of engagement when I’m able, and some small periods of silence when I’m not.

Incredibly, during these last two weeks, Poet Notes has hit over 100 subscribers! I’m so stoked this site is connecting with people, and that you're interested and engaged in what I’m trying to build here, and so grateful you're joining me on the journey that is poetry and life and slowly building a poetry-focused life.

Which brings me super neatly onto the final part of this post. How poetry has been a gorgeous, quiet refuge this whole time.

During April and this first bit of May I’ve written almost 50 new drafts! Amid the stress and the burnout finding a few minutes most days (not every day, I don't hold myself to doing anything except brushing my teeth every day) to sit and write has been invaluable. The page has become a soft, peaceful space to decompress, put aside the day for a little while and just be, just write, think about images and scenes and how things fit together - or don't. My writing practice has been a lifeline in a way I haven’t experienced in a long time. I’d forgotten it could be like this, and I’m so grateful to have remembered it now.

Many of these poems will form the basis of my creative dissertation, which I’m hoping will also become my first published pamphlet. They’re about, among other things, birds and living with neurodivergence and the relationship with the self, and it’s been and continues to be both cathartic and joyous working on them. I’m still drafting, and even when I’ve got as many drafts as I want for this project I hope I remember this joy and keep gifting myself these pockets of time to write just for the sake of writing.

Some of these poems will likely get smushed together in editing, some will make it into the diss, and others will fall by the wayside or be saved for later projects. Whatever happens with them, the process of writing them has been the blessing, rather than the outcome (though I’m pretty happy with the outcome too) and that’s a remembrance I’d like to hold to my chest.

If you got this far, thanks for reading - I see you and I appreciate you, thank you for being part of Poet Notes.

Happy writing friends :)

P.S. I saw a rabbit the other day! Remember when I found out about that awful rabbit disease in ‘Where are all the rabbits?’? Rabbits are returning - another reason for joy :)

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Photo from a walk in my local park - nature is also a refuge space for me