Why I Keep Stalling — And Why I Finally Understand It

I’ve spent the better part of the last decade chasing deadlines and dodging guilt. If you’ve followed Beyond the Balcony for a while (and thank you, if you have), you’ve probably noticed the pattern: an ambitious new review series begins, or a heartfelt celebrity tribute is promised, or a pop culture think-piece is teased… and then silence. 

Radio silence. 

Or worse: a slow, awkward fade-out, where I’m not even sure how to acknowledge the absence because the weight of “not delivering” is so loud in my own head. It’s a cycle I’ve carried shame over for years.

Not because the work didn’t matter to me — it did, deeply. Not because I was being lazy — I wasn’t. I’d just freeze. The ideas would flood in, the excitement would flare up, and then… nothing. 

Blankness. 

Doubt. 

Overwhelm. 

A sense that if I couldn’t make it perfect, maybe I shouldn’t do it at all. And then the inner critic would have a field day. 

Recently, I learned something that finally gave that pattern a name: AuDHD. That’s Autism + ADHD, co-existing and tag-teaming like a chaotic buddy comedy in my brain. It turns out, a lot of the traits I’ve beaten myself up over — the perfectionism, the inability to start, the bursts of obsessive planning followed by total burnout — they’re not character flaws. They’re wiring. 

I’m not sharing this as an excuse. I’m sharing this as truth. Because this revelation didn’t let me off the hook — it just finally gave me the right map. I’ve been trying to navigate creative work with a GPS that told me I should “just push through” or “just get it done.” But that approach ignored the potholes my neurodivergent brain was trying to flag all along. 

Ambition has never been my problem. If anything, I have too many ideas. I love writing about movies, celebrating creativity, getting into the messy joy of pop culture. But now I realize that my brain wants to leap ten steps ahead and simultaneously panics at the idea of taking the first one. 

So what does this mean for Beyond the Balcony? 

It means I’m learning to work with my brain, not against it. It means sometimes I’ll still be slower than I want to be, but I’ll be gentler with myself along the way. It means I might publish things a little more imperfectly, a little more vulnerably — but they’ll be real. 

And most of all, it means I’m still here. 

Still writing. 

Still believing that stories matter. 

If you’re someone who’s ever wrestled with ambition and burnout, with loving something so much it almost paralyzes you — I see you. I am you. And maybe together, we can build something beautifully, messily consistent. 

Thanks for sticking with me. More is coming — in its own time, and with a little more grace.