The Island I Long For: Daydreaming, Overwhelm and the Space I’ve Spent a Lifetime Seeking

I remember it clearly.

I’m in junior school.

Second to last year.

A ruler in my hand—turned into a makeshift aeroplane.

I’m flying it silently through the air while the teacher talks about maths.

Not because I hated maths.I actually loved it. I always got top marks.

But because my mind was already somewhere else.

I wasn’t disruptive. I wasn’t lazy.

I was just… gone.

Off in a daydream, somewhere quieter.

Somewhere calmer.

Somewhere that made sense.

All My Reports Said the Same Thing

“Phil daydreams in class.”“Easily distracted.”“Needs to concentrate more.”

But what they didn’t see was that I was concentrating.

Just not always on what they wanted.

I was concentrating on escaping.

Because most of the time, school didn’t feel safe.

The classroom. The playground. The walk home.

I was the quiet, awkward, sensitive child—the one who didn’t quite fit.

The one who got picked on, called names, always aware of who might say what next.

So my mind took me somewhere else.It built its own little island.

And I’ve been trying to sail back there ever since.

The Adult Version Looks Like This

• Procrastinating until the last minute

• Getting stressed if I’m running late

• Feeling panic if plans suddenly change

• Saying yes to social events… and then regretting them the second I get there

• Wishing I could just disappear for a while

And it’s not because I don’t love people.

I do.

But I’ve always needed space. Silence. Stillness.

It’s why the idea of sailing to an island with no neighbours or noise…sounds like heaven to me.

Now I Understand Why

For most of my life, I thought I was just overly sensitive.

Or bad at handling pressure.

Or lazy because I couldn’t start things early.

But now I know I’m autistic. And I have ADHD.

And suddenly, everything makes more sense.

The daydreaming.

The procrastination.

The emotional overload.

The craving for peace.

The constant scanning for danger—even in safe rooms.

This wasn’t personality.

It was neurodivergence + trauma.

And once I saw that…

I stopped shaming myself for it.

But the World Doesn’t Always Get It

We live in a society that rewards being fast, loud, visible, and always on.

So when you’re someone who likes to move slower…

someone who needs solitude to recharge…

someone whose brain is wired to drift and absorb everything…

You can spend a lifetime feeling like you’re wrong.

And worse—like you’re broken.

Finding My Island Through Sound

That’s where sound came in.

Not just as a practice.

But as a return to that inner island.

When I’m under a gong…

when I’m humming softly to myself…

when I’m lying in a hammock surrounded by vibration—

I feel safe.

I feel met.

I feel like I can finally breathe.

No more needing to perform.

No more masking.

Just presence.

Sound doesn’t ask me to be anything.

It just holds me.

And in that stillness, I remember:

I’m allowed to need peace.

I’m allowed to rest.

I’m allowed to be who I am.

Let’s Leave You With This

If you were the child who drifted…

If you’re the adult who still struggles to get things done on time…

If you crave space but feel guilty for needing it—

You’re not wrong.

You’re not lazy.

You’re not broken.

You’re just someone who sees and feels a little more than most.

You’re someone whose nervous system has carried a lifetime of noise.

And maybe, like me, you’re just looking for your island.

A place where the world stops spinning so loudly…

and your body finally gets to rest.