For a long time, I felt like I was living in the wrong world.Like everyone else had a map, and I was stumbling around with nothing but guesswork and gut feelings. I didn’t grow up knowing I had ADHD. No one said the word. Instead, I learned to mask, to push through, to constantly wonder why things felt so much harder for me than they seemed for others. I thought maybe I was just too much. Too talkative. Too forgetful. Too much of a daydreamer. When I finally tried to seek help, I found out that the system makes you prove it. That to be diagnosed as an adult, you often need evidence of symptoms before the age of twelve. So then came the endless self-advocating: digging through memories, piecing together stories from childhood, trying to figure out what was ADHD and what was trauma, what was PTSD, and what was just me. It was exhausting.It made me question myself even more. But when I did finally receive my diagnosis as an adult, something shifted. Suddenly the pieces started to click together. The “too much” had context. The “why can’t I just” finally had an answer. I wasn’t broken. I was wired differently. And then came motherhood.And with it, an entirely new storm. ADHD as a mum is a whole other layer because your brain is already juggling a thousand tabs, and then motherhood opens a thousand more. Some days it feels like my head is falling apart. The mental load, the noise, the constant shifting from one task to another. It’s beautiful and overwhelming and impossible all at once. But I’ve also learned this: naming it has power. Knowing myself better has given me permission to be kinder to myself, to lean on strategies and support, to stop expecting myself to parent in a world built for a brain I don’t have. ADHD doesn’t make me less of a mum. It makes me the kind of mum who feels things deeply, who notices the details, who can laugh at the chaos and live fully inside of it. And I know I’m not the only one.So if you’re reading this and nodding along, maybe feeling like you’ve been walking through the wrong world too, I want you to know you’re not alone. You are seen. Reflection question:Have you experienced something similar navigating ADHD, trauma, or motherhood with a mind that feels like it works differently? What shifted for you when you started to understand yourself better?

Hi friends, I’m so excited to welcome you to Collectively Seen. A space I’ve been dreaming of for a long time. This isn’t just a blog. It’s a place to share, connect, and feel truly seen. Life is messy. It’s chaotic, beautiful, funny, exhausting, and sometimes overwhelming, especially when you’re navigating motherhood, identity, or just trying to show up for yourself in a world that never stops. Here, we embrace all of it. Every story matters. Every voice deserves to be heard. This is where we celebrate vulnerability, awareness, and connection. Where you can share your experiences, big or small, messy or joyful and know that someone out there is reading, understanding, and nodding along with you. Here’s how it works: if you feel called to, you can submit your story, a reflection, or a moment in your life that resonates with our values/ethos. It might be something raw, funny, inspiring, or even something that feels small but matters to you. I’ll read every submission, and I may respond with a few questions to dig a little deeper. Then, with your permission, we’ll share it here. I want this space to feel human, honest, and safe. Think of it like a conversation over coffee - messy hair, sleepy eyes, hearts on sleeves, but also full of laughter, connection, and understanding. I’ll start by sharing a little story from my own life (keeping it short and sweet): I’ve always believed that our challenges shape us, and my journey is a testament to that. As a child and teenager, I lived with scoliosis, wearing a skin-tight, fiberglass, spinal brace 20 hours a day for six years, followed by spinal fusion surgery at 17. I had specialty seamless t-shirts, I couldn't sit on the floor with my friends at school, I was constantly itchy and couldn't scratch. Time became a currency so I also had to add up sport training, showering, getting changed, PE at school to ensure I could do it all. While the surgery saved my life (predicted to be in a wheelchair by 30), I still live with chronic pain, a daily reminder of the obstacles I’ve faced. These experiences taught me resilience, patience, and determination, and I’ve always felt that enduring this part of my story would bring good karma and purpose in the future. Fast forward to maternity leave as a first-time mum, navigating postpartum struggles and sleep deprivation, I started Short & Sweeter Collective in my childhood lounge room, designing a small cap to lift my own spirits. What began as a hobby quickly grew into a brand, proving that perseverance, creativity, and heart can turn challenges into something meaningful. I hope that reading this, and reading the stories we’ll share here together, reminds you that you are seen, not alone, and that your feelings are valid. Your experiences matter. Your voice is part of this collective. Welcome to the community. Welcome to Collectively Seen. Love you, bye.Claire