I feel like the inside of my head is a damn pinball machine. I go to the kitchen to put something away and ding, I am in the family room tidying up. I don’t finish, obviously, but grab something that belongs in my office. I bring it there, put it away, sit down to pay bills… and never return to the kitchen or family room.
Ding. The laundry is done. I start folding it, carry a stack to Hudson’s room, then notice his closet needs help, so now I am reorganizing that.
And then, of course, I cannot remember what I was doing before that. I head upstairs, feeling accomplished for about four seconds, and realize: dishes still undone, family room half-picked up, bills half-paid, laundry half-folded and now mocking me from the bed.
I was diagnosed with ADHD in May 2025. Suddenly, so many unfinished tasks and half-baked projects from my past made sense. Oh. That’s why I went to six different colleges before finally getting a degree.
My brain goes 1,000 mph nonstop. Everything feels urgent. I get irritable faster, and my executive function is more dysfunctional than functional on most days. I know what to do. I want to do it. I can picture myself doing it. But the internal “Go!” button is glitchy as hell.
And then there is the anxiety. My loud, relentless inner critic named Susan loves to remind me that I am not doing enough, not doing it fast enough, or not doing it “right.” My ADHD triggers my anxiety, and my anxiety fuels my ADHD. It’s a fun little loop from hell.
Here are the things that light my overwhelm fuse. Unexpected, sudden noises irritate the piss out of me. The transition from one task to another is a whole separate challenge, not a few seconds. Interruptions send me straight into a spiral.
I have read so many self-help books on how to “fix” myself. But the reality is that I will never be “cured.” I had to learn how to navigate life inside my ADHD and anxiety-riddled brain. I had to give myself permission to accept how my brain is wired instead of trying to control it, because pushing harder only made everything worse and more chaotic.
Here is what I have come up with that actually helps me.
Tool 1: The Three-Item Morning Check-In (The Ritual)
Mornings used to feel like I woke up already behind. Before I even got out of bed, my brain was sprinting through a dozen half-formed thoughts and imaginary deadlines. I needed something simple and doable that would ground me before the chaos kicked in.
So I started doing what I call my Three-Item Morning Check-In. It is quick, honest, and takes less than a minute. I ask myself three questions:
What absolutely needs my attention today?
How am I feeling, really?
What is one small thing I can do that will make the day easier?
Most days, that one small thing is just making my bed. It takes less than a minute, but it gives me an instant win. One thing done. One thing I can feel good about. One thing that proves I am not already behind before the day even starts.
And yes, I totally stole that idea from Admiral William H. McRaven. The man led Navy SEALs through missions that sounded like movie plots, and I am over here proud of myself for remembering why I walked into a room… but he has a point. If making your bed can set the tone for an elite military operation, it can probably handle my ADHD-anxiety circus too.
Tool 2: Lists (The Triage System)
Traditional to-do lists do not work for my brain. If I write down “Clean the kitchen,” my mind immediately short-circuits because that could mean fifty different micro-tasks. My ADHD sees a big, vague task and immediately taps out.
So I created my own system. I call it my Triage List. Nothing goes on it unless it can be done in fifteen minutes or less. If something is bigger than that, I break it down until it fits. Not “Clean the kitchen,” but “Deal with the fridge science experiments.” Not “Organize the office,” but “Handle4 the desk disaster area before OSHA gets involved.” My brain can handle tiny, clear steps. What it cannot handle is some vague project or chore with no clear direction. If I have to guess what the hell the first step is, my brain shuts the whole operation down.
And here is the rule that saves me from myself: no diverting from the Triage List.
If something distracts me, whether it is a random idea, a reminder, a new task, or a squirrel-level thought, I do not chase it. I simply write it down on the list and go back to what I was doing. No jumping from one thing to the next and then back around again. No following brain-gremlins on field trips. The list keeps me anchored so I can actually finish something.
The magic of the Triage List is that it gives me progress without pressure. Every little checkmark is a dopamine hit. Every tiny task completed takes the edge off the chaos. I am basically tricking my brain into believing I have my life together, one fifteen-minute win at a time.
Tool 3: Humor (The Shame Diffuser)
Humor is my pressure valve. When my ADHD and anxiety start double-teaming me, humor is the only thing that stops me from spiraling into a full shame meltdown. If I can laugh at the chaos, the chaos loses its bite.
For me, humor is not about pretending everything is fine. It is about saying, “Yep, this is ridiculous,” and refusing to drown in it. Like when I walk into a room, forget why I am there, and then immediately roast myself for being the CEO of Now What Was I Doing Incorporated. Then I just stand there staring into space like my brain is buffering. Or when I catch myself reorganizing a closet in the middle of paying bills and think, “Classic me. Focus? Never met her.”
The minute I poke fun at it, the shame backs off. I am no longer the villain in my own story. I am just a human with a spicy brain that takes detours nobody asked for.
Self-deprecating honesty gives me space to breathe. Humor lets me treat my own mind with a little grace instead of acting like I am supposed to be the perfect Pinterest version of myself. When I can laugh at the mess, the anxious voice quiets down and the shame has nowhere to sit.
Humor is grace out loud. It keeps things soft when my brain tries to go into hard mode.
Conclusion: Permission to Do What Works
At the end of the day, managing my ADHD and anxiety is not about fixing myself or chasing some magical version of “normal.” It is about giving myself permission to do what actually works, even if it looks different from what everyone else is doing. No matter how your brain is wired or what you’re dealing with in life, you deserve tools that help you live fully. You deserve to give yourself grace.
Ditch the “shoulds.” They are heavy, unrealistic, and usually have nothing to do with your actual life or your actual brain. Embrace the things that make sense to you, even if they seem strange to someone else. If it helps you function, if it helps you breathe, if it helps you get through the day with a little less chaos, then it counts.
These tools save my life on the regular. What is one weird, specific, non-negotiable thing that saves yours? Drop it in the comments. Let’s normalize the chaos together.
