“Why Can’t I Just Do the Thing?” — ADHD, Shame Spirals, and Learning to Work With My Brain
I used to think I was just lazy. Not just have a lie on a Sunday lazy, but full on industrial-strength lazy. The kind of lazy that couldn’t return a text, couldn’t open the post, couldn’t do the really simple task on my to-do list. The dreaded to-do list is a constant cause for anxiety. I live in the constant contradiction - the need to write a list, and simultaneously the inability to follow it.
A few months ago, I found out that I’m actually not standard ‘lazy’ after all, I’m just navigating life with a different level of chaos. Living with ADHD is equal parts comedy, tragedy, and a Google calendar graveyard.
The Diagnosis That Changed Everything (and Also, Nothing)
My diagnosis journey started after decades of being treated for anxiety and depression and getting no where. I was sick of being fed pills that made no difference, and attending therapy that wasn’t helping. On one rainy November afternoon I broke down in the doctor’s office and told them that all these pills just weren’t working. I didn’t feel any better. Ever. Every day was the same and I was exhausted and at breaking point.
The doctors reply? “Why don’t we increase your dose?”
I wanted to punch him. I was done. So done with him and his pill pushing that I requested to speak to someone else, a different doctor, a fresh face who could perhaps, actually listen to me. The person who walked into that room that afternoon probably saved my life.
He asked some questions. He didn’t push more pills, he asked in what ways they weren’t helping. We talked, a back and forth, a good discussion and I got it all off my chest. All the things I struggled with I laid out, not very coherently, I just brain dumped everything onto him. Then he did the one thing that no one had in 20 years - he listened. He actually heard what I was saying rather than just sweeping me under the rug with every other depressed and anxious person out there. Then he said 6 little words that would start a course of action which would change everything:
“I think you could have ADHD.”
And that was the beginning. There were forms, so many forms, and then assessments, then psychiatrists and more questions, and then it was there. A diagnosis - Inattentive ADHD.
Suddenly, things began to make sense, and I realised, while staring at the endless tabs in my brain, ‘oh, that’s why I do that.’
That moment was equal parts relief and grief. Relief because I finally had a name for the brain fog, time blindness, and executive dysfunction that had been holding me hostage for years.
Grief because… well, I’d spent a lot of time hating myself for things I couldn’t control. From being a child, and being ‘too much’, or ‘too loud’, or ‘too messy’. I learnt to make myself smaller. To shrink to fit in. And once I had a diagnosis that explained I was always enough, just operating in a world not made for me, I was fucking livid about it. For a while. Then when the anger subsided, I started to work on some acceptance - although it’s not easy.
If you’ve been there, you know the shame spiral:
“Why can’t I just do the thing?”
“Why does everyone else manage to live like functional adults?”
“Why am I crying in Tesco because I forgot the list I spent an hour writing?”
Your Brain’s Not Broken — It’s Just Playing a Different Game
One of the most life-altering realisations I had post-diagnosis was this:
My brain isn’t broken. It’s just not playing by the rules neurotypical brains made up.
Once I accepted that, I stopped trying to fix myself and started asking:
What do I actually need to function?
Spoiler: it wasn’t “more discipline” or “a better morning routine.” It was:
Visual reminders (i.e., 46 Post-its and a whiteboard the size of my ego)
Body doubling (aka, making my husband clean with me, or having my writer friend on video chat as we type)
Flexible systems that don’t fall apart the second I have a low-energy day.
And most of all — permission. To work with my brain, not against it. To stop gaslighting myself into productivity shame. To create, rest, mess up, and try again.
How This Shows Up in My Writing Life
If you’re also a creative human with ADHD, I don’t have to tell you how weird it is. I don’t have to tell you how bloody difficult it is to just write the damn thing.
One day I’m in full hyperfocus, writing 3,000 words like my life depends on it. The next day, I can’t remember how plot works or why my main character is crying (or possibly just me).
I used to see that inconsistency as proof I’d never finish anything. Now, I see it as a rhythm — chaotic, unpredictable, but still valid.
I write when I can. I plan loosely. I forgive the gaps. I build in softness through days off, ugly drafts, and word sprints where the goal is just to begin.
Because honestly? Starting is the hardest part. Especially when ADHD whispers in your ear, “You should definitely reorganise your spice rack right now instead.”
If You’ve Read This Far, You’re Not Alone
Maybe you’re here because you’ve just been diagnosed. Or maybe you’ve known for years but still feel like you’re constantly falling behind. Or maybe you’re just tired of feeling like a broken machine in a productivity-obsessed world.
Wherever you’re at — you’re not alone. You’re not lazy. You’re not weak. You’re just wired differently.
And once you start to understand that wiring and give yourself the tools you actually need, things will start to shift. Not overnight. But slowly, quietly, kindly.
You were always enough.
Beth x
