I almost didn’t show up

This column is late.

I want to lead with that because transparency is the foundation of everything I write in this space, and it would be dishonest to show up today pretending everything is fine. The words just flowed, and I had this piece polished and ready to go before midnight last night.

I did not. I could not.

Here is what happened. I sat down to write. Multiple times. I opened the document. I closed it. I made tea I did not drink. I reorganized things that did not need reorganizing. I started three different sentences and deleted them all. I stared at the screen long enough for it to go dark, and then I just sat in the dark for a while and let it.

If you know, you know.

Executive dysfunction does not look like laziness. It does not feel like not caring. It feels like standing at the edge of a pool you know how to swim in, knowing the water is fine, knowing people are waiting for you on the other side, and your body simply will not jump. Not because you are afraid. Not because you do not want to. Your brain is sending the signal, and nothing is receiving it. The bridge between intention and action is just gone.

I am writing a column about healing. I am neurodivergent, and some weeks, healing is not pretty. Some weeks, healing shows up late with the full, unfiltered truth.

So here is my truth for this week.

I am in a season, and the season is hard. I have obligations pressing from every direction. Personal things I cannot fully name in this space, but that are sitting heavy on my chest in the particular way only people who carry a lot for a long time know to recognize. The kind of weight that does not announce itself dramatically; it just quietly makes everything harder. Writing harder. Thinking harder. Showing up harder, and yet…

I kept coming back to one thing while I was sitting in the dark last night. I thought about last week’s column. I thought about the messages I received. The Black woman at a Toronto university who said she talks about it to her study group chat. The Caribbean father who said he finally called his son studying abroad after personal reflection. The neurodivergent academic who simply wrote back two words: I see.

That is why I am writing this column. That is why I showed up today even when every part of my executive function told me to stay in the dark a little longer.

Community is not only for the weeks when you are overflowing. Community also means showing up with your half-empty cup. It means saying, “I am struggling, and I still came because my obligation to this space is bigger than my bad week.” More honestly, sometimes the community is what refills the cup. Sometimes writing the piece is healing.

I want to speak directly to anyone reading this who also missed their deadline last night. Literally or metaphorically. The assignment you could not start. The conversation you kept postponing. The appointment you rescheduled again. The call you meant to return.

Executive dysfunction is not a character flaw. It is not evidence that you are unreliable or uncommitted. It is a neurological experience that is wildly under-discussed in Caribbean and Black communities where we were taught to push through everything, where rest was suspect, and struggle was private.

You are allowed to name it. You are allowed to be late and still show up.

The goal is not perfect attendance. The goal is to keep coming back. I am back. I am here. A little late. A little tired. Fully present.