The hardest part of my relationships has never been about how much I care, but how my attention chooses where to land. For most of my life, I’ve assumed this was a flaw, that I loved too deeply, got attached too quickly, or struggled to balance friendships and relationships properly. Only recently have I begun to understand that what I was experiencing wasn’t a lack of care or maturity, but instead a pattern shaped by ADHD. While this is most visible in romantic situations, I have begun to realize it affects every relationship in my life: friendships, conflicts, and emotional closeness of all kinds.
When I begin to have feelings for someone, it can quickly become all I can think about, to the point that it feels overwhelming instead of exciting. I fixate on the smallest details: a conversation, a look, a moment that may not mean anything but will become all-consuming in my mind. What starts as excitement slowly turns into rumination.
Why aren’t they texting me? When will I hear from them next? When will I see them again?
This can happen even if we have only talked once, whether that be at a party or in passing, which makes the attachment feel more confusing and disproportionate. When there is no clear or set next interaction or a sense of closure, my thoughts have even more room to spiral. I’ve felt this heavily after a night where I spent hours flirting with someone at a party, talking, laughing, and completely hitting it off. Even though I knew I wouldn’t see him again, that night replayed in my head for over a week. I found myself zoning out, replaying jokes, and talking about it nonstop to my friends, all while feeling a little silly for caring that much. The uncertainty, especially knowing there was no closure, made it harder to let go. For a long time, I believed that this intensity meant I cared too much or formed attachments poorly. It wasn’t until I began learning more about ADHD that I realized I wasn’t experiencing obsession or love, but hyperfixation. Hyperfixation is a well-documented ADHD trait characterized by periods of extreme focus on a specific interest, activity, or person, often at the expense of other responsibilities or relationships.
ADHD doesn’t just affect how deeply I feel, but rather how my attention is regulated. Research shows that ADHD brains are especially sensitive to dopamine, the neurotransmitter associated with reward, novelty, and motivation. New connections, whether romantic or platonic, naturally provide frequent dopamine stimulation through attention, emotional intensity, and possibility, making them particularly magnetic for those with ADHD. What I didn’t expect was that this doesn’t just disappear once a relationship becomes stable; it simply shifts. By the time I am in a committed relationship, that person has already become the primary focus of my attention. While at times this can feel comforting and grounding, it can also crowd out other areas of my life, including school, my hobbies, routines, and what I often regret the most, friendships. Balance doesn’t disappear at once. Instead, it quietly fades away, often before I even realize what has happened.
I notice myself pulling away from friendships first, not at all because I care less, but because my attention has narrowed without my intention. Texts go unanswered, plans take longer to make, and the guilt sets in afterward, usually once the distance is already noticeable. There have been times when I’ve opened a friend’s text, told myself I’d respond later, and then realized days had passed without my replying, not because I didn’t care, but because my attention had already moved elsewhere. I’ve always struggled with an “out of sight, out of mind” pattern, not because people stop mattering to me, but because my attention is absorbed by someone or something, and everything else becomes harder for me to access in my mind. The care doesn’t leave, it just isn’t at the forefront of my mind when my focus is latched elsewhere. It can make me feel trapped at times, when all that is on my mind is one person or one thing, and then the guilt will set in that I am being a bad friend.
This pattern doesn’t only show up in romantic relationships. I notice it happening with forming new friendships as well. When I meet someone I’m excited about the possibility of becoming friends with, I become just as fixated, feeling excited by the potential of a new connection, and I tend to prioritize time with them without realizing it. Other friends have pointed this out to me before, and when they do, I often feel like a bad friend. That feeling becomes especially difficult because that distance is never intentional. I don’t mean to pull away from the people I already care about so deeply. I simply get caught up in the excitement of a new friendship, and my attention seems to shift without my awareness. I’ve had my best friend point out that when I get excited about a new friendship, I tend to distance myself from her without realizing it. I rarely notice the shift until she says something, and when she does, it’s confronting, because it’s never intentional. It happens the most with my family, where there’s an unspoken assumption that they’ll always be there, which makes it easier for my attention to drift, even though the care is just as real. This misunderstanding shows up not just in how I maintain friendships, but also in how I try to support them emotionally.
When a friend comes to me upset about something I can relate to, my instinct is often to share my own experience in the matter, not to redirect the conversation, but to connect through it. For me, empathy tends to show up through shared context. However, research suggests that empathy in people with ADHD can be expressed differently and is often misunderstood. According to experts cited by Healthline, many individuals with ADHD are actually highly empathetic, even if their responses don’t necessarily match social expectations. I’ve had moments where I shared my own experience while trying to comfort a friend, only to be told I was making the situation about myself. Hearing that stung, not because I wanted attention, but because in my mind, I was trying to say, “I understand you.” It forced me to confront the gap between my intention and how my support was received. Psychiatrist Zishan Khan, MD, explains that symptoms like impulsivity or verbal processing can make empathy appear misaligned, even when the emotional understanding is very much present. Learning this has helped me realize that my intent is not to make situations about myself; it’s been a way I try to say I understand you and the situation because I have been there too. Still, intention doesn’t always equal impact, and I’ve had to learn that sometimes the most supportive response isn’t sharing, but listening first, even when my brain wants to connect out loud.
Conflict and endings trigger this pattern just as strongly. When a friendship fades, a relationship ends, or tension goes without a solution, my attention locks onto it completely. Instead of excitement, the fixation becomes heavy. During conflict, my routines often fall apart. I sleep far more than usual, struggle to leave my bed, forget to eat, and replay the same conversation over and over until it’s resolved. Once things are fixed, much of the weight lifts, but in bigger conflicts, the fixation can linger. It can dominate my thoughts, disrupt my routines, and make it difficult to move forward. Research on hyperfixation notes that unresolved relational uncertainty often intensifies rumination and emotional distress, particularly for individuals with ADHD.
Understanding this pattern hasn’t been about excusing my behavior, but instead about taking responsibility without shame. ADHD may explain how my attention moves, but it doesn’t erase the impact that these actions can, and often do, have on those whom I care about the most. What it does offer is room to grow in different ways. Experts suggest that managing relational hyperfixation involves intentional structure, communication, and grounding habits, such as scheduling regular check-ins with friends, maintaining personal routines outside of relationships, and consciously redistributing emotional reliance. For me, that means setting reminders to reach out, committing to standing plans, and anchoring myself in hobbies and routines that existed before any one relationship. These strategies don’t come naturally, but they help me stay present without disappearing.
Balance for me doesn’t involve loving people any less. It means learning how to love without losing myself, or the people who matter, in the process.