staceybooks

It’s midnight. I should be sleeping.

But instead, my ADHD brain is in full-blown crisis-prep mode, battling an internal monologue that sounds like:

“Did I respond to that email?”

“What if I forget my talking points tomorrow?”

“Why did Jeffrey Dahmer turn into a serial killer though?”

“Did I finish the grant narrative for Florida?”

“What if I run into someone I’ve been actively avoiding because I over-promised myself to them?”

Somewhere between overthinking my entire existence and obsessively rewording tomorrow’s Slack message in my head, I manage to fall asleep.

It’s 4:00 a.m.

And boom. I’m up.

Why? Because my brain decided that’s when it’s time to rise and grind. To plan the dysfunction I know is coming. And where do I go to prepare?

The Calendar.

Now, let me be clear. This calendar is color-coded, timestamped, and allegedly “organized.” But really? It’s a trauma device. A visual horror story. A digital panic attack wrapped in Google formatting. It’s my chaos, but somehow it radiates stress like secondhand smoke.

People with calendar access? Yeah, they’re traumatized. One look and their heart rate spikes. I’ve had coworkers text me, “Are you okay???” just because they saw 14 meetings stacked between 7 AM and 6 PM with no lunch break and a suspicious block labeled “BRAIN DUMP.”

They’re not even in the meetings. They just saw the schedule. Pure bystander anxiety. One girl said she needed a nap after looking at it. Another confessed she opens my calendar just to feel better about her own life choices.

And I get it. My schedule looks like someone gave an ADHD brain a buffet of responsibilities and said, “Here, sort this chaos with glitter pens.” There are meetings overlapping with other meetings, things that shouldn’t exist back-to-back like grant management followed by emotional triage, and a delightful mix of tasks titled “Important,” “URGENT,” and “Who scheduled this???”

Let’s not forget the unknown conversations. You know the ones you didn’t know were happening until you’re suddenly in a Zoom room being asked to “weigh in.” ADHD brain LOVES those. That’s why I rehearse them at 4:17 a.m., just in case someone says, “Stacey, what are your thoughts?” and I have to respond with something more intelligent than, “Yes.”

But here’s the thing. This mess? It works for me. Somehow, it all functions. My brain is like a tiny circus crew pulling levers behind the scenes to make sure I show up, mostly on time, occasionally with mascara, and almost always with my teeth brushed.

So, to my calendar-viewing colleagues. I’m sorry for the secondhand stress. I didn’t mean to cause you calendar-induced trauma. I know my chaos isn’t easy on the eyes or the nervous system, but it’s the map I use to survive this beautifully unhinged ADHD life.

If it helps, I promise I’m just as overwhelmed by it as you are.

Now, let’s take a deep breath, open our shared Google Calendars… and run in the opposite direction.