Se and ADHD
How can the adhd disorder change (if at all) an Se Dom or aux? Could it make them less stereotypically sensors or Se-ish?
How can the adhd disorder change (if at all) an Se Dom or aux? Could it make them less stereotypically sensors or Se-ish?
Im currently working on a post and I need your opinions on this. Is it possible for Let's say an ENFJ develop Se first rather than Ni, or is it step by step?
By develop I mean being more conscious and using it more, not exactly healthy use.
Hi guys, ive been trying to find my type for some time now and i finally put together a description that i find it usefull, of course there's more to me than that (as to all humans) but i thing the important stuff is here, for all ive read, i could fit both se and ne. I would love to know your thoughts!
I am someone who has spent a large part of my life trying to understand who I am, what matters to me, and what kind of life is worth living. My mind naturally gravitates toward questions of meaning, identity, purpose, human nature, and the future. I often find myself reflecting on my choices, my reactions, my potential, and whether I am becoming the person I want to be. Sometimes this reflection is useful. Other times it becomes a trap.
For years, I have felt caught between two versions of myself. One version lives inside my head, constantly analyzing, questioning, imagining possibilities, revisiting mistakes, and trying to understand everything. The other version feels most alive when actually living life—moving, creating, laughing, exploring, playing sports, going outside, spending time with people, or simply being present in the moment. The older I get, the more I realize that the second version feels more natural, while the first often emerges when I am stressed, uncertain, exhausted, or disconnected from myself.
Some of the moments in my life when I felt most like myself were surprisingly simple. Playing basketball and feeling completely immersed in the game. Walking outdoors without a destination. Looking up at the sky after spending too much time indoors. Creating something just because I felt like creating it. These moments share a common quality: presence. They remind me that life is not something I am meant to endlessly analyze from a distance. It is something I am meant to participate in.
As a child, I was energetic, expressive, affectionate, and curious. I loved climbing trees, walls, and anything that could be explored. I improvised games, invented activities, played with toys, sang songs, and dreamed about who I might become. I was social once I felt comfortable, often talking too much with friends and getting into trouble for it. I was adventurous enough to worry adults and affectionate enough to constantly remind people that I loved them. Looking back, there was a natural enthusiasm for life that seemed to come effortlessly.
At the same time, I have always carried a feeling of emotional separateness. Even when surrounded by people, I often felt different from them in ways I struggled to explain. There has always been a private side of me that rarely feels fully understood. I adapt easily to different people and situations, but adaptation sometimes creates distance between what others see and what I actually experience internally. I often wonder whether people know the real me or only the version of me that fits the situation.
I am highly aware of emotional atmospheres and social dynamics. When I enter a room, I instinctively read the energy. I notice who seems genuine, who is performing, who is comfortable, and who is uneasy. I adjust naturally depending on the environment, often using humor to connect with people and make situations feel lighter. People tend to see me as friendly, expressive, charming, and sometimes even charismatic. Yet I often feel much more uncertain internally than I appear externally.
I care deeply about people and relationships. When conflict happens, especially if I feel misunderstood, I can become extremely self-critical. I tend to replay conversations, search for hidden meanings, and question whether I did something wrong. Sometimes I take responsibility for things that are not entirely my fault because I genuinely want to understand what happened and prevent future harm. I dislike unnecessary conflict and emotional coldness. I value kindness, understanding, and emotional honesty.
I am drawn to people who are warm, funny, genuine, bold, and confident in themselves. I admire decisiveness because I often feel uncertain about my own direction. One of my biggest struggles is not a lack of desire but a lack of clarity. People sometimes mistake this for laziness, but internally it feels very different. I often want many things. I simply become overwhelmed by possibilities, expectations, self-doubt, or the pressure to choose correctly.
When I become interested in something, I tend to immerse myself in it. I consume information, imagine possibilities, and think about it constantly. Yet what ultimately satisfies me is rarely the idea itself—it is the experience of doing it. Thinking about exercise is never as fulfilling as exercising. Thinking about creativity is never as fulfilling as creating. Thinking about life is never as fulfilling as living.
Stress changes me significantly. I become withdrawn, self-conscious, passive, emotionally reactive, and prone to endless rumination. I distract myself with comfort and escapism while feeling guilty for doing so. I compare myself to others, worry that I am wasting my potential, and become trapped in cycles of self-analysis. During these periods, I lose touch with the parts of myself that feel spontaneous, engaged, and alive.
What I want most is surprisingly simple. I want peace. I want understanding. I want enough confidence in who I am that I can stop obsessing over it. I want to slow down, pay attention, create things that matter to me, spend time with people I love, and experience life directly instead of constantly evaluating it from the outside. I do not need a perfect life. I need a life that feels real.
At my best, I am caring, expressive, funny, creative, affectionate, thoughtful, adventurous, and deeply present. I bring warmth to people, enjoy making them laugh, and genuinely want the people around me to feel seen and valued. I believe there is a version of me that is capable of living fully and authentically. Most of my struggles come not from lacking that person, but from losing contact with him and spending too much time searching for him inside my own head when he is often waiting for me out in the world.
Statistically, what is more likely: An analytical INFP that confuses themselves as INTPs or an emotional INTP that confuses themselves as INFPs? I'm studying both types and trying to spot them in people and they seem to overlap in behaviour or am i crazy?