For as long as I can remember, I’ve carried a low hum of anxiety just under the surface.

Unlike the textbook ADHD child, I was subdued. “Quiet, polite, keeps to herself”, a recurring theme in my report cards. In reality, I was paralyzed by the thought of getting anything wrong.

As an adult, I’ve found this concept baffling. In trouble from who exactly?

When thinking back to my earliest school memory, one in particular stands out. It had me in a panic you’d expect over someone being chased by a wild animal. But it was over something well... I’ll let you be the judge.

I can still see it now, a teacher mistakenly accused me of talking while she was teaching. She turned around and snapped at me and my friends. I couldn’t breathe. Panic ensued.

That’s honestly it…

My classmates who were ACTUALLY talking had forgotten by lunch. Meanwhile, I was going through inner turmoil for days.

Growing up, I put it down to being overly sensitive.

But what I actually didn’t know is that it had nothing to do with being weak, and everything to do with how my ADHD brain processes perceived threat.

What other children could shrug off, sent me into spirals.

To this day, (although not as intense, thanks to therapy and meds) I still have that underlying feeling: I’m in trouble.

Death by 20,000 Comments

According to Dr. Michael S. Jellinek at Harvard Medical School, by age 10 a child with ADHD hears an estimated 20,000 corrective or negative comments.

For those diagnosed late (and studies show women are more likely to be) we’ve spent years internalizing shame before understanding its source. Decades of believing something is deeply wrong with us.

In addition to this, us ADHDers, have decreased connectivity in brain regions responsible for emotional regulation. When that teacher snapped my name, the panic signal fired at full intensity, but my prefrontal cortex couldn’t regulate it. Basically, the fire started, but I had no extinguisher.

The prefrontal cortex doesn’t work in isolation, it needs dopamine to function. And what does our ADHD brain run low on?

You guessed it.

Our friend dopamine doesn’t just affect focus, it’s crucial for processing reward and rejection. Running on a dopamine deficit means negative feedback hits harder.

Neurobiological differences + a world built for neurotypicals + late diagnosis = the perfect recipe for shame.

The Cruel Logic of Shame

Shame manifests as self-reinforcing coping mechanisms, a cycle where shame creates the behavior, and the behavior proves the shame was justified in the first place.

I learned to avoid tasks where I might fail. Causing myself further stress through last-minute panics and missed deadlines.

I’d nod in meetings like I understood exactly what to do next (spoiler: I didn’t). Rather than ask for help, I’d lose hours secretly attempting to piece together what was expected.

I learned to build walls to appear “okay”. overstayed at parties even though my social battery had run out, overworked until I was physically ill, overplanned, over-committed and under-delivered.

A self-fulfilling prophecy, perfectly designed to keep me stuck.

Dear Reader, There is Hope

Shame is not a life sentence.

Research shows shame is malleable and responsive to treatment. Adults with ADHD who develop self-compassion experience improved mental health, reduced depression and anxiety, enhanced well-being. Effective approaches include ACT, CBT, mindfulness, compassion-focused therapy, and group interventions—often combined with appropriate medication.

The shame accumulated over years can be addressed, reduced, healed. With the right support, it’s possible to move from a life dominated by shame to one of self-acceptance and confidence.

A Letter to My Younger Self

The turning point for me came when I truly understood the brain differences underlying my experiences. When it finally clicked, when I could see my struggles as neurobiological rather than personal failure, I felt overwhelming relief. Like I’d been holding my breath for years and could finally exhale.

As I approach 30, I’ve come far.

But every now and again, that familiar critical voice pipes up, telling me I’m behind, I’m failing, I’m not enough.

The difference now? I recognize it for what it is.

And even when it gets a grip on me, I’m much better at telling the voice to kindly take a step back.

As these beliefs start in childhood, the next section is a letter to my younger self.

If these words resonate, I’ve written this letter for you too.

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Dear younger me,

I know you’re trying so hard to be good. I know when someone corrects you, it feels like the end of the world.

Listen very closely. There are things I want you to understand.

Your Brain is Incredible and Different

It makes connections others miss. Sees patterns. It’s creative, intuitive, capable. But, it works differently.

One day you’ll read about the ADHD brain described as a Ferrari with bicycle brakes.

Can you imagine?

Well, actually, here’s what we’re working with:

This is why sometimes things feel hard and you aren’t sure why. Not because you’re bad, but because your brain is powerful and fast and the brakes are... well, they have tassels.

They’re doing their best. But they were designed for Sunday afternoon rides in the park, not for an engine that wants to go 200 miles per hour.

When Your Brakes Can’t Keep Up

Something might happen. A teacher snaps at you. A friend says something that stings. Someone’s tone changes. Your brain races ahead—seeing connections, making leaps, generating worst-case scenarios. And those little tasseled brakes try to slow everything down, try to help you regulate and respond calmly.

But they can’t.

So instead of slowing to a gentle stop, you pop a tire or crash. What could’ve been a small bump in the road becomes a complete wipeout, because your braking system simply wasn’t built for the intensity your engine generates.

That’s not your fault. You didn’t pick this bike. And right now, you simply don’t know how to ride.

It Hurts More Because of How You’re Wired

The world is built for brains that work differently than yours. People won’t always understand. They’ll make comments. Some people mean well. Some, well… definitely don’t. Either way, when it feels scary, your brain will try to protect you from feeling that way again.

You’ll develop some coping mechanisms to try to prevent the crashes:

You’ll learn to avoid: keeping people at a distance so they don’t see the real struggle. Staying away from anything (even an email) that might lead to another wipeout.

You’ll learn perfectionism: punishing yourself until you reach an impossible standard no matter how late it is, not doing anything unless you are certain you can do it perfectly.

You’ll learn to mask: pretending your bike works just like everyone else’s. Feeling completely out of place but working overtime to hide it.

You Are Not Your Bike

You’re the rider. You’re the one trying your best to navigate the world on the equipment you were given.

When you crash, when the brakes fail, when the training wheels wobble, that’s not you failing. That’s the bike struggling to handle what it’s required to do.

You’re Not Stuck

You’re not stuck with malfunctioning brakes forever.

You’ll learn more about your bike. You’ll even obsess over it for a little while (perfectionism lol). You’ll ask for help and get proper support.

Medication will be your training wheels. They’ll make the journey a little bit smoother (but they don’t teach you how to ride).

That’s where therapy comes in. These are your riding lessons. Like someone walking alongside you, helping you understand how your specific bike works, teaching you techniques for handling the speed and the stops.

Like muscle memory, you never truly forget, but you will need reminding, especially when you’re learning new skills or trying unfamiliar terrain.

The Things You’ll Learn

Those coping mechanisms you’re developing? You’ll resent them sometimes. But you’ll learn they’ve given you unexpected gifts.

You’ll become really good at reading people: all those years of watching carefully taught you to notice what others miss.

Others will come to you for advice: your empathy, born from hypervigilance, makes you someone others trust.

You’ll be a hard worker: you’ll learn that drive can be redirected toward things that matter to you.

You don’t have to “love all parts of yourself” when some things are genuinely hard. You should never feel pressured to do that. This is about learning to recognize when your coping mechanisms are taking over, when they’re running the show instead of you. Gaining back that control.

Say it with me, I am the driver, not the bike.

My Promises:

I’ll be nicer to you

When that critical voice starts up—the one that sounds like all those corrective comments rolled into one, I’ll challenge it. I’ll remind us both that struggling doesn’t mean failing, that needing help doesn’t make us broken, that taking longer doesn’t make us less capable.

You will be okay

You will experience rejection. Both real and perceived. Whether it’s heartbreak or jobs that don’t work out. I promise (as cliche as this sounds), they lead to better things. As brutal as the crashes feel in the moment, they aren’t failures, they are course corrections.

You’re not alone

One day you’ll be riding along and see someone else struggling with their bike. You’ll recognize the wobble, the panic, the desperate attempt to look like everything’s fine. And you’ll cheer them on.

You’ll even find a whole community of riders, people with bikes just like yours, swapping stories and strategies, laughing (and crying) about their crashes instead of doing it alone.

Hiding isn’t the answer

I give you permission to get in trouble, to not be perfect, to make mistakes, to let people see you struggle.

I won’t lie to you. We’ve got a steep ride. This work takes time. I’m still learning but I promise to keep getting back on the bike.

Love,Your future self x

This piece felt super vulnerable to share, but if it landed for even one person, it was worth it.

If you know someone who needs to read the letter to their younger self, please forward this along.

TL;DR

* That “always in trouble” feeling isn’t weakness—it’s neurobiology. ADHD brains have decreased connectivity in emotional regulation regions and run on a dopamine deficit, meaning negative feedback hits harder while positive feedback barely registers.

* By age 10, ADHD children hear an estimated 20,000 corrective or negative comments. Unlike neurotypical kids who process feedback as “I did something wrong,” ADHD kids often internalize “I am bad”—building a core belief that they’re fundamentally flawed.

* Shame creates self-reinforcing coping mechanisms: avoiding tasks where you might fail, pretending to understand when you don’t, building walls to appear “okay.” Each mechanism was your brain trying to protect you—but every time, the shame gets reinforced.

* The good news: shame is malleable and responsive to treatment. Research shows that adults with ADHD who develop self-compassion experience reduced depression and anxiety, improved mental health, and enhanced well-being through approaches like CBT, mindfulness, and compassion-focused therapy.

* The turning point: Understanding that your struggles are neurobiological—not personal failure. The letter to your younger self (with the Ferrari engine and bicycle brakes metaphor) reframes everything.

Don’t feel like reading the whole post? Scroll to the bottom for a TL;DR (Too Long, Didn’t Read)

Picture this:

I receive an email. The time is 10:47 AM.

It’s not an angry email. It’s not even particularly urgent. It’s just a straightforward question about a project timeline. I read it once. Then again, because it didn’t go in at first. I know what they need. I know what I should say.

But I can’t start typing.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I hit reply. Close it. Open it again. The cursor blinks, waiting. The thoughts start swirling: “Should I be further ahead? Have I completely misjudged this?“

Ten minutes disappear. Then twenty.

I’m slipping into a panic. It’s not about the email anymore. It’s about me as a person. My character. My abilities (or lack thereof).

“You should’ve come into work earlier.“ “Why can’t you just reply? What’s wrong with you?“

The task has become proof.

Solid evidence.

Indisputable confirmation of every fear I’ve ever had about myself and my worth.

I’m not just stuck on an email anymore. I’m stuck in the story the email is telling me about myself.

A message pops up from my manager: “Hey, do you mind responding to that email?“

The question breaks something open. My eyes start burning. I’m about to cry over an email. A perfectly reasonable, answerable email.

I sit there, the email still waiting, my body turned to stone. Forty minutes have passed now. The day is collapsing before it’s halfway through.

And the voice in my head gets louder:

Just do it. It’s one email. You’re being ridiculous. Just. Type. Words.

What’s actually happening in your brain

Here’s what I didn’t know was happening in those forty frozen minutes:

My prefrontal cortex (the CEO of the brain) responsible for task initiation, planning, working memory—had gone offline. Not because I wasn’t trying hard enough. Because that’s what stress does to an ADHD brain: it flips the circuit breaker.

And here’s the cruel irony: ADHD brains already run on a dopamine deficit. We have fewer dopamine receptors in the pathways responsible for motivation and reward. So when stress hits, it’s not just shutting down a normally functioning system—it’s overloading one that was already running on backup power.

Tamara Rosier, in her book Your Brain’s Not Broken, uses this analogy: imagine your brain’s executive function as a butler. For our neurotypical friends, the butler shows up when called. But for people with ADHD, our butler, let’s call him Gilbert, didn’t even make it to work.

On top of this baseline struggle, tasks don’t provide the neurochemical “kick” needed to initiate action. Our poor Gilbert didn’t just choose not to show up to work. He completely forgot to set his alarm to wake up in time for his shift.

The polyvagal framework, increasingly applied to ADHD, reveals that during freeze states the brain perceives threat and automatically shifts into dorsal vagal shutdown—a protective response that bypasses conscious control entirely. At this point, the circuit breaker has been flipped, and Gilbert is MIA.

Would you expect someone with a broken leg to try harder to walk? Of course not. You’d give them crutches.

ADHD may be invisible, but its impact is real. Not just on focus and concentration—on your body, your nervous system, your ability to move through space and time like everyone else seems to do effortlessly.

What I was experiencing when I got that email wasn’t laziness or a lack of willpower. Even calling it ‘procrastination’ understates the biological reality.

My nervous system activated an involuntary circuit breaker, protecting the system from overload.

The bottleneck no one talks about

This is the trap that most ADHD advice doesn’t account for.

Cognitive strategies—making lists, breaking tasks down, planning, prioritizing, analyzing—all require solid prefrontal cortex function, adequate working memory, and sufficient dopamine to sustain attention. In other words, our butler needs to be consistently on duty, thinking ahead and doing the back-end work to make sure everything runs smoothly.

Although there are many beautiful elements of the ADHD brain, a reliable Gilbert is not one of them. Even if Gilbert makes it to his shift, he’s probably going to be napping on the job.

So what can we do when we are in a state of freeze?

The key is to have a solution so simple and so ingrained that it is second nature.

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What I keep forgetting (and remembering)

In typical ADHD fashion, I discovered something years ago. Then I forgot it. Then I discovered it again. Then I forgot it again.

I keep coming back to this one because it’s the simplest thing I’ve ever found that actually loosens the grip of the ADHD freeze.

It’s just one word.

Are you ready?

Yes.

That’s literally it. Saying yes to yourself.

A practice I learned from psychologist, author and teacher Tara Brach involves silently saying yes to yourself when experiencing unpleasant feelings.

Not to the task. Not to the anxiety. But to yourself. To the present moment. To the fact that you’re frozen.

I was skeptical when I first heard of the technique, but each time I said it, I could sense something relax within me.

That afternoon, sitting at my desk with the unanswered email and the collapsing day and the voice in my head getting louder—what’s wrong with you—my Gilbert, for reasons unknown, decided to enlighten me with this technique I had filed away.

I whispered silently to myself: “Yes.”

My shoulders dropped half an inch. I took a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. And then—not because I’d suddenly developed discipline, but because something had shifted in my nervous system—I started typing. Not perfectly. But words appeared on the screen.

But isn’t this just toxic positivity?

I know what you’re thinking. I thought it too.

Isn’t this just toxic positivity? My skepticism radar was going off at first.

It’s not about saying yes to broken systems or situations that need to change. I’m not accepting that I should be able to do things I can’t do. It’s also not a way to get rid of unpleasant feelings to make ourselves feel better.

Saying Yes is an inner practice of acceptance where we consciously allow our thoughts and feelings to naturally exist and pass through.

When you have ADHD, resistance becomes your default setting. For years, you’ve had neurotypical expectations placed on you. Expectations you couldn’t meet not because you weren’t trying, but because your brain works differently. Over time, you internalize those expectations. Mistake them for your own standards.

The voice that whispers I should be able to do this isn’t yours. It’s the accumulated weight of every time someone acted like your struggles were a choice.

And that resistance, that should, amplifies the freeze response.

The physics of resistance

Each time I told myself I should be able to do this, my chest tightened another degree. The resistance wasn’t helping me move. It was another layer of ice.

In the words of Carl Jung: “What you resist not only persists, but will grow in size.”

When I say yes, I’m not endorsing the freeze. I’m stopping the fight against it. And that’s when something remarkable happens.

What yes actually does

The “yes” isn’t magic. It’s biology.

When you stop resisting what is, your nervous system reads it as safety. The freeze response starts to thaw. The circuit breaker hasn’t fully reset, but the emergency lights come on. This space allows your cognitive functions to come back online. Not all at once—but enough. Enough to remember what you were supposed to do. Enough to take one small action.

Saying yes loosens the grip.

What it looks like in real life

Here’s what this actually looks like across different situations:

The phone call: You’ve been staring at your phone for twenty minutes. You need to call the doctor’s office. The freeze has set in. You whisper “yes” to the dread, to the overwhelm, to the fact that calling feels impossible right now. Your hand picks up the phone.

The couch that won’t let you rest: You finally have time to relax. But your brain immediately starts the inventory: the laundry, that text you didn’t answer, the project due next week. Your body is on the couch but your nervous system is still running. The guilt rises: you should be productive, you’re wasting time, everyone else is getting things done. “Yes” to the exhaustion. “Yes” to needing rest even when your brain says you don’t deserve it. “Yes” to the guilt that’s here anyway. Your body starts to actually settle.

The burnout spiral: It’s 2 PM on a Tuesday and you can feel it building. The pressure. The voice saying work harder, focus more, push through. The tasks are piling up and you’re starting to move faster, think less clearly, make small mistakes that create more work. “Yes” to the exhaustion. “Yes” to the fact that your brain needs a break even though the day isn’t over. “Yes” to your human limitations. You step away from your desk for five minutes instead of pushing toward collapse.

The difficult conversation: Your partner wants to talk about something important. Your brain is already running escape routes. “Yes” to the fear. “Yes” to not having the right words yet. You sit down.

It doesn’t make the tasks easy. But it makes them possible.

Building the road

The key is to practice it when you’re not in a freeze state. If I notice tension building in my jaw or chest, I say yes to it. If I start hearing that mean internal voice telling me I “should” be doing something, I think: yes.

Here’s what I’m learning about neuroplasticity: when you practice something daily, the neural pathway gets stronger. It becomes more automatic. The next time I freeze—and there will be a next time—the “yes” might arrive a little sooner.

It can be both a preventative measure and a rescue tool.

When yes isn’t enough

I’m not promising this will work for everyone. I’m not even promising it will work for me every time.

Some days, the freeze is too deep. The circuit breaker won’t flip back. On those days, I try to remember: one tool not working doesn’t mean I’m broken. It means I need a different tool, or I need to step away entirely and come back later.

Sometimes yes opens a crack. Sometimes it opens a door. And sometimes it just reminds you that you’re allowed to be stuck without making it mean something about your worth.

Tara Brach herself reminds us: “You have a unique body and mind, with a particular history and conditioning. No one can offer you a formula for navigating all situations and all states of mind. Only by listening inwardly in a fresh and open way will you discern at any given time what most serves your healing and freedom.”

This practice, this simple yes, is an invitation to listen. Not a command to be followed rigidly. Some moments call for yes. Some moments call for something else entirely. Trust yourself to know the difference.

A note on getting support

The “yes” practice is powerful, but it’s one tool in a larger toolkit. If you’re finding that freeze states are dominating your life, please know that’s a sign you deserve more support—whether that’s therapy, medication, coaching, or a combination.

Using this technique doesn’t mean you don’t need other help. Often, it’s the foundation that makes other interventions possible. There’s no shame in needing multiple strategies. Your ADHD is real, and it deserves comprehensive support.

Another email lands in my inbox

This one’s from my boss. A question about something I need to figure out. I feel that familiar tightening start in my chest, the static beginning to fill my head. The voice warming up: Just answer it, why is this so hard—

“Yes,” I say, quietly to myself.

Yes to the freeze that’s trying to take hold. Yes to my brain that works differently. Yes to the fact that this feels hard right now.

My shoulders drop. I take a breath.

And then I start typing.

Not because I’m fixed. Not because I’ve conquered anything. But because I stopped fighting long enough to remember that I don’t have to.

The circuit breaker flips back on. Gilbert stumbles to his feet. And the day—the day doesn’t collapse.

I’m building new roads, one yes at a time.

Dear reader, if you’ve made it this far (love you), I invite you right this second to try this practice. Close your eyes and say yes and notice what you feel.

P.S. I highly recommend Tara Brach’s meditations (also available on Spotify etc.). I’m not much of a meditation person myself as I can’t stand long silences. However, Tara provides the most insightful context and guidance throughout her practice.

TL;DR

* ADHD task paralysis isn’t laziness—it’s a nervous system freeze response triggered by stress hitting an already dopamine-deficient brain.

* When cognitive strategies fail because your prefrontal cortex has gone offline, try the simplest intervention: say “yes” to yourself. Not to the task, not to fix the freeze, but to the present moment exactly as it is.

* This single word can shift your nervous system from shutdown to safety, allowing your brain to come back online.

* Practice it when you’re not frozen, and it becomes the road back when you are.

* It won’t work every time, and that’s okay—one tool not working doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Remove it. Right now.

We’re approaching a very dangerous time of year for those with ADHD. If it hasn’t started already, your FYP will soon be drowning in aesthetically pleasing journal setups. You’ll be hounded by targeted ads serving you the latest solution in time management. Every influencer, now conveniently a productivity guru with a discount code.

And they’re all counting on one thing, the dopamine hit you get from setting up a brand new system.

Trust me, I’ve fallen victim to this trap many a time.

And I’m not even talking your simple Kmart paperback. I’ve got digital ones with in-built notifications. Paper ones with hourly, daily, weekly and quarterly pages. Bullet journals with elaborate spreads. And don’t even @ me about coloured pens and stickers.

Trust me, I know ball.

Every single time I swore it would single-handedly solve all of my problems. Despite my purest intentions, a few days or a week (if I was lucky) would go by and they’d inevitably end up forgotten.

Never touched or thought of again. Or worse, it became the source of crippling shame.

Here’s why I now refuse to see this as a failure (and you should too).

Dr. Russell Barkley, one of the leading ADHD researchers, highlights that ADHD is commonly tied with executive dysfunction. You know what to do. Your brain just can’t consistently do it when it matters. Especially when the task itself provides zero dopamine.

A planner can’t solve this. They impose a one-size-fits-all system to treat surface level symptoms. Meanwhile the root (different wiring) is ignored.

Why THIS one feels like it will be different

WE <3 PLANNERS and PENS and STICKERS and NEW THINGS. They give us hope.

Each planner promises a fresh start.

“I’ll finally stay on top of my to-do list”.

“I’ll even get around to completing a habit tracker every day”.

“I’ll finally have it all together.”

On paper, it makes sense.

Like so many things in our life, it becomes a symbol of potential. The possibility of what would happen if I could just stay consistent.

In reality, the upkeep of a planner requires time management, emotional regulation, follow-through, focus, and impulse control. The very core challenges of ADHD.

When the ‘solution’ becomes another problem

Successful use of a planner requires the following:

1. Solid working memory

I wish. “Out of sight, out of mind” is too real. This applies to remembering to write things down, to check the planner regularly or even remembering where I left the planner.

2. Maintaining a system when the “newness” wears off

Nope. New planner = dopamine hit. Using same planner/system for weeks = boring and painful.

3. Ability to push past perfectionism or past failures

Unfortunately not. The fear of not doing something perfectly can be paralysing. Often the shame of forgetting to update the planner prevents me from picking it back up again.

The problem is, the upkeep of a planner actually becomes more of a hassle than a solution.

Planners are built on the assumption that your brain works in a linear, predictable way. But ADHD brains are non-linear. They need external structure to compensate for weak internal regulation, but… that structure can’t be the planner itself. It has to come first.

Here’s what you should do instead.

The 5-step method

So if the answer isn’t to conform to neurotypical systems or beat ourselves into a consistent robot, what would it look like to approach planning in a way that works with our brain?

Here is how planning looks for me now. No flashy systems. No dopamine fuelled solutions.

I call it the Check-in, Plan Then Do Method.

1. Notice what’s happening in your body (crucial)

Before you open any planning tool, check in.

Resistance? Chest tight, shoulders up, jaw clenched.

Over-excitement? Energy buzzing, thoughts racing, urge to make it PERFECT.

Both are your nervous system dysregulated. Just in different directions.

This isn’t woo-woo. Research shows, when you’re dysregulated, your prefrontal cortex—where planning happens—literally goes offline. You cannot out-discipline a dysregulated nervous system.

2. Move it

Stand up. Shake your hands. Walk for 5 minutes.

Break the cycle. Remind yourself, you are the boss.

3. Keep it stupidly simple

Reduce the friction to start. Reject the thought you need a whole new system.

I use Apple Notes and Google Calendar. That’s it. Sometimes it’s messy and that is okay.

If your current system is giving you dopamine from elaborate setup, that’s a red flag.

4. Start small and specific

Constrain. Constrain. Constrain.

Not “work on XYZ for 1 hour”

Just: “What’s three things I need to do today?”

Ask: How will you know when that task is done?

Write it down. Externalise it. Don’t rely on your brain.

5. Set a timer for planning

Planning is critical for ADHDers but be careful of falling into the overplanning trap.

Give yourself 5-10 minutes to plan. When the timer goes off, you’re done. No exceptions.

Planning isn’t the goal. Doing is.

If your body is getting a kick out of creating an elaborate plan, you’re avoiding the actual work. The timer interrupts this pattern.

If that planner is still sitting in your cart

Listen to me when I say this.

The fact you haven’t used the last 12 planners you bought does not mean you are disorganized, lazy, or broken.

It means planners require certain behaviours that ADHD makes difficult. No amount of “designed for ADHD” marketing changes your neurobiology.

Stay strong. Don’t let the planner industry convince you that THIS one will be different. Reinvention doesn’t have to start January 1st. That’s just clever marketing at work.

Also, enough of using your planner graveyard as ammunition to be mean to yourself. I’m serious.

The goal isn’t becoming someone who plans perfectly. It’s working with your ADHD brain instead of forcing it into neurotypical systems that were never built for you.

Empty your cart. Close the tab. You already have everything you need.

Leave a comment if you too have fallen victim to the planner trap.