Note: LATE! Again! I can only apologise. This was meant to be posted last week, but hopefully this article might go some way to explaining why it wasn’t.
Every year, as the light fades and the days grow shorter, I feel like I become a completely different person. It’s not that I’ve suddenly taken up a life of crime or developed a sinister double identity, but there’s a reason the story of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde resonates with me so much.
In spring and summer, I’m my Dr Jekyll self—energised, sociable, and creative. The sunlight feels like fuel, powering my mind and body in ways that feel effortless. I make plans, I follow through with them, and I almost trick myself into believing that this is who I am all year round.
But then autumn creeps in, the mornings turn darker, and before I know it, Mr Hyde is at the door. My energy drains, my mood dips, and the simplest of tasks feel heavier. I also notice something else: I’m more irritable. Little things that wouldn’t bother me in July suddenly spark anger in October. It feels as if my patience and resilience get stripped away with the sunlight, leaving me raw and on edge. In addition the symptoms of my ADHD can substancially worse.
This isn’t a case of laziness or lack of willpower—it’s Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), and for those of us who live with it, it can reshape our daily lives in ways we wish it wouldn’t.
“The majority of ADHDers seem to have SAD, and while I don’t know why that is. The effects of the two combined can make winters brutal.”
ADHD Girl
The contrast can be jarring. I go from thriving in the sunshine to surviving the grey. From feeling capable to struggling with basic routines. From laughing things off to snapping at the smallest inconvenience. It’s not that one version of me is fake and the other is real; they’re both me. It’s just that one gets hidden in the shadows of winter, waiting to re-emerge when the sun does.
Living with SAD means I have to build coping mechanisms: light therapy lamps, walks in the rare moments of daylight, multivitamins, and leaning into creative projects that give me a sense of purpose even when my motivation wavers.
Unlike the tragic ending of Dr Jekyll, I know that I can control Mr Hyde with my SAD lamp, my multivitamins, and other coping strategies. So for now, I’ll ride it out in the reassuring knowledge that Dr Jekyll always makes his return.
