The All-Nighter Spiral

Some of the biggest breakthroughs don’t come from figuring it all out — they come from finally understanding why it’s been so hard.

From My Desk to Yours: The All-Nighter Spiral

College hit me like a freight train. I was a history major taking five classes per semester, and each professor assigned at least four books. That’s 20 books—per semester. And nearly all of it was dry. Important, yes. But painfully dry.

Still, I pushed. I read late into the night, highlighted everything, and wrote until my eyes burned. But no matter how hard I worked, my brain often couldn’t hold on to structure or focus. I’d sit down to write and end up lost—tangled in ideas I couldn’t organize or distractions I couldn’t turn off.

One evening, I was buried in yet another 10-page paper due the next morning. I was running on caffeine, stress, and sheer determination. My parents had divorced a couple years earlier, and by that point, my dad’s drinking had worsened. I was carrying more than just academic pressure—and I was running on empty.

My older sister knocked on my door just to check in—probably sensing I was in over my head. The moment she saw me, she didn’t say much. She just walked over, knelt beside me, and prayed. She could see the weight I was carrying even when I couldn’t speak it.

Somehow, I finished that paper. I always did. But it came at a cost.

That wasn’t a one-time thing. I’d go through that cycle over and over: push hard, panic late, recover just enough to keep going. I didn’t know it then, but that pattern had a name. ADHD.

🔍 What I Learned

At the time, I didn’t know what was getting in my way. I just knew that staying focused and following through felt harder for me than it seemed to be for everyone else. It would take years before I understood terms like executive function or why my brain responded the way it did. Even now, focus and follow-through often take intentional work—but the difference is, I now have language for it, and tools that help.

💡 Why This Stuck With Me

Because even when I didn’t have the language or support, I kept going. That kind of quiet grit didn’t always show up on a grade report—but looking back, it’s one of the things I’m proudest of.