This episode is for ADHD minds, but honestly, I think it will help anyone lying awake right now, feeling a little too much. Anyone whose thoughts are circling, replaying, refusing to quiet down. If you'd like those thoughts to wind down long enough to find sleep, this is for you.Here's what makes sleep so difficult when you have ADHD. Your brain doesn't downshift naturally. Most people's thoughts slow as evening approaches, but sometimes ADHD brains stay in high gear.When you add emotional sensitivity, it gets even harder. A small criticism, perceived rejection, something you said wrong, these can feel overwhelming. And at night, when everything gets quiet, those feelings get loud, your brain wants to solve the problem now.It wants to replay the moment, analyze what happened, figure out what it means. But that keeps you awake. So tonight, we're going to give your brain something else to focus on. A journey that's engaging enough to hold your attention, but calm enough to let sleep approach. Before we begin the important reminders, please make sure you're somewhere safe to fall asleep. There is a full disclaimer in the show notes.And I need to be clear. I'm not a mental health professional. If you're struggling with intense emotions or ADHD symptoms that are affecting your life, please talk to a qualified professional.I'm just here to help you sleep. And to this wonderful community. Thank you for being here.This episode exists because enough of you reached out and asked for it. If there's something you want to hear, tell me. There's an email in the show notes, or if your platform allows it, leave a comment.I read everything. Take a moment now to get comfortable. If the light is not off, turn it off now and find the position that your body likes best. Shift it however you need to. Pull your blankets up. If you're too warm, kick out one foot and let it feel the cool air.If you're a little cold, pull the blankets all around you. Take your time. And when everything is just right, let's help your body start transitioning towards sleep.One of the most important shifts that needs to happen is your heart rate needs to slow down. And the best way to lower your heart rate is through deep breathing. So let's do that together.Right now, take a long, slow, deep breath in. Fill your lungs completely. And then exhale slowly.One more time. And as you breathe in again, I want you to notice the breath. Feel your chest expanding, your ribs spreading.And then breathe out. Breathe in again, slowly. Feel the journey of that breath through your body.And then breathe out. Even slower this time. As slowly as you can. Now let your breathing return to what is natural. Just notice it. In and out. It should feel easy and effortless. In a moment, I'm going to take you on a journey through a Japanese garden. All you need to do is listen to my voice and let your imagination follow along.Let my voice become your anchor. The one thing you focus on. Not the thoughts that have been circling in your mind.Just my words. Trust that my voice knows where to take you. Trust that this journey is designed to quiet your busy mind and help you rest.You don't have to do anything except listen. Close your eyes and come with me. Imagine that you're standing at the entrance to a Japanese garden.It's late evening. That soft time between sunset and full darkness. Before you is a simple wooden gate.The wood is dark. Weathered by years of rain and sun. The surface is smooth under your hands. Worn by countless other hands that have passed through before you. You step through and the gate closes behind you with a gentle click. That sound marks the boundary.You've left the world outside. This garden is separate, protected, quiet. The path ahead is made of flat stones set into gravel.The gravel is fine and pale gray, raked into perfect parallel lines that curve around stones. You step onto the first stone. It's smooth and slightly cool under your feet.Your foot fits perfectly on its surface. You walk slowly, stone to stone. Each one is spaced just right.Your body finds an easy rhythm. Step, pause, step. To your right you see a low stone water basin.It's simple, just a round bowl carved from dark stone and filled with clear water. A bamboo ladle rests across it. You pick up the ladle, the bamboo smooth and light in your hand.You dip it into the water. The water is cold, perfectly clear, and you pour it over your hands. Coolness runs across your skin, washing away the day.You return the ladle carefully to its place. The bath curves to the left now, and the stone leads you past a carefully pruned pine tree. The needles are deep green, almost black in this light.You can smell the pine scent as you pass. Sharp, clean, familiar, and you can hear water now. Following the sound, you come to a stream.It's narrow, but it flows with purpose. Moving over smooth river rocks, a small wooden bridge crosses the stream ahead. The bridge is arched, painted deep red, with simple railings on each side. You step onto it and feel the slight give of the wood under your feet. At the center of the bridge, you stop. You rest your hands on the railing and look down at the water below.In the dim light, you can see your reflection on the surface, but it's not quite right. The water moves, shifts, distorts what you see. Your face is there, but unclear, wavering, changed by ripples and movement.You realize what you see reflected in this water isn't accurate. The water shows you something, but it's distorted. The image shifts with every movement of the current.This isn't the truth. It's a changed version seen through a moving lens. Your mind says this too, especially at night.It shows you a distorted reflection of reality. The events of the day, the things people said, what you think they meant. Your tired mind shows you these things through rippling water.Not always accurate. You can't trust what you see reflected here in the dark. Any more than you can trust this shifting image in the stream, but in morning light, on solid ground, with rest behind you.Then you'll see more clearly. You leave the bridge and continue along the path. The stones lead you deeper into the garden. On your left now, you notice a stone lantern. It's about waist height, weathered gray stone with soft green moss growing on its north side. The lantern has a small opening, and inside you can see a gentle light, a soft amber glow, like a candle flame.You stop beside it. This small lantern isn't trying to illuminate the whole garden. It can't.It doesn't even try. It just offers this small circle of warm light, enough to see the path ahead for a few steps. And that's all you need tonight.Not answers to everything. Not solutions to every problem. Not certainty about what tomorrow holds.Just enough light to take the next step. Just enough peace to make it through tonight. Just enough calm to sleep.The goal isn't to fix everything. The goal is much smaller. Just to get through tonight.To rest. The path turns right, following alongside a low wall. The wall is made of stones fitted carefully together without mortar.Each stone a different size, but somehow perfect in its place. You run your hand along the top as you walk. The stones are cool and rough under your fingers.You come to an opening in the wall, and through it you can see a small courtyard. The ground here is covered in fine gravel, raked into patterns. Even in the fading light, you can see the lines. Parallel lines that flow and curve around three large rocks. You look at the pattern closely. The lines repeat, flowing in the same circular curves around each stone.The same pattern. Over and over. Your mind does this too.The same thoughts circling. The same worries. Repeat it.Same loop. Same pattern. It feels like you're getting new information each time you think through it, but you're not.You're just following the same raked lines around the same stones. Once you recognize it as a pattern, the design your mind creates. You can see it's not helping.It's just repeating. This is what your brain does at night. And knowing it's a circular pattern.Seeing it clearly helps you step back from it. You continue through the courtyard and find another path. One that opens into a small clearing.There's a stone bench here. Simple and weathered. Positioned to face a quiet part of the garden.In front, there's just open space. Raked gravel. A single small maple tree.And beyond that, darkness. Where the garden fades into shadow. You sit on the bench.Settling your weight. Feeling the solid support beneath you. From here, you're facing the quiet part of the garden. Not the stream. Not the lanterns. Or bridges.Just this simple space. And this is all you need to look at right now. You don't have to see everything.You don't have to understand the garden. You can just sit here. Facing this quiet corner.And rest. Near your feet, you notice a small bamboo fountain. It's elegantly simple.A length of bamboo positioned on a pivot. Water flows into the hollow bamboo from a small spout. You watch as it fills. Slowly, the bamboo tube grows heavier with water. And when it's full, the weight tips it forward. The water pours out in a gentle stream.And the empty bamboo swings back. And then it begins again. It fills.It tips. And then empties. Over and over again. This fountain doesn't hold water forever. It fills and then it must release. That's how it works. The water comes. The water goes. The bamboo doesn't strain to hold on to it. It simply lets it tip away when the time comes. You can do this too. You don't have to hold on to every thought.Every hurt. Every worry from today. You can let them fill you. And then let them tip away. They'll come back if they need to. The fountain fills again. That's natural. But right now, in this moment, you can let them empty. You can sit and listen to the fountain.Fill. Tip. Empty.Return. The rhythm is soothing. Predictable.Gentle. The sky above you has deepened to true darkness now. Stars are beginning to appear. Just a few at first. And then more. The air has cooled further. Comfortable. And still. You notice a small building to your left. Partially hidden by the maple tree. It's a tea house. Simple.With paper screens glowing softly from within. The light is warm. Inviting.You stand from the stone bench and walk toward it. The entrance is low. You have to duck slightly to enter.Stepping up onto a raised wooden floor. Inside, the space is small and perfect. The floor is smooth wood, warm under your feet. Paper screens filter the light into something soft and golden, but what draws your attention is a cushion placed near the back wall. You move to it and kneel down and then settle back to sit. The cushion is soft, filled with something that gives perfectly under your weight. Through the screen, you can see the shapes of the garden, the bamboo, the stones, the path you walked, but they're softened now by the paper screen and the darkness. You feel the warmth of the tea house around you, safe, protected. Outside, the garden continues in the darkness. The fountain still tips and returns. The stream still flows. The bamboo still rustles. But you're here now, inside, at rest. Your breathing is slowed to match the quiet of this place. In, out, easy, natural. Your hands rest softly. The day is finished. The garden has led you here, to this warm, safe, quiet space. You've walked the path. You've learned what the garden has to teach you. And now there's nothing left to do but rest. Your eyelids are heavy. Let them close. Behind them, you can still sense the warm, golden light of the tea house, the safety of these walls, the softness of the cushion beneath you. Before sleep takes you, I want you to know that the same sensitivity that made tonight so hard, and made you feel everything so intensely, that's also your gift. You feel joy so completely, excitement that lights up a room, enthusiasm that's contagious, beauty moves you in ways not everyone experiences, music reaches deeper, love feels bigger. You feel everything deeply, the painful things and the beautiful things. Tonight was the cost of that gift, but tomorrow night might bring the kind of joy that others can't always access, the kind of passion and wonder and pure delight that makes life extraordinary. Your ADHD brain is not always easy. It makes some things harder than they should be. But it also makes you more, more feeling, more alive, more connected to the intensity of being human. This sensitivity, this depth of feeling, it's not a flaw. It's part of what makes you who you are. And who you are is someone worthy of rest, worthy of peace, worthy of kindness. The garden holds you, the night holds you, sleep is here now, as natural as the stream flowing, as inevitable as the fountain tipping and emptying. Let yourself drift like water flowing over stones. Tomorrow you'll feel deeply again, but tomorrow it might be joy, it might be beauty, it might be love or wonder. For now, rest. Your sensitive heart has earned this peace. The garden is quiet. The tea house is warm. You are safe. You are held. You can let go. I'm Suzanne, and this is your ticket to Snoozeville. Sleep now. Sleep deeply. Sleep well.