So Many Socks

No one else has done them yet. I guess it’s on you, Sucka.

So you’ve gotta match a pile of socks. Or really any chore that is a boring dumb waste of life…
You'll last 3 minutes…unless you gamify it. Yep, add something interesting to the mix. Pressure and scolding yourself doesn’t count.

So do what works, shamelessly. Make the trip to the other room for earbuds or what-have-you. Accommodate yourself. You don’t have to power through.

I can get so much more done when I send my brain off somewhere more fun than the laundry table, the dish pile, that bathroom in need of a scrub.
So listen to a podcast, watch a show with one eye on the task, talk on the phone. If you’ve been really good, add chocolate. How many sock pairs you can find before the chocolate melts away in your mouth?

For a really lame chore, planning a reward for when it's done can drive you through to actually finish in a good-enough sorta way, at least. Remember, B- work can change the world. And C’s still get degrees. The point is to consider the task an opportunity to let your brain binge a bit on whatever is delicious. It may even start to feel like a treat.

So many socks. Or whatever your domestic nemesis may be.
Whatever the mess, it isn’t there to make a statement about your worth. That may be hard to wrap your head around if you have a tendency to attach your value to your tasks or the results of your hustle.
You’re a pretty cool person, even barefoot with a mountain of mismatched socks. You just need some creativity to power through the necessary evils of adulting, cuz like it or not boot season is coming.

Get off the Rollercoaster. Find Your Spot on the Lazy River Instead.

You know the ride. You've been on it as long as you can remember.

Right out the gate, it whisks you up, up, up — and over, into the shame spiral death-drop. (Aka: the deadline that somehow slipped by you.)

Shame-face still glowing, straight into the infinity loop, where that thing you said three years ago replays. For no reason.

The track changes. Ah, a little relief? Nope. Another steep drop with your name on it. Because it's your fault, obviously. Late once, late a dozen times — doesn't matter. They’ll snap your photo at the bottom of the drop either way, and it never comes down off the wall. The old narrative kicks in right about then: I’m behind on everything, always.

Here comes the corkscrew, where forgetting to switch the wet laundry turns into I always do this, screw it all up!
A long stretch of tilted track has you right-side up, sort of — but still off balance. You always have to compromise.

And the scream tunnel — it changes every time. Sometimes it's a forgotten appointment. A late fee. Or worse. You never know when it'll end, or what's going to jumpscare you before it does.

Finally, the platform reappears. An end in sight? Nope. Just a teaser. It slows down for a second, but no, you're not getting off. This is your life.
You're strapped in. This same old track never ends, and it makes you sick every time around.

You didn't build that ride. You didn’t ask to be on it. But somewhere along the way, you were granted a ticket-for-life and shuffled along — long before you were old enough to ask any questions or say no thanks.

The queue for the coaster was long — you meandered along that line for years. Herded along, nobody noticing your needs as any different from the person ahead of you. You were quiet enough, not much trouble. It’s fine, right?

For a girl like you, it was a diagnostic wasteland back then. Instead of meaningful observations that could've led to a diagnosis, you were decorated with blamey-shamey adjectives, pinned on like medals you never meant to earn.

Airhead. Too Sensitive. Just Needs to Try Harder. She Has So Much Potential.

Eventually, you made it up to the station. "Welcome to Adulting!" a promising voice chirps.

The harness presses in — you're on your way. Bills. Jobs. Relationships. Parenting. Laundry. Calendars. Appointments. Meal planning. Emails. Insurance. No practice lap. And as it gets harder to hang on, a critical narration chimes in relentlessly — so often that eventually, you believe it. That chirp gets replaced by someone flat, cold, nasty. It follows you. It's your voice now, jaded by the g-forces of it all. So full of confident contempt, just spittin' facts.

You're lazy. You're so dramatic. You're always behind. Why can't you just…?

No credit for intentions, no interest in your perspective or your reasons. Rude. That's a pretty lame narrator, if you think about it.

Here's what I had to learn the long way: that voice and its stories are just thoughts, masquerading as facts. None of it proven, written in stone — just stories you never got around to fact-checking.

That distinction changes everything. Facts you're stuck with. But thoughts, you can test for worthiness.

Some thoughts are valid. Many are trash.

You hear You're so lazy. Really? Try pushing back. Question it. Are you really lazy, with that busy brain full of ideas? Lazy? When something matters to you — imagine it — do you really look lazy? Or do you suddenly have energy, ideas, enthusiasm, and a million ways to help? I bet you have a whole brain full of passion and endless energy for what you care about.

Here's why: you have an interest-based nervous system that prioritizes what's interesting to you, not what you're supposed to do. It's morally neutral, no better or worse than the other types out there. So use it wisely, in a way that serves you, even in the long run. (Yes, really.)

Argue these accusations through and see how they don't hold water.
Which brings me to the lazy river.

It's a lovely option, really. No loop-de-loops. No free falling, no jumpscares. You are allowed to be here, you're worthy of a plump floatie in your favorite color. Enjoy it! Meander on by the River's Edge Cantina and grab a salty limey 'rita. Get one for me too.

Keep an eye out for the waterfalls — you may or may not want to participate, but either way, there's no shame in your floatie game. You can't do it wrong — that's not a thing on the lazy river.

The whole point of the lazy river is leaving the chaos created by harsh narration you've been living under and allowing some kindness to flow to yourself, from yourself. Just you, enjoying — not a nasty narrative in sight. Mosey and splash a little — you're still moving, but on your own current instead of being strapped to someone else's track. Look up. Notice birds. Feel the sun. You can breathe. Get your bearings back.

From moments of calm instead of crisis, you can start to plan an actual life instead of just surviving the next lap.

That's the work. Not white-knuckling your way through more loops. Get off the ride long enough to ask a better question than what's wrong with me?! Try on the question: who could I become, without that voice running the stories? Breathe slow and deep and really imagine it.

Do not tell me you're seeing a superhero with ADHD superpowers, because no.

Living day to day with ADHD is genuinely hard. Let's stop making it harder by hating ourselves. You don't need a new personality. You don't need more shame. You don't need a louder inner critic, gawd no. You need a different way forward. There's a floatie with your name on it, and I can help you find it.

That's what coaching is for. If you're ready to find your spot on the river, explore it — Book a Sync Session — twenty-five minutes, my gift to you.