The Site Would Seem to Contradict This, But I Hate Asking for Things

How did I get here?

I mean, as a struggling neurodivergent writer who may have lost his chequing account, is suffering through a broken tooth, has shoes with holes, can’t make texts or calls from his cell phone, owes his kids money, and must daily convince himself he’s not a failure.

The neurodivergent part I understand; I was born with that.

But if I’d known I was AuDHD (autistic and ADHD) for the past 47 years, I might not have carried so much shame about not fitting in or struggling with time blindness, executive function, social interactions, rejection sensitivity, meeting deadlines, emotional dysregulation, or handling basic tasks.

I’m not here to make excuses. But working against my own brain for nearly five decades inevitably led to burnout, anxiety, depression, and self-doubt. And oodles of imposter syndrome, but I think you get the point.

For years, I silently struggled. Even when I was landing steady work where I was writing for well-paying sites and magazines, crafting copy for big companies, and feeling confident I was on my way to bigger clients and a larger audience, the cracks were forming.

Then I crashed.

I didn’t have the tools or strategies to sustain a career while navigating life with my AuDHD brain. Now, I have debt, stress, shame, and desperation.

I’m still trying to find a therapist who works specifically with neurodivergent people. My previous therapist was great, but we hit a ceiling once it became clear that most of my challenges came from being overwhelmed in a world not designed for this kind of wiring.

I’m confident that it will come together soon. I’m collecting new tools for my toolbox, building confidence, and learning self-compassion.

I do have work. I’m writing an article for a magazine that’s older than I am, and I’m genuinely excited about that. I also have a regular gig with Video Librarian.

But things are still rough.

If miracles exist, one would involve enough magical money to pay off my debts, resurrect my chequing account, and actually afford Christmas gifts, help with family finances, get new shoes, a working phone plan, and maybe surgery for my tooth.

At this point, even having enough to start pecking away at the haunting debt would feel like a win.

I hate being in this spot. I hate feeling helpless. And I hate that burnout means I’m not as productive as I want to be, though I am getting work done, and I need to acknowledge those small wins.

Still, I need more work.

I’m pitching. I’m applying. But if you’re looking for a creative and imaginative writer, someone who can craft engaging ad copy, write thoughtful pieces blending parenting, mental health, and pop culture, or even spin an original story, I’ve got you covered.

I’m also offering 800-word personalized short stories for $200 (negotiable). They make wonderful, one-of-a-kind holiday gifts.

And though I hate doing this (it always makes me feel dirtier than Oscar the Grouch’s trash can) I’ll accept donations. Think of them as pre-payments for my upcoming Patreon or Substack paid tiers.

Support links:
☕ Ko-fi
✉️ Substack (pledge now for paid tier)
💸 PayPal

I’ve avoided asking for help for decades, and that’s part of why I’m here now. So I’m reaching out, just in case there’s a kind billionaire looking to give a creative some support, or a long-time reader who wants to show their appreciation.

Thank you.