The One Where I Admit I'm Not Actually Capable of Doing It All
The thing nobody tells you about running a successful business while your brain is on fire: eventually, the fire wins.
Last December, I handed my marketing company over to my husband. Just... gave it to him 100%. Seven years of building this thing since 2017, and I literally said "I can't do this anymore, it's yours now" and walked away. Not because it was failing. It was successful. Established. Had systems. Made good money.
But I was one more "urgent" non-client request away from throwing my laptop into the ocean.
The Part Where I Admit I'm a Control Freak Who Couldn't Control Shit
I'm ADHD as hell, probably some other fun acronyms too (the trauma kind, not the fun kind). I grew up in foster care, then got adopted by people who thought prayer could fix everything, including my brain. Spoiler: it didn't.
So I became the kind of person who controls everything because if you control everything, nothing can hurt you, right? Built a whole ass company on being the person who never drops balls. Except I was dropping them. Constantly. I was just really good at picking them back up before anyone noticed.
Then I had kids. A 6-year-old who's either neurodivergent or just a very sensitive Virgo who feels everything at volume 11. And a 2-year-old Sagittarius who has the energy of a thousand suns and the attention span of a goldfish on speed.
And suddenly I couldn't pick up the balls fast enough.
Plot Twist: My Husband Also Hates onboarding new clients
My sweet, supportive husband who reluctantly took over the business? Turns out he hates sales and onboarding (shocker). You know that special hell where you have to be "professional" and sell and set up systems and pretend you have your shit together? Yeah, he's not about that life either.
We kept our two amazing longtime clients - the ones who already know we're disaster humans who happen to be good at our job. He’s jumped in and is managing that while he's building evergreen tools and downloadables now.
Nine Months Later and I'm Finally Not Checking My Old Email
It's September now. It took me NINE MONTHS to stop having heart palpitations every time I thought about work. Nine months to stop waking up at 3 AM worried about campaigns I'm not even running anymore.
I'm homeschooling the older kid, which is basically just trying to teach reading to someone who's more interested in whether letters have feelings. The toddler is... being a toddler. Chaos incarnate. I'm the default parent now, the one who holds everything down while my husband figures out how to pay our bills.
What even is "Having It All"?
You can't. That's it. That's the secret.
I built Acadia Thorne as an outlet. Originally I had all these plans - scheduled drops, content calendars, the whole "boss babe" bullshit. Because I was still addicted to productivity. Still thought my worth was tied to output.
But you know what? Fuck that.
Now I make things when the energy comes. I write at 2 AM when the house is quiet and my brain finally stops. I create suncatchers when the kids are sleeping. I stopped pretending I have a schedule because schedules are for people whose brains work in straight lines.
The Trust Thing (Or: How It Took 7 Years of Marriage to Actually Believe Someone Else Could Help)
We got married in October 2018. It's been seven years. SEVEN. And I'm just now learning to trust that my husband can handle things without me hovering.
Not because he wasn't capable. Because my trauma brain genuinely believed that if I wasn't controlling everything, it would all fall apart. That's foster care for you - you learn early that the only person you can rely on is yourself. Except that's bullshit when you're married and have kids and are trying to run a business and homeschool and not lose your absolute mind.
What This Actually Looks Like Day to Day
It looks like me homeschooling while my husband handles client reports in his office. It looks like teaching my kids how to tie his shoes while his brother destroys the living room. It looks like 3 PM meltdowns (mine, not theirs) and 8 PM recovery where we sit on the couch and admit this is hard.
It looks like making sparkly shit not because I have to, but because I want to. Because sometimes the only thing between me and complete overwhelm is watching a rainbow from a suncatcher move across the wall while my kids argue about whether dinosaurs could eat pizza.
The Point (If There Is One)
I don't know if there's a point. I guess: You're allowed to walk away from things you built. You're allowed to admit you can't do it all. You're allowed to take nine fucking months to adjust to a new reality.
You're allowed to be a chaos goblin who used to run a successful company and now spends Tuesday mornings teaching a 6-year-old why we can't have more pets while simultaneously keeping a toddler from eating crayons.
Sometimes success looks like making suncatchers at midnight because that's when the energy hits, and learning that maybe, possibly, probably, your partner can actually be trusted to catch the things you drop.
Seven years married this October. Just learning to trust now. That's not failure. That's just what healing looks like when you're doing it while raising tiny humans and trying to keep your own brain from catching fire.
Welcome to the diary of a chaos goblin. It's messy here, but at least there are rainbows.
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Found this because you googled 'ADHD mom burnout' at 3am? Or maybe you searched 'giving up successful business' because you're drowning? Yeah, I see you. Whether you're a neurodivergent parent trying to homeschool, deep in a working parent identity crisis, or just another survivor of abuse learning to trust... you're not broken. You're just trying to do an impossible thing. Stop feeling guilty about whatever ball you dropped today.
