People underestimate me because they don’t know how to read complexity. They look for one role, one label, one “type.” I’m not that simple. I’ve been told I “don’t work well with others” by people who couldn’t see that I was managing the emotional temperature of a whole room. I’ve been called “arrogant” because I was dumbing something down to make it teachable. I’ve been accused of lacking compassion by people who only recognize caretaking when it looks like self-sacrifice. They see the blunt delivery and miss the devotion underneath — the way I analyze, plan, and protect before I speak. Compassion doesn’t always sound like softness. Sometimes it sounds like structure. People who know my trauma story assume I’m fragile. People who know my tech work forget I’m a trained cook, a domestic strategist, a wife who can run a kitchen like a lab. People who see my spiritual writing forget I have a cognitive-science background and can track a conversation down to its meta-logic. They know about my voice, not my violin. They know I build websites, not that I can hold a household together with the same discipline I use for code. I spent years staying quiet about my relationships, my experience, my emotional intelligence — because I kept my public voice professional, technical, safe. So people assumed inexperience where there was privacy. They mistook silence for lack. ADHD adds another twist. When I hyperfocus, I move too fast for most people to keep up, and they call it impulsive. When I slow down to translate, they call it condescending. The truth is, I live at a pace most can’t see — a brain that runs parallel processes for empathy, language, and logistics. When I step into counselor mode or community-mami mode, I become the one who reads dynamics like code. I measure energy, intention, and consequence. That’s not treating people as “assets and liabilities” — that’s caring enough to manage outcomes. But people used to the “ditsy blonde” persona — the one they encouraged because it was easier to handle — feel exposed when they meet the strategist. So here’s the truth: I am not cold. I am not arrogant. I am not unfeeling. I am an adaptive system in human form — fluent in empathy, logic, language, and survival. If you underestimate me, it’s because you’re still looking for a single version. There isn’t one. #ADHDAwareness #Accessibility #Neurodiversity #BlindCreators #CognitiveScience #Empathy #madamgreen #RosieWrites

Most people measure productivity in hours. I measure it in bandwidth. Living with PTSD, agoraphobia, ADHD, and a print impairment means every task carries an invisible surcharge. What looks simple to someone else — sending an email, catching a train, navigating a loud room — costs me triple. That’s not weakness. That’s the math of living in a nervous system that has to do extra processing just to stay safe. So I treat energy like currency.

💰 The Budget Every day starts with a finite amount of emotional capital. Some days I wake up with a full account; other days I start already in overdraft. I ask myself: • How much does this conversation cost? • Can I afford this sensory environment? • If I spend my focus here, will I have enough left to cook, to write, to decompress? It’s not anxiety — it’s accounting. The trick is learning that rest is not reward. Rest is investment. When I nap, go silent, or cancel, it’s because I’m rebalancing the books.

⚖️ The Interest Rate of Overextension When I overspend my energy, the debt collects fast. I lose words, coordination, patience, and warmth. The interest compounds as sensory input increases — noise, crowds, bright lights, conflicting tasks. Most people pay fatigue with a nap. I pay it with full nervous-system shutdown. The cost of overextension isn’t tiredness; it’s regression. Recovery might take a day or a week, depending on the size of the deficit.

🧮 The Math of Guilt The hardest part isn’t saying no; it’s believing I have the right to. Trauma taught me to equate worth with endurance. Disability taught me endurance can kill you. I’ve had to unlearn the moral weight of rest. Now I ask: Am I declining this because I don’t care, or because I care enough to stay functional tomorrow? That question saves me from guilt almost every time.

💡 Energy Conversion When I build a workflow or automation, I’m not chasing efficiency for bragging rights — I’m converting scarce energy into reusable form. Voice Control replaces strain. Markdown replaces clutter. Boundaries replace burnout. Each system is an energy converter that buys me more life for the same cost.

🌙 The Dividend When I pace myself, I earn peace. When I rest on purpose, I gain capacity. When I refuse guilt, I stay kind. That’s the emotional economy: spend where it matters, invest in recovery, forgive the deficits, and audit often. I may not have as much energy as others, but I’ve learned to manage it like a portfolio. And that — not stamina — is what keeps me thriving. #DisabilityLife #Neurodiversity #PTSD #ADHD #Accessibility #madamgreen #RosieWrites