What Surrender Means When Your Brain Never Stops Moving

Hey guys. I hope you had a good Saturday.

I don’t feel like I accomplished a lot today, but I got some things done. I’ve been sitting here for the last forty minutes trying to figure out what I wanted to talk about tonight, and honestly, I kept getting distracted by doomscrolling.

I’m obsessed with anything automotive, industrial, or mechanical. Cars, trucks, dirt bikes, equipment — all of it. Once I get on a Facebook Reels kick about that stuff, I can get stuck there way longer than I mean to. Squirrel moment of life.

That’s what happens to me a lot. I can have every good intention of getting something productive done, and then something catches my attention, pulls me sideways, and before I know it I’ve lost the thread completely. Then I have to sit there and basically kick myself in the ass enough to actually start again.

Schoolwork is one of the biggest examples. I can have all the intention in the world to do it, but I either start and don’t finish, or I hyperfocus on it hard in the beginning and then overwhelm myself by piling too many other things on top of it. Then it gets pushed to the back burner, and it sits there stressing me out because I know it needs to get done, but I can’t seem to find the mojo to get back into it.

I’m trying to combat that. It’s hard. But it’s also one of the reasons I wanted to start this blog in the first place. I want something that keeps me accountable for my own negative traits instead of pretending they aren’t there.

Tonight I wanted to touch on the word surrender, and what that word feels like to a person with ADHD.

I listen to podcasts a lot now. That’s a newer thing for me. I feel like I need to learn something every day or I’m wasting time, and after wasting years on a sick obsession and the definition of insanity, I don’t want to waste much of anything anymore.

So let’s talk about surrender.

When my probation officer looked at me and told me I hadn’t surrendered to the program yet, I looked at her like she had ten heads. I was literally speechless. I didn’t even know how to respond to that, because in my head I was already there, already doing the things, already showing up, already trying.

But surrender in recovery is bigger than just showing up. It’s one of those fundamental ideas in the program: admitting that we lost control over our addiction, our alcoholism, or our own impulsive behavior. The problem is, that word clashes hard with an ADHD mindset.

Surrender is an internal state. It’s not measurable. It’s not a concrete task. You can’t write it on a checklist and cross it off when you’re done. And for people whose brains rely on lists, reminders, structure, and visible proof of progress, that can make the whole thing feel frustrating and almost impossible to understand.

A lot of us with ADHD spend our lives masking and overcompensating for executive dysfunction by trying to micromanage our environment. I know I did. I always felt like I had to be in control of everything around me — what was happening, what could go wrong, what other people were doing, and what my own brain was doing while it short-circuited or spun too fast.

So being told to let go didn’t feel peaceful to me. It felt threatening. It felt like somebody was asking me to drop the survival mechanisms I had built over my whole life. And instead of relief, it brought anxiety.

When my anxiety hits, I tend to shut down. I start fidgeting. My sensory issues get worse. I get uncomfortable in my own body, and at that point I just don’t want to be there anymore. For a long time, it was easier to run and hide than it was to deal with anything that made me uncomfortable. I wanted to do what I wanted to do, and I tried every way possible to get out of situations I didn’t want to face.

That was the old version of me.

Now I have techniques I use when I start getting anxious. One big one is breathing exercises. I was a smoker for a long time, so there’s something familiar about stopping, focusing on my breathing, holding it, and exhaling deeply. Sometimes it almost gives me a little head rush. I’m not trying to get a freebie out of it, but it brings my attention back to myself instead of everything going on around me.

I also like having an escape plan. Same thing if I’m around drinking, questionable people, or any situation that looks like it could turn into drama. I know how to leave. That’s not me running anymore — that’s me protecting the life I’ve worked hard to build. I’ve definitely learned that I enjoy my space, my home life, and my freedom from a lot of negativity now.

But back to surrender. Sorry — I went on a little squirrel hunt there.

For me, surrender didn’t happen right away. When I got out of rehab, I sat in the back of the rooms with my head down and just listened to people, because I had no real idea what I was giving myself into. I still had that reservation buried in the back of my mind that I would finish my programs and eventually go right back out and do the same insane thing I’d always done.

But over time, something changed.

That reservation disappeared. I put space between myself and relationships that were not helping me. I kept the people who mattered most close, but I worked on myself. I made myself a priority. And somewhere along the way, the obsession lifted.

That’s the only way I know how to explain it. One day I realized that the idea of going back out didn’t have the same pull anymore. That internal fight got quieter. I found a kind of peace that I had needed for a very long time.

I’m not saying I’m cured, because I’m never going to be cured. But if I can manage myself today, then I’m already one step farther than where I started.

I appreciate everybody who has taken the time to read these journal entries. Honestly, this is the start of a project I’m trying to actually commit to, because I’ve always had that tendency to start things and never finish them. But this feels borderline enjoyable, with a therapeutic touch to it.

I like being able to sit here with nobody around, talk honestly about my life, put the puzzle pieces together, and connect recovery, ADHD, and the real struggle of being a recovering addict with a fast-paced mind that always wants more of everything.

I appreciate you guys. Have a good evening. I’ll connect with you tomorrow.

Stay sober, my friends.