TL;DR (Too Long, Didn’t Read): ADHD brains don’t just struggle to let go — they cling to emotionally intense experiences because those emotions are stimulating. Emotional intensity lights up the reward system, making it easy to get stuck in loops of rumination, fixation, and fantasy. The trick isn’t to “let it go” — it’s to redirect the brain with structure, curiosity, and compassion.
I went through a breakup — and judging by how stuck I’ve been, you’d think it ended recently. But it didn’t.
The truth is, it’s been over for a while. But for reasons I couldn’t figure out, I just wasn’t moving on, no matter how much time passed.
And then, a couple weeks ago it finally clicked: these reasons were actually just one reason and that reason was ADHD.
It all started when I met up with the person I shared that relationship with. Seeing where they were at in their process—and where I was at in mine—was…humbling, to say the least.
They were grounded. Happily in a new relationship. Completely moved on.
And I…wasn’t.
The contrast between their closure and mine (or lack thereof) forced me to sit with myself and ask a hard question:
What was going on in my brain that’s keeping me stuck here?
After a few days of spiralling in my old default narrative…
…I began remembering everything I know about the ADHD brain. Everything I teach. Everything I’ve seen in my clients.
And when I applied it to this situation, it hit me:
I wasn’t just experiencing a breakup.
I was experiencing a breakup through an ADHD brain.
And honestly?
The ADHD Brain Craves Stimulation—Even When It Hurts
One of the most important things to understand about ADHD is that our brains aren’t always chasing what feels good. They’re chasing what feels intense – what lights up the system enough to feel engaged.
This comes back to how our brains process reward. For many of us with ADHD, the internal systems that produce and regulate dopamine—the brain’s “feel good” and motivation chemical—tend to be under-responsive. Everyday things that satisfy most people? They often don’t move the needle for us. So instead, we go looking for more—more stimulation, more emotion, more urgency—anything that might generate enough dopamine to wake our systems up.
And when something emotionally charged shows up—like a breakup, an argument, or an ambiguous, unresolved ending—our brains latch on. Because emotional intensity is deeply stimulating. Uncertainty, rejection, longing—these aren’t just feelings. They are biochemical events that trigger a flood of dopamine.
When I finally realized these looping thoughts were nothing more than my ADHD brain doing what it’s wired to do – self-stimulate in whatever way possible – I felt my whole body exhale.
And I stopped taking the bait.
The thoughts didn’t disappear overnight. But I stopped reacting to them the same way. I stopped assuming they meant something. I stopped mistaking them for truth, or longing, or unfinished business.
And in response, my brain started feeding me those thoughts less and less.
Because without the emotional charge, my brain wasn’t getting the dopamine it was searching for. And without the dopamine, there was no reason for my brain to keep pushing the replay button.
Key message: Not every obsessive thought is a sign of unresolved feelings or true longing. Sometimes, it’s just an ADHD brain chasing stimulation and dressing it up as something more.
Hyperfocus, Rumination & Fantasy: A Love Triangle I Didn’t Ask For
Not taking the bait is powerful. But let’s be real — it’s also hard as hell. Especially with an ADHD brain’s tendency to hyperfocus.
While ADHD is known for distractibility, many of us also experience its opposite: laser-sharp, all-consuming focus on one thing — especially if it’s emotionally loaded. Breakups (or any kind of conflict), with their unresolved tension and emotional complexity, are ripe for this kind of mental lock-in.
They hook us. And suddenly we’re back in the loop — replaying conversations, imagining different outcomes, hunting for emotional resolution that never comes. It feels like we’re doing something. Like if we just think about it hard enough, we’ll finally figure it out. But all we’re really doing is reinforcing the loop — and digging ourselves deeper into the same trench.
And for those of us with creative, storytelling minds? That loop gets even trickier to break.
I have a brain that loves to tell stories—and boy, did heartbreak give it one hell of a plot to work with.
This creativity, while beautiful in the right contexts, can easily spiral into elaborate emotional narratives. In fact, many ADHDers report getting stuck in vivid fantasies as a way to access connection — even if it's only imagined.
Maybe it starts with a TV character or a passing crush, and suddenly the brain runs wild, building entire emotional arcs out of daydreams. Even when we know it’s not real, the feelings are — and they can be intense. This is sometimes referred to as ADHD limerence: “an involuntary cognitive and emotional state that involves an extreme romantic desire for someone.” While limerence isn’t exclusive to ADHD, it shows up often in our community — especially when real-world connection feels scary, inconsistent, or hard to access.
But it doesn’t stop with fantasy.
That same pattern — the imaginative storytelling, the idealization, the emotional looping — can just as easily show up in real relationships, too. Even ones that were, at one point, mutual and deeply felt. When the connection ends, the ADHD brain can keep the narrative going. It starts replaying the highlights, romanticizing what was, and editing the pain right out of the frame — or, just as often, casting the other person as the villain. It turns lived experience into something almost mythical — a love story you’re still stuck inside, long after the other person has left the page.
In the end, you’re not just grieving the person you lost — you’re grieving a reality that never existed.
And when I remembered that — when I connected it back to the times I’d done this before with imagined people or storylines — something shifted. My brain gladly let go, because I saw so clearly that this had nothing to do with the person I dated— and everything to do with my brain’s old patterns.
It wasn’t longing. It wasn’t unfinished business. It was a well-worn neural groove.
Self-Narration: A Simple, Science-Backed Exit Strategy
Once I understood what my brain was doing — chasing stimulation, fixating on emotional intensity, getting tangled in fantasy — the next step was to interrupt the cycle in the moment.
I knew that letting the thought go wasn’t going to cut it (because good luck with that when you have an ADHD brain).
I was going to have to crowd the thought out instead.
Self-narration (AKA mindfulness) is the most effective way I’ve found to do this. It’s the practice of mentally describing what you’re doing in real time.
I’m walking to the sink. I’m rinsing a glass. I’m stepping with my left foot. I’m breathing in.
It might sound silly, but it’s backed by brain science. ADHD minds often struggle with switching between brain networks — especially the default mode network (DMN), which is linked to rumination, self-focused thinking, and mind-wandering. But when we narrate our actions, we help activate the task-positive network (TPN) — the system that supports present-moment awareness.
And here’s the best part: because ADHD brains move so fast, we don’t need to self-narrate for long. Just a few seconds is usually enough to let the thought pass…before your brain offers up a new one, like the sudden urge to alphabetize your tea collection right before a Zoom call.
So as always, dear reader, my message to you is this:
You’re not broken.
You’re not crazy.
You’re not self-sabotaging.
You’re just living with an ADHD brain — one that’s wired for stimulation, prone to storytelling, and occasionally takes the scenic route through emotional processing.
So interrupt the loop when you can.
Narrate your way back to the present.
And above all else, be kind to yourself.
All my love,
Laura
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