The Circus in My Head (and Other Quirks of My ADHD Brain)
Right, let's talk about the nitty-gritty. Now, I'm no guru on this ADHD lark – I'm still very much on my own learning curve, piecing together the jigsaw puzzle of my life through this new lens.
But after over half a century of unknowingly navigating this neurodivergent landscape, I reckon I've picked up a few things. And if sharing some of my own peculiar traits helps even one other person out there who's been feeling similarly… well, then this chapter’s done its job.
First up, the sheer volume of stuff happening in my brain at any given moment. It's like trying to attend seventeen different events simultaneously, all within the confines of my skull. I often liken it to a full-blown circus. Picture this: trapeze artists swinging wildly between thoughts, a parade of elephants marching through half-formed ideas, clowns juggling to-do lists that keep multiplying, and a ringmaster (that’s supposed to be me) desperately trying to get everyone to focus on the main act – whatever that main act is supposed to be at that particular moment! It’s exhilarating and utterly exhausting all at once.
And then there are the glorious, meandering adventures of my attention span. Take the simple task of unloading the washing machine. In a neurotypical world, this is a straightforward A-to-B mission. In Phil’s world, it’s an epic quest with multiple enticing side quests.
On my way to the laundry room, I might suddenly decide that what the kitchen really needs is a culinary masterpiece. So, I’ll start gathering ingredients, only to notice a rogue sock on the floor, which then triggers a mini-tidying spree. Of course, the tidying is never completed.
A glimpse out the window reveals the overgrown state of the lawn, and suddenly I’m convinced that urgent horticultural intervention is required. Before I know it, I’m in my car, halfway to the drive-through coffee shop, completely forgetting the damp laundry languishing in the machine, the half-chopped onions on the counter, and the jungle that was once my lawn.
The grand finale? Returning home to utter chaos, feeling inexplicably drained, and battling the overwhelming sense that I’ve achieved absolutely nothing. The irony, of course, is that I’ve probably initiated half a dozen tasks, just not finished any of them.
Which neatly brings me to the ever-present companion of the ADHD entrepreneur: guilt. A heavy, often unwarranted, weight that seems to settle in my chest. Guilt for not achieving enough (even when I’ve been buzzing around like a caffeinated bee all day). Guilt for not spending enough quality time with family and friends, a feeling often exacerbated by the next delightful ADHD trait…
Making plans. Oh, the tangled web of good intentions and subsequent guilt. As a natural people-pleaser, my initial response to any invitation is an enthusiastic “Yes!” My brain, in that moment of social connection, genuinely wants to be there. But then, almost immediately, the internal debate begins. Will I really feel like it then? What other urgent (and often self-imposed) tasks will crop up?
The result? A frantic mental scramble to come up with a plausible excuse, followed by a fresh wave of guilt for letting people down and further reinforcing the feeling of being a flaky friend. It’s a truly draining cycle.
Ah, the siren call of shiny new things! The fixation on buying. It can strike at any moment, triggered by the most innocuous thought. Suddenly, I need that widget, that gadget, that brightly coloured… something. My brain launches into a full-scale justification campaign, meticulously outlining all the logical (and often wildly illogical) reasons why this purchase is absolutely essential for my survival/business success/general well-being.
I’ll then embark on a mission to acquire said item, often getting lost in a rabbit hole of online reviews and comparisons. This can lead to one of two outcomes: either I become so overwhelmed by the sheer volume of choice that I abandon the purchase altogether, experiencing a bizarre sense of relief at having “saved” all that money.
Or, I’ll finally make the purchase, experience a fleeting moment of intense excitement during the unboxing, only for the novelty to wear off almost instantly. The prized possession will then be relegated to a dusty corner, only to be rediscovered a year later, sparking the exact same cycle of intense interest followed by rapid disinterest. It’s like Groundhog Day, but with impulse buys.
And then there’s the eternal struggle with decluttering. The noble intention to create a serene and organised environment often starts with a burst of hyperfocus. I’ll enthusiastically gather items to be thrown away or donated, creating impressive piles of potential freedom.
But then, the “what if?” gremlins start whispering in my ear. “What if you need that chipped mug for a future craft project?” “That slightly stained t-shirt might be perfect for painting!” One by one, items are rescued from the discard pile, deemed too valuable (in some abstract, future scenario) to part with. The end result? The decluttering mission ends with everything being put back exactly where it was, possibly even more jumbled than before.
Finally, the pendulum swing of tidiness. There seems to be no middle ground in my world. It’s either a state of hyper-focused, almost obsessive tidying, where every surface gleams and every item is in its designated place (a state that rarely lasts long), or a descent into glorious, chaotic disarray.
The washing up can pile up for days, creating a precarious tower of dirty dishes, while other areas of the house might resemble a meticulously organised stationery shop. It’s a constant battle between these two extremes.
These are just a few glimpses into the wonderfully weird and often challenging world of my ADHD brain. It’s not a deficit; it’s a different way of processing the world, with its own unique set of quirks, strengths, and, yes, occasional frustrations.
But understanding these traits is the first step towards navigating them more effectively, especially in the demanding world of small business. And trust me, there’s plenty more to unpack as we go along.
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