[ If you are only interested in the discoveries without the story, read the System Overview summary instead. ]

For about 25 years, I felt like there was something different about me. Looking in the mirror always felt like seeing a stranger; I couldn’t figure out if I liked or disliked that person — I just didn’t know them and never understood their occasional reactions and behaviour. Once, I even wondered if I was looking at a hidden psychopath, but I understood that such worries didn’t align with psychopathic behaviour, so I decided not to worry.

Some of my personality traits and life experiences didn’t match my logical reasoning. Many of my preferences were quietly becoming necessities. I felt scared and unsure about how to start understanding myself better. I’d often been described as a lonesome and lonely, atypical person — but even though some things in my life felt “off,” I managed to live happily, turning my passions into my work. Since I was happy, I thought, why open Pandora’s box? It seemed safer to leave things as they were.

I also experienced occasional panic attacks triggered by close encounters with honking motorists. Though rare at first, I’ve developed a growing emotional sensitivity — even distant honking sounds now evoke a strong negative response. Over time, this has created a baseline of anticipatory anxiety around urban environments, especially during peak traffic hours. The pattern seems to be escalating rather than stabilising. I later realised this reaction wasn’t just about volume — it reflected a deeper sensory defensiveness that I explore in more detail [in this separate story].

The Rollercoaster Ride

In fact, my work experience has been like a rollercoaster — only highs and lows — but I always managed to bounce back at a higher level. Except after my last experience. What was supposed to be a strategic move turned into a failure. Despite my technical strengths, I struggled with soft skills; my motivation plummeted, I didn’t fit in, and I couldn’t figure out why. It ultimately led to my resignation. (I’ll write a dedicated Work Experience story for more details.)

My discomfort with so-called soft skills puzzled me for a long time. Given my experience, it seemed obvious that I was expected to be proficient in them — but in reality, they’re a deep valley in my otherwise strong professional landscape. I now recognise that my ADHD wiring often resists tasks lacking clear structure or immediate relevance. ‘Improving soft skills’ felt vague and unrewarding — unlike the concrete systems where I naturally thrive. (Abstract social expectations, by contrast, feel like fog. While I can simulate competence through pattern recognition or masking, it costs energy and often lacks internal clarity.)

Two years later, I’m still navigating the aftermath of that setback. I’m currently involved in a modest part-time project that, while fulfilling, doesn’t meet my financial needs and is gradually winding down. But I love the project and its associated lifestyle: no commuting, no fixed hours, and a stress level close to zero. Unfortunately, it’s not sustainable long-term — and will become more so over time. Meanwhile, I kept receiving job opportunities, but even reading the descriptions felt overwhelming or irrelevant, so I stopped opening them.

Still, I haven’t actively sought new clients. There’s something I can’t quite name — maybe inertia, maybe a quiet message from my subconscious: wait. Maybe I needed to find myself first. I also know what it feels like to juggle full-time work for two clients simultaneously (both chose the same date for a major launch!). I’ve learned that I need to avoid that kind of overload in the future. Ideally, I’d like to work part-time — enough to stay engaged, but with the freedom to pursue my passions and absorb bursts of workload when needed.

Thankfully, my modest lifestyle and a buffer of savings gave me the space to pause, reflect, and focus on this self-exploration — a kind of sabbatical, self-directed and unplanned, but perhaps long overdue — when I’m not cycling, learning something new, or taking pictures of the world around me.

At the same time, I was facing a seemingly illogical situation involving my dental perception. I sensed that if left unresolved, it might spiral into a phobia. (read it in details in my Dental Adventure story.) I had to find and understand the logic behind this; it was a new kind of challenge, and I treated it as such. In hindsight, I’m deeply glad I chose to pursue it.

[ Read the Part 2: Setting the Sail ]