A few months ago when I was visiting my mum, I found an old diary from my blunder years. I’m old enough now to find my teenage-era writing more comical than cringe, and this did not disappoint.

Every day teen Ren appeared to have acquired a new intense fascination, and with it a life ambition that must be achieved urgently.

One day, after watching a film, I wrote with fervour about my newfound desperation to become a scriptwriter. My diary was filled with angst over the need to write a screenplay right now, aged 14 and a half, or else my chance at being viewed as a Hollywood wunderkind would slip away faster than you could say ‘Oscar for Best Picture’.

Then literally a day later in my diary that starry-eyed dream seemed to have disintegrated.

Instead, I wrote about watching a political debate on TV. Completely coincidently, according to my diary entry I now wanted to be a Member of Parliament. I then spent a few pages wringing my hands about how I really should join a local political party and get working on making that ambition a reality. My chances at being an impressively young politician were slipping away, of course.

And the next day there was a different ambition, and so on and so on.

My brain back then, as it is now, is teflon; nothing sticks.1

My history of indecision, and my magpie-like tendency of getting distracted by the next shiny object I see, makes it all the more remarkable that I have stuck at writing this newsletter, Wavy Thoughts, almost weekly for a whole year.

Before I started this newsletter, I was in the throes of the worst autistic burnout I have ever experienced.

In the years that led up to it, I had an overriding fear of writing and sharing my words publicly. I felt too vulnerable to put myself out there.

I have always wanted to be an author.2 Yet I thought I could never be a writer. I didn’t think I had what it takes.

Burnout taught me a lot of things, such as perspective. Life really is very short. Why not just have a go?

Writing is the only way I can accurately express myself, and in turn feel completely seen. Time was ticking and as I sat there, recovering from the exhaustion of burnout I thought, ‘well, if not now, when?’

So I did it, and since then I have written over 60 newsletters. Some took a lot of what British people call ‘bottle’. Courage. The ‘Tomboy’ essay was a good example. I’m proud of myself for that one.

I’ve written quite a bit about burnout (obvs), masking, and other aspects of being AuDHD that I find interesting. I’ve also written more lighthearted memoir-type stuff like my love of trivia, beige food and belief in being a bit daft.

There’s been plenty more besides. I have an archive of writing now, which I find very cool.

The best thing has been the amount of people who not only regularly read my work, but also take the time to leave me comments or send me messages. I appreciate that more than I can express. I’m really glad there are people out there who enjoy what I write.

So what’s next?

Well, I’m writing my first ever book, a collection of essays called ‘A Head Full of Bees’. It contains many of these Substack essays, but expanded, revised and fleshed out. I keep calling it the remixed and remastered version of Wavy Thoughts, with some essays exclusive to the book included as well.

Paid subscribers may be snickering right now, because they know the experience I’ve had with writing it. I have been battling my pessimistic internal monologue all the way. The monologue calls my own writing rubbish, and makes me endlessly doubt that it’s worth it. I’ve documented all these thoughts and more in the Book Diaries series.

One thing is for sure, through the ups and downs of having a neurodivergent brain, I am going to finish this book come hell or high water, and I will be over the moon when I hold a copy in my hands.

The fact I can say ‘Paid Subscribers’ plural is the icing on the wonderful cake. The gang is in double figures, made up of kind strangers from around the world. Mind-blowing.

Let’s see if I can make this newsletter stick for another 12 months. I hope I get to write another one of these posts this time next year. Perhaps it will be celebrating the publication of the book of essays. I hope so.

If you’ve ever read, commented, liked, shared, laughed, grimaced, rolled your eyes, flung your phone out the window, or had any other interaction with or reaction to my work, thank you.

Thank you for seeing me.

Take it easy,

Ren