When the Marble Run Broke

I wrote this post because I know this experience will resonate with other neurodivergent people. At the end, I've added a mini-toolkit I use with the young people I coach, because sometimes what saves us in the moment can also be passed on to others.

Florence and I sat cross-legged on the floor, at twenty months old, she clapped her little hands every time the marble rattled into the bottom cup. Her giggles were infectious. I smiled, matching her excitement, slotting tubes and curves together, helping her send the marble racing down again.

Before long, Flo wandered off to the sofa, getting lost in Pingu’s world. I was left hunched over the pieces taking a trip down memory lane when this and the water play were my favourite choices as a reception class student.

What started as play with my daughter became a puzzle I couldn’t put down. I rebuilt, re-routed, chasing the perfect flow.

Two cups of tea went cold on the side. At least three times I said out loud,

Right, I need to STOP

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

When the whole thing collapsed………..so did I.

I felt my chest tightening, hot tears flowing. What the fuck is wrong with me? The question echoed in my head.

Locked on that thought, my shoulders shook. “FFS, I’m having a panic attack over blooming marble run.”

The more I fought the negative automatic thoughts (NATs), the less I could breathe and the faster the hot tears fell.

A podcast quote I couldn’t place swirled around until I grabbed it and said it out loud: “Feel and breathe, feel and breathe, don’t fight it.” I took slow, long breaths. In and out. In and out. IN AND OUT.

Florence got off the couch and touched my shoulder. That tiny grounding touch was enough to bring the calm faster. My fiancé, watching and looking concerned but also perplexed, asked tentatively if I wanted a hug. Over two years together, he knows better than to just touch an already overwhelmed nervous system.

“Yes please,” I half-wailed, the shame of my "weirdness" threatening to overwhelm me again. He let me melt into him.

He hugged me tight. ‘Squeeze as hard as you can” he said instinctively. I squeezed until the tension slowly drained away.” Joel had helped my nervous system find its way back.

I’m the first to celebrate superpowers especially youngsters who mostly receive negative messages.

People often talk about hyperfocus as a quirky superpower. It can look impressive, but the reality is we don’t get to choose what captures us.

It’s not just marble runs. It happens with work too. I can be hours into a funding application or hacking at a business plan, and then something tiny, a spreadsheet cell misbehaving or my fiancé casually asking if I want a cup of tea, causes rage to detonate inside me.

Sharp words spoken, leaving my partner confused and, rightly so, pissed off.

All he did was ask if I wanted a drink, for God’s sake.

I should be thankful, yet in that moment, my nervous system is already stretched thin. The interruption feels like an attack, even when it isn’t.

An Innovate UK cash flow forecast has the same potential as the marble run. It demands focus, precision, and creative energy.

Left unchecked, I’ll lock in for hours, chasing the “perfect” version, and end up unravelling when something breaks.

Maybe what I’ve said here resonates.

Maybe you’re not as lucky as I am, with a fiancé who’s stuck with me through the ADHD, PMDD, pregnancy hormones and perimenopausal rage, who has been pushed away many times and still learned how to stand close without smothering me. That point, the work of staying and sitting with is arguably the most important message we can pass on to our children.

Just because our children know we can’t leave them doesn’t equate to safety in their eyes. It equates to more negative self-talk that doesn’t get silenced; it becomes part of who you are or replays as an intrusive thought in your adult life, becoming much harder to quiet: “What’s wrong with me?”, “I’m unlovable”, “Nobody gives a shit”...

Take a moment to think about your own negative self-talk.

Recognising them is the first step to being able to truly ask them to pipe down.

The uncomfortable truth: every outburst, every slammed door, every meltdown has a hidden message. When we only see the behaviour, we throw more coal onto the fire. We escalate what’s already exploded.

ALL BEHAVIOUR is communication

DON’T Respond to the BEHAVIOUR

RESPOND to the NEED

As parents or partners, we’ve all been there. It’s painful to admit that our reactions sometimes make things worse

When my daughter is raging, what she often needs isn’t correction and onlookers saying you are too soft, she needs an escape route. A way out of her own flooded nervous system.

I know this because I’ve been her. I remember shouting “I hate you!” as a kid, words that didn’t mean what they sounded like. Just raw discharge.

Years later, hearing my own daughter shout those same words at me. My shameful retort, “Good, I’m glad,” is burnt into my memory as one of those "shit mama" moments.

It’s not something we like to talk about, unless we are minimising it and recounting it as a story to a friend about a "problem child" we can’t get through to.

We don’t talk about real, deep parent fails because they sting. They bring judgment.

These aren’t signs of being broken parents. They’re signs that we are human, raising human children, inside nervous systems that get pushed to their limits.

The work isn’t to ignore and erase the mistakes.

The work is to see them, repair them, and keep learning how not to turn fear into fire.

It’s taken me too long, and too many parenting and partner mistakes, to really see that. But it’s what I want to pass forward to Florence, to my other kids, and to the young people I coach.

Mini-Toolkit: How to Exit Hyperfocus Before Meltdown

With the young people I coach, I share the same strategies I try to lean on myself.

We talk a lot about strategies in this house, my children also, none of these are magic fixes, but they give the nervous system a fighting chance to reset before things follow my lead. When able to notice their own challenges we solve as a family and agree when external prompts may be needed if they are clearly unable to access reasonable thought.

• Set an external breaker. A timer, a phone alarm, or even another person who has permission to interrupt you. A hyperfocused brain doesn’t respect an internal "I’ll just stop now." You need something outside of you that says, "Time’s up."
• Pair stopping with comfort. Don’t just yank yourself away from the task. Anchor the transition to something soothing or rewarding: a hot drink, a favourite song, or a grounding object you can hold. That way, stopping feels less like a punishment and more like a transition.
• Release the pressure physically. Before the thoughts spiral, give your body an outlet: push hard against a wall, carry something heavy, stomp your feet, or squeeze into a hug if you have someone safe nearby. Regulating the body often comes before regulating the mind.

I use these with the youth and adults I coach because I know firsthand how it feels when the marble run breaks. If I can’t always prevent it, I can at least model what repair looks like.

Hope this is helpful.