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It’s 10:00 pm.

The house is quiet.

The dogs are asleep.

The husband is apparently asleep because he hasn’t texted back.

And my brain?

My brain just scheduled a national expansion plan.

Welcome to the nightly episode of “How Many Thoughts Can Stacey Have in 60 Seconds?”

One minute I’m planning how to scale into jails across the United States. Not one state. Not two. The whole country. Casual.

Next minute I’m convinced the spot on my face needs its own biopsy.

Then I’m replaying my youngest grandson being big mad because I wouldn’t search for a bracelet and he withheld “I love you” like he’s negotiating a union contract.

Then I’m wondering if that sound outside was an airplane. Or a helicopter. Or the beginning of a Netflix crime documentary.

This, my friends, is what happens when ADHD and anxiety decide to co-host your nervous system.

ADHD is the hype girl.

“Let’s build something!”

“Let’s call the Department of Corrections in all 50 states!”

“Let’s launch three initiatives before breakfast!”

“Let’s reorganize the entire USA tonight!”

Anxiety is the compliance officer.

“What if it fails?”

“What if someone is mad?”

“What if that empty space on your calendar means you’re secretly behind?”

“What if the helicopter is coming for you?”

“Also…Google that spot immediately.”

ADHD dreams in keynote presentations.

Anxiety writes worst-case scenario scripts.

Together, they create what I like to call: Productive Panic.

Empty time on my calendar tomorrow?

ADHD: Ooooooh opportunity. Build something.

Anxiety: That’s suspicious. Why aren’t you booked solid? Are you slipping?

Grandson won’t say “I love you”?

ADHD: He’s three. He’ll be fine.

Anxiety: He will remember this moment forever and write about it in therapy.

Husband hasn’t texted back?

ADHD: He’s sleeping.

Anxiety: Obviously the marriage is over.

Spot on my face?

ADHD: Meh.

Anxiety: Stage four. Immediately.

The wild part?

This is the same brain that built multi-state programs.

This is the same brain that survived prison.

This is the same brain that can walk into a room and cast vision for transforming reentry nationwide.

And yet…at 10:00 pm…it is also deeply concerned about airborne vehicles.

People don’t see the woman in bed mentally pitching a 50-state rollout while simultaneously diagnosing herself and preparing for a grandson boycott.

ADHD without anxiety might look like “Let’s try it!”

Anxiety without ADHD might look like “Let’s think about it.”

Together?

“Let’s try it immediately but also assume disaster.”

It’s exhausting.

But it’s also kind of powerful.

ADHD gives me imagination.

Anxiety gives me contingency plans.

ADHD says jump.

Anxiety packs a parachute.

The problem isn’t the thoughts.

It’s that neither of them believes in bedtime.

So here’s what I’m learning:

Not every thought is a directive.

Not every silence is rejection.

Not every empty space is failure.

And not every helicopter is about me.

ADHD and anxiety mixed together is a lot.

It’s visionary.

It’s vigilant.

It’s dramatic.

It’s mildly unhinged at 10:00 pm.

But it’s also why I care deeply.

Why I move fast.

Why I see big.

Why I don’t quit.

Still…sometimes the most productive thing I can do for the United States…is go to sleep.

Because the country will still be there in the morning.

And hopefully…

So will the bracelet.