One of the unexpected things that happened after my ADHD diagnosis was realizing how many strange systems I had already built into my life.
At the time, I thought I was just doing things the way that worked best for me.
Looking back, I can see that many of them were accommodations long before I knew I needed accommodations.
Some of those systems are surprisingly effective.
Some are objectively ridiculous.
Most are both.
One of the things I have learned over the years is that creating systems is easy for me. Following them consistently is much harder.
I love solving problems. I love designing processes. I love finding a better way to do something.
Ask me to build a system and I am all in.
Ask me to consistently follow that same system six months later and the odds start dropping dramatically.
That used to frustrate me because I assumed consistency was the goal. Today, I spend less time trying to force myself into the perfect system and more time paying attention to what actually works.
Take my office, for example.
Over the years, I have lost track of how many times I have rearranged it. Desks have moved. Furniture has moved. Entire workflows have moved.
To an outside observer, it probably looks like I woke up one morning and decided to create more work for myself.
The reality is that sometimes a new environment creates new energy.
If I am feeling stuck, changing my surroundings often helps me see things differently. It is the same office. The same desk. The same work. Yet somehow my brain treats it like a fresh start.
I have stopped questioning it.
When something works, I have learned to pay attention.
The same thing is true with my to-do list.
Most productivity experts will tell you to keep it short and focused. Three to five priorities. Anything more becomes overwhelming.
For me, the opposite is true.
If I put five things on my list, I will probably complete three. If I put ten things on my list, I will somehow complete twelve.
I do not fully understand why, but I have stopped arguing with the results. My brain seems to like momentum. The more progress I can see, the more energy I have.
Perhaps the strangest example is my planner.
A few years ago, I started using stickers to mark completed tasks.
Yes, stickers.
The same kind of reward system commonly used in elementary school classrooms.
If you had told me ten years ago that I would someday be the CEO of a payroll company who rewards herself with stickers, I would have laughed.
Then I would have immediately asked where you bought the stickers.
The truth is, my brain likes visible progress. Crossing something off feels good. Putting a sticker on it feels even better.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking why.
Another system I did not fully understand until later was my reMarkable.
Ideas have terrible timing.
They show up in meetings. In the car. In the middle of another project. Right before I fall asleep.
For years, I would have a great idea and tell myself I would remember it later.
I rarely did.
The reMarkable became my safety net. A place to capture ideas before they disappeared and a place to organize thoughts that otherwise would have been scattered across sticky notes, notebooks, and random scraps of paper.
The biggest discovery, though, had nothing to do with planners, stickers, office furniture, or technology.
It was accountability.
For most of my life, I believed the answer was more discipline. If I could just try harder, be more organized, or become more consistent, everything would fall into place.
Instead, I discovered that I am far more accountable to other people than I am to myself.
If I make a commitment to a client, I will move mountains to keep it. If I make a commitment to my team, I will find a way.
If I make a commitment only to myself, suddenly negotiation becomes an option.
Once I recognized that pattern, I started building around it. Peer groups, deadlines, public commitments, and people who are expecting something from me all became part of the system.
Looking back, that may be the biggest lesson ADHD has taught me.
The systems that work best are not always the systems that make the most sense. They are the systems you will actually use.
Some of mine would probably make a productivity expert cringe.
But they work.
And the diagnosis did not teach me these systems.
Most of them already existed.
The diagnosis simply helped me understand why.
And once I understood why, I stopped trying to fix every quirk and started paying attention to what my brain was trying to tell me.
Gratefully,