Before we can understand other people, we must first understand what’s happening inside us.
Our triggers are nervous system responses. For people with ADHD, and there are plenty of us out there, those responses can arrive fast, intensely and before conscious thought.
That’s why self‑understanding comes before self‑control. When we don’t recognise our triggers, we project them onto others.
In my workshops, we explore how the nervous system learns through approaches like gradual exposure, desensitisation and staying present with our discomfort.
Each method teaches the same message: I can notice what’s happening in me and remain regulated.
When someone manages a trigger differently, the brain rewards that success with dopamine.
For ADHD brains, that reinforcement is quite powerful. It builds motivation, confidence and reduces reactivity over time.
In a workshop yesterday, I was asked whether managing triggers could also be used to manage RSD.
RSD, commonly associated with ADHD, is an intense emotional response to perceived rejection or criticism. That word perceived is important.
Without self‑awareness, we assume the pain came from someone else’s intent.
With self‑understanding, we can pause and ask ourselves: What just got triggered in me?
Using the same trigger‑management principles, our nervous system learns that this hurts, but it isn’t dangerous.
Each success makes the next one easier.
We cannot regulate what we don’t understand, and we cannot relate well to others if we are disconnected from ourselves.
Managing triggers makes us more aware, and more connected.
From that place, understanding others becomes possible.
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Who Do You Blame?
When something doesn’t go as well as we hoped it would, many of us don’t ask ‘what happened.’
We tend to ask, "What’s wrong with me?" Others may go the opposite way: “It’s their fault.”
Different reactions but the same motive from the brain - it wants certainty. When something goes wrong, the brain experiences a prediction error.
The anterior cingulate cortex lights up, the amygdala senses threat, and the nervous system wants the discomfort to stop.
Blame is the brain’s quickest shortcut to relief. Self‑blame is a control strategy.
If it’s my fault, I can fix it.
For people who grew up needing to get it right to stay safe or connected, self‑blame becomes an automatic reaction.
The Default Mode Network loops the story inward: me, me, me.
Over time, behaviour becomes identity. “I made a mistake” eventually becomes “I am the mistake”.
External blame serves the same purpose: it deflects threat away from shame, it protects self‑image when the nervous system is overwhelmed, and it uses less energy.
It all relates to our nervous system.
Self‑blame looks inward, other‑blame looks outward.
Both are attempts to restore control when uncertainty feels unsafe.
Blame (self or others) is a reflex; taking responsibility is a practice.
Blame protects us briefly; taking responsibility protects our relationships. Taking the time to understand helps us grow.
Let’s talk!
Am I Fighting The World, Or Myself!
For years, I thought I was battling the world - difficult people, difficult situations, unfair expectations.
Rules that never made sense.
The reality was much harder to face. I wasn’t fighting the world; I was fighting myself.
I grew up in a time when you were told exactly how to behave, how to fit in, what to say, and who to be.
If you didn’t fit the mould, the message was simple: Try harder. So, I did!
I forced myself into the shape others expected of me, I pushed down feelings that didn’t fit, and I ignored the guilt and regret that would follow at night.
I listened to people who told me what good behaviour looked like, even when it felt completely wrong for me.
All of that fighting takes a toll on our well-being.
Neuroscience now tells us what many of us have lived. When you force behaviours that don’t align with who you are, your brain treats it as a threat.
Stress chemicals rise, our nervous system goes on alert, and our ability to think clearly drops. We disconnect from ourselves and from others.
For decades, I thought something was wrong with me.
Why couldn’t I just be like everyone else? Why did I react differently? Why did I feel so much?
Then, I stopped learning about other people and started learning about myself - not who I was told to be. Flaws, scars, all of it.
When I understood myself, things suddenly made more sense. Guilt wasn’t a weakness; it was a value being violated.
Regret was a sign of growth, frustration was misalignment, and recurring memories were unresolved lessons asking to be heard.
If you’re exhausted, if you’re overwhelmed, if you’re wondering why life feels like one long internal wrestling match, ask yourself, ‘Am I fighting the world – or am I fighting who I really am?’
Let’s talk!
Having Trouble Staying Positive?
Lately, I’ve noticed that I’m having more trouble staying positive.
That’s not something I say lightly, because this is the work I live and breathe. I also know I’m not alone in this. I’m hearing it from people across the wellbeing space.
Many of the traditional tools we’ve relied on for years just aren’t cutting through in the same way anymore.
The world we’re in has changed. There is more uncertainty, more noise, more pressure and more things outside of our control than many of us have ever experienced.
People are saying that they’re waking up feeling flat, tense, tired and pessimistic.
If this sounds familiar, you’re responding normally to an abnormal amount of uncertainty.
The nervous system is doing its job, scanning for threats before the day even begins.
Once that switch is on, it doesn’t turn itself off just because we tell ourselves to think differently.
I’ve had to be honest with myself that distraction, reframing, trying to stay upbeat, or mentally talking myself out of worry isn’t enough right now.
If your body still thinks you’re under threat, your mind will keep generating concern no matter how skilled you are at psychology.
What’s been far more effective for me has been working below the level of thought and directly with my nervous system, particularly re-engaging the parasympathetic system so the brain gets the message that it is safe.
The practice I’ve been using is simple and doesn’t require belief, motivation, or emotional insight.
It takes about ten minutes. I start with slow, resisted breathing, breathing in through my nose and breathing out long and controlled through pursed lips, almost as if I’m fogging a mirror.
That gentle resistance signals to the vagus nerve that the environment is not urgent.
I then use cold on the face, either a splash of cold water or a cool cloth over the cheeks and eyes.
It’s uncomfortable (only for a moment), but it rapidly shifts the nervous system out of fight-or-flight and into regulation.
After that, I step outside if I can and take a slow walk. Letting my arms swing, and my feet feel the ground.
Slow movement is one of the fastest ways to tell the lower brain that there is no need to mobilise for danger.
Finally, instead of asking how to fix everything or stop worrying, I ask myself one question. What needs my energy today, and what doesn’t?
I write one sentence, nothing more. That single question shifts the brain out of threat scanning and into prioritisation, which is where calm decision-making lives.
I’m sharing this because it’s a lonely place in business and leadership, with many people feeling isolated even in very busy lives.
If we don’t actively help our nervous system regulate, it will keep treating the world like a constant emergency. Ten minutes a day won’t solve everything, but it can stop the escalation.
There are practical ways to steady yourself that don’t rely on force, positivity, or distraction.
Let’s talk!
Humility!
The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m writing a post about humility to increase our views!
When people ask me about humility, I instantly recall a biblical passage: 'For those who humble themselves shall be exalted.'
We’re often told we’re wired to win; we are actually wired for survival.
Winning once meant safety, status and belonging. So maybe the need to win a conversation is about protection.
Why do some of us need the last word?
Why do some of us need to be right?
Why does humility sometimes feel like we are losing?
The answers are rarely single-layered.
I don’t believe in personality tests or putting people into boxes. People aren’t types; we are collections of traits shaped by experience, threat, belief and context.
Boxes separate us, traits invite understanding.
Lately, I’ve started paying closer attention to my own behaviours. I am still an angry person when triggered, yet learning to control my reactions.
Same situations, same triggers, yet each time making a different choice.
Airports sometimes trigger me - noisy, long queues at security, invasion of privacy when searching me or my bag, flight delays or cancellations.
I’ve noticed that if I pause, just briefly, and smile, something shifts.
My automatic urge to react drops away, the conversation softens, and oddly, (or maybe not so odd), I tend to get more than I ever thought I would when trying to win.
I pondered, is this real, or am I making it up?
From a neuroscience perspective, it’s very real. That pause creates space.
It allows the threat system to settle and the thinking brain to come back online. Smiling, even if it's intentional, sends signals of safety to ourselves and to others.
When we feel safe, we listen better. When others feel safe, they’re more open.
So does humility always feel like winning in the moment? Not always.
Sometimes it leaves us replaying the conversation later, wondering if we should have said more.
However, humility isn’t a weakness.
Humility is understanding that connection often outperforms control.
Just maybe the real win is in walking away feeling you made a difference, for yourself and for others.
Humility is not losing, humility is not backing away, humility is leaning in and helping understand.
Let's talk!