Dreamspace Studio

“Just make a to-do list.”

That advice, right there. That’s the one that sends me straight into the void. That’s the phrase that makes my brain revolt and my soul astrally project into a dimension where checkboxes don’t exist and nothing is expected of me. Bliss.

Listen: I am begging neurotypicals to stop giving this advice to ADHD people like it’s a one-size-fits-all magic spell. Do you have any idea what happens when I make a to-do list?

Let me tell you.

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What I think I’m doing:
Making a helpful, structured outline of things I need to do so I don’t forget and can feel accomplished.

What I’m actually doing:
Building a Rube Goldberg machine of anxiety, shame, procrastination, executive dysfunction, and color-coded stickers I’ll stare at until I die.

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Somewhere between item #3 (“email dentist”) and item #4 (“start a new career”), I spiral into philosophical despair and start asking questions like:

• “Why do humans have teeth anyway?”
• “Who decided deadlines were real?”
• “If I rearrange this list enough times, is that technically productivity?”

And before you know it, I’ve spent four hours customizing a task manager that looks like a Lisa Frank fever dream, then closed the tab, deleted the app, and crawled back into my blanket cave.

I’m not lazy. I’m overwhelmed. I’m not forgetful. My brain is doing a synchronized dance routine with 42 tabs open and only one of them is playing music, but I can’t find which one.

So no, Susan, I will not be making a to-do list today. Unless it includes:

1. Cry
2. Drink iced coffee
3. Write a mildly unhinged blog post about why to-do lists are my nemesis
4. Post it for internet strangers to enjoy
5. Cry again (optional, but likely)

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If you’re also an ADHD gremlin who has turned a planner into a shame scrapbook, just know: you’re not alone. And honestly? You’re doing amazing, sweetie.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go alphabetize my spice rack while forgetting to eat lunch and suddenly remembering I owe someone an email from 2021.

Have you ever destroyed a planner with your mind? What’s the worst neurotypical advice you’ve ever received? Drop your glitter-coated war stories in the comments.