Part 1 of 3 in the 'Living Together, Differently' Series
This is the first part of a three-part series exploring the lived realities of ADHD in relationships. This opening piece is written from years of working closely with individuals who have ADHD—and just as importantly, with the people who love them. The partners. The ones behind the scenes, holding things together.
Now, not all relationships will be like this, and yes, what follows may reflect the more extreme examples. But this is what I hear in the clinic, over and over. While there’s been a welcome surge in awareness around ADHD itself—what it feels like, how to manage it, coaching options, medication—there’s a glaring silence around the experiences of those in relationships with someone who has ADHD. It’s like addiction recovery: everyone rallies around the person with the diagnosis, but few stop to ask how the carer is coping. That silence needs breaking.
This blog is my way of saying to every partner quietly carrying the emotional load—you’re not invisible, and you’re not alone.
At First, It Was Electric
Loving someone with ADHD can feel thrilling at first. They’re spontaneous, emotional, quick-witted, and full of creative energy. But when the honeymoon fades and daily life settles in, so too does a much different reality—one that requires you to adapt constantly, sometimes invisibly.
Living with a partner who has ADHD isn’t just about being patient or supportive—it’s about being on call, emotionally and practically, almost all the time. You find yourself managing not only your shared life but also their forgotten details, misplaced items, emotional triggers, and spirals. It becomes an invisible, unpaid role you never applied for.
Feeling Like the Default Adult: The Mental Load You Didn’t Sign Up For
Without warning, you become the “default adult.” You don’t just remember to pay bills or schedule doctor’s appointments—you begin to act as the emotional buffer, the keeper of time, the memory bank, and the voice of reason.
And then come the moments that defy logic. Like when you’re rushing to leave the house and your partner decides now is the time to rearrange the bookshelf or put one dish in the dishwasher. It’s baffling and infuriating.
But it’s not them being difficult—it’s executive dysfunction. ADHD brains struggle with transitions, so their mind grabs onto whatever feels concrete and manageable in the moment, regardless of relevance. Meanwhile, you’re holding the clock, the consequences, and your breath.
It’s not just exhausting—it’s isolating. You’re the one who keeps things together, and yet it can feel like your emotional world is unraveling, quietly, behind the scenes.
Walking on Eggshells: Navigating Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria
One of the hardest parts is learning how not to talk.
RSD—Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria—is an intense, often overwhelming response to perceived criticism. And “perceived” is the operative word. You could say something small like, “Hey, can you remember to text me next time?” and it’s received as, “You’re a failure.”
Your partner might shut down, get defensive, cry, or lash out—not because they don’t care, but because their brain processes feedback as an emotional emergency.
So you learn to filter everything. You soften your words, bury your irritation, and second-guess whether it’s even worth saying anything. It’s not about walking on eggshells—it’s about walking through a minefield with no map.
And over time, your voice gets quieter—not because you’ve become passive, but because you’re emotionally exhausted.
They Always Interrupt—And They’re Not Always Right
Your partner often finishes your sentences—or tries to. The problem is, they usually get it wrong.
They interrupt with a misplaced assumption or a half-thought based on what they think you’re going to say. It comes off as self-centered or rude, but it’s usually the ADHD brain leaping ahead to keep up with their racing thoughts.
Still, it’s frustrating. You don’t feel heard. You feel corrected when you weren’t even finished. And when you point it out, you’re met with defensiveness or dismissal.
Over time, you stop speaking mid-thought. You let them talk. And inside, you begin to disappear.
Everything Circles Back to Them: Narcissism or Neurology?
You say you’re tired. They say they’re more tired. You say you’re upset. They launch into a monologue about how they feel.
At first glance, it feels narcissistic. But often, it’s not ego—it’s self-referential empathy, which is how many ADHD brains relate to the world. When they hear your struggle, their brain immediately searches for a personal connection—and suddenly, the moment becomes about them.
But to you, it feels like erasure. Like they’re not curious about your pain. And whether or not they mean to, it hurts just the same.
Opinion as Fact: Being in a Relationship With a “Know-It-All”
Your partner often speaks with certainty—even when they’re flat-out wrong. They blur the line between opinion and fact. And you find yourself doubting your memory, your feelings, your reality.
You’re not in a conversation—you’re in a debate. A debate you didn’t ask for. A debate you never win.
It’s not malicious—it’s impulsivity and overcompensation. But you’re left feeling small, unheard, and exhausted by the constant need to defend your experience.
Eventually, you stop engaging—not because you agree, but because peace is easier than being right.
Doomscrolling, Devices, and Disconnection
You sit down to talk. They reach for their phone. Five minutes later, they’re halfway into a reel loop, watching strangers dance, rant, or clean obsessively organized homes.
It feels like avoidance. Like emotional unavailability. Like you’re competing with a screen for attention—and losing.
But here’s the neurological truth: the ADHD brain is dopamine-starved, and social media delivers fast, easy, endless hits of stimulation. Doomscrolling isn’t laziness—it’s dopamine self-medication.
Still, knowing that doesn’t erase how it feels to be on the other side—longing for connection while your partner is swiping through someone else’s world.
Emotional Burnout: The Pain of Being the Strong One
You’re not just tired—you’re burned out. You’ve become so good at holding it together that no one sees how undone you feel inside.
You stop initiating conversations. You stop sharing your feelings. You’re not even fighting anymore—but not because things are fine. Because you don’t have the energy to keep doing it alone.
This isn’t just fatigue. This is compassion fatigue. When you’ve poured out so much empathy, patience, and emotional bandwidth that there’s nothing left in the tank.
You love them—but you’re losing you.
Pausing, Not Exploding: What Helps (Even a Little)
You’ve learned to pause. Not out of apathy, but out of necessity.
You’ve learned to walk away, breathe, come back when you’re calm—not because it’s easy, but because exploding never works. It only triggers more shame, more shutdown, more of the same fight with a different topic.
So you pause. You ground. You journal. You take walks. You speak to a therapist. You find tiny moments to return to yourself.
It’s not a perfect fix. But it’s a lifeline. One of the few tools that gives you space when the relationship feels like it’s closing in.
Forgiveness That Frees You
Here’s the paradox: you don’t forgive them because they’ve done nothing wrong. You forgive them because they didn’t do it on purpose. Because it’s not their heart—it’s their neurology.
Forgiveness is hard-earned. And it’s not about excusing harm or bypassing your own pain. It’s about letting go of resentment before it calcifies into bitterness. It’s about freeing yourself from the role of judge and victim, and simply saying: I see you struggling. I choose to stop carrying this alone.
You can love someone and still protect your boundaries. You can forgive someone and still ask for change.
And Still—The Love Is Real: What Makes It Worth It
For all the chaos, the tension, the tears—there’s also a raw, beautiful truth:
When someone with ADHD loves you, they love you fiercely. Without filters. Without games. They’re not always present, but when they are, it’s wholehearted. Their affection is real. Their creativity is contagious. Their energy is electric.
They remind you to laugh. To be spontaneous. To let go of rigidity. They challenge you to grow in ways you never expected. And sometimes, in the middle of the storm, you catch glimpses of brilliance—moments of deep connection that are worth the wait.
This kind of love is not tidy. It’s not easy. But it’s deep. And for many, that depth is enough to stay in the dance—step by imperfect step.
You’re not selfish for wanting space. You’re not cruel for feeling resentful. You’re human. And in a relationship shaped by ADHD, that humanity deserves to be seen, cared for, and protected—just as much as theirs. Part 3 of this series we talk about how to communicate effectively so you feel heard.
