Running towards what scares me

For the past month and counting, my house has had more male activity than an eighteenth-century Parisian brothel! And by that I mean: we’ve had the builders in. No, I am not referring to the common time of the month euphemism. But in the most literal, dust-coated sense. A parade of workmen traipsing through the house from 8am to 4pm daily. I’ll give it to them: they are indefatigable. I, on the other hand, am not. Nor am I remotely accustomed to being surrounded by this much male energy for extended periods. Having grown up in an all-female household, suffice to say I know more gay men than straight ones. And not to stereotype, but builders and tradesmen are as straight as they come.

Believe it or not, though, that hasn’t even been the most eventful happening this past month. For I have done the unthinkable — the unimaginable, even.
I got a new job.

A month ago, I was feeling utterly beaten down, I’m sure you could tell. My anxiety was worse than ever; I felt like a failure, struggling with panic attacks every single time I left the house, even on Klonopin. Nothing feels worse than when even the benzos don’t help. But you know what? Amid the chaos, the illness, and the swirling dust from the building works, an opportunity presented itself, a lone sparkle cutting through the brain-fog and dust.

I had been passively looking for a job for the past six months, but just like everything else in my life, my standards are stratospherically high. A job has to function almost as an extension of my personality (in a healthy, non-pretentious way). By that I mean: I have to actually give a shit. I could never just work retail for the sake of it— where’s the fun in that? If that were my prerogative, I’d have been employed in a heartbeat. No. I have to feel passionate and enlivened. Money does not get me out of bed; I already have money. I am not motivated by money in the slightest. Textbook ADHD; I am motivated by dopamine.

The way my ADHD specialist psychiatrist explained it is that a person without ADHD has a natural, ever-constant drip of dopamine — drip, drip, drip — a quiet metronome that keeps them ticking through the day. Those little chemical droplets help people, for example, get out of bed. Drip, drip, drip. Brush their teeth. Drip, drip, drip. Shower. Drip, drip, drip. You get the picture. A normal brain has a steady and reliable flow of dopamine. On tap!

An ADHD brain — a brain like mine — is dry. No drips to coax me up out of bed, or to brush my teeth and shower. My dopamine system is under active. Meaning tasks don’t feel naturally rewarding. Responsibilities don’t generate that natural sense of energy and satisfaction. There is no internal oomph. So often I really struggle with even just basic life shit. Unless, of course, I have something important and terrifying looming, like getting somewhere on time. The ADHD brain isn’t running on dopamine drips as it should be, but something far more sinister: anxiety. Stress.

When dopamine: the reward system, fails to supply motivation, anxiety: the urgency system, steps in to substitute. Fear of lateness, letting someone down or missing a deadline can jolt an ADHD brain into action. Not because we are all of a sudden capable, but because the fight or flight response spams the brain with norepinephrine and adrenaline. This stress response makes up for the lack of dopamine, in a very cruel but effective way. When dopamine fails to get me outta bed, anxiety drags me to the curb by my blonde hair! Though, relying on anxiety for motivation comes at the cost of your comfort and sanity, of course. Leading to chronic stress and worsening of the anxiety disorder you deffo already have if you’re ADHD.

Seen through the lens of dopamine deficiency, it makes perfect sense that we medicate ADHD with stimulants; drugs that boost dopamine and norepinephrine. Which gives you that get-up-and-go that regular people are supposedly born with (!?!!) I can’t imagine that.

So. I got a job. Many of you will grasp the full gravitas of those four small words.

But how did it come about Ella? Your CV is a patchwork quilt of half truths… 
Well, my friends, I got this job by being… myself! In fact, my CV never even changed hands.

For you see, it is 2025, I got my job the same way every hot girl does…
On the street corner!
I JEST! — On social mediaaaaa!!!

More specifically, through my long-standing loyalty to a brand I love. I’d been following them on Insta for years before I saw them post a job opportunity on their story for all to see. It was perfect. I leapt at the idea, refusing to think too logically or leave space for what if thinking and anxiety. Before I’d even considered practicalities like my route to work (I mean, fuck it — I’ll Uber if I have to), I was replying to their story with a DM, selling myself in a single, pink-heart emoji studded paragraph— not with any exaggerations, but with the truth. I love their brand and the position they’re seeking to fill aligns beautifully with my skillset. Not to be cringe, but it was perfect. A perfect matcha.

I wish I could share more details, but I already live in fear that I am practically doxxing myself half the time on here, so it’s probably unwise — at least for now. But if you care to know: I am happy!!!

I went in for a trial shift a few weeks ago and was shown the ropes. Dosed up on Klonopin, I worried I’d have panic attacks on my first shift. The first hour was difficult— of course it was going to be. I felt incapable and underprepared, even though I wasn’t. I felt like a child, all alone in the big, scary world, (as I often do). It was overwhelming. In that moment, I had only myself to rely on. Well, myself and Mummy’s little helpers, inside my bag’s hidden zippy pocket. I took an extra Klonopin for luck, I told myself. Washing it down my drainpipe neck with a sip of matcha.

But after that initial wobble in my brown leather, Russel & Bromley, “ABBEYGATE” heels, something surprising happened: I began outperforming my own expectations!! As I familiarised myself with my new surroundings, I felt a growing pride, a kind I have never experienced, because I am so used to running from anything that frightens me. About a month ago, on a particularly bleak, anxiety-punctuated day of crying in bed while doom scrolling, I came across a communiqué from a divine messenger, Julia Fox. A snippet from a recent interview…

“If you’re afraid of something, run towards it. Because that’s where the growth is.”

I typed it up over a black background and made it my phone wallpaper.

It struck me in an uncomfortably resonant way, because I tend to sprint in the opposite direction of anything that scares me. I run straight to my bed and hide under the feather duvet. But not anymore. Having a job is like… the opposite of bed!

By my second shift, I felt more in control and even dropped my Klonopin use by one whole milligram.

Having a rota and all this structure is crazy and entirely new to me.
But you know what? This routine is giving me purpose. Fulfilment. A fragile but genuine sense of becoming.

All I can do is hope this positive momentum stays with me and doesn’t dissipate as the novelty wears off.

Fingers crossed!!