The Eternal Revolving Door

Almost every day during high school, I woke up convinced that this would be the day I turned it all around. I was going to be a “good” student. I’d hand in every assignment, attend every class, and finally transform from “wasted potential” into someone who lived up to expectations.

I doubt most people realized this ritual played out daily. From the outside, it probably looked like I didn’t care. But inside, I was wrestling with who I was perceived to be versus who I desperately wanted to become.

I was still haunted by elementary school report cards filled with words like daydreaming, distractible, careless, and unfocused. I couldn’t shake the sting of classmates who had labeled me awkward, stupid, and untalented.

And so, part of me believed that if I never handed anything in, no one could discover the truth: that everyone who thought I had potential was wrong, and the bullies were right all along.

University seemed, at first, like I had finally broken the cycle. I earned top marks in my first few semesters and even won a scholarship. But as the years went on, the cracks reappeared. Assignments left unfinished. Grades lower than they should have been. The old patterns chased me all the way to the teacher's college.  

Now, looking back, my life has felt like an endless revolving door — missing the exit, or stepping out at the wrong time, only to circle back in again. I start each day determined that it will be different. I end too many of them feeling like I failed again.

But today, at least, I have explanations.

Not excuses — though people often accused me of making them. Explanations.

Not knowing I was autistic and ADHD meant I couldn’t understand how I could want something so badly, yet fall apart when it was time to do it. Why I needed things to be “just right” before starting. Why I lost track of time, or abandoned ideas halfway, or froze under the pressure of a deadline until panic was the only fuel that got me moving.

There were reasons behind the panic attacks. Behind the burnout. Behind the shame.

Knowing this doesn’t stop the revolving door from spinning, but it does allow me to be more compassionate with myself. It helps me see that what works for everyone else might not work for me. And that’s okay.

My creativity, imagination, and quirks mean I can do things my own way — and I can tackle challenges my own way, too.

So, thank you, readers, for being patient with me over the years. I’m still learning the tools and strategies to work with my brain rather than against it. I want Beyond the Balcony to grow — not into something perfect, but into something honest. Messy, quirky, funny, thoughtful. A reflection of who I really am.

If you’ve enjoyed the ride so far, I’d love your continued support — whether that’s reading, sharing, commenting, or, if you’re so moved, donating through PayPal.

I’ll keep being vulnerable. I’ll keep exploring pop culture as a way of understanding myself and the world around me. And together, maybe we’ll find that the revolving door can finally open to something new.