Let’s start here:

If you’re currently overwhelmed — not just “a bit busy” but can’t-think, can’t-move, everything-feels-like-too-much overwhelmed — I want you to know something:

You are not alone.
You’re not failing.
And you don’t have to power through or disappear.

You’re allowed to ask for a different way.

What overwhelm actually feels like when you’re neurodivergent

For me, it’s usually subtle before it’s not.

It starts with missed messages, unread tabs, meals skipped without realizing. Then I lose track of what day it is. I start sleeping more — or not at all. I avoid my inbox because it makes my chest hurt. I forget what I’m doing mid-task and hop to something else, then something else again. Eventually, I freeze.

No, I don’t need a new planner.
No, a Pomodoro timer isn’t going to save me.
I need space.

It’s not just “too much to do.” It’s too much coming at you at once.

Overwhelm for a neurodivergent brain isn’t just about having a lot on your plate.
It’s about:

  • Too many open loops

  • Unclear priorities

  • Sensory overload

  • Decision fatigue

  • Guilt for not doing enough

  • Shame for needing rest

If that’s you, you’re not behind. You’re maxed out. That’s different.

Step one: Let it be messy. Then cut it in half.

If your brain is spiraling right now, the first move isn’t to catch up. It’s to pause and ask:

“What can I let go of, at least for today?”

Your nervous system needs a reset, not a productivity sprint.

Give yourself permission to:

  • • Answer that email tomorrow

  • • Push that deadline back

  • • Order food instead of cooking

  • • Let someone else (hi 👋) take care of the backend

You don’t need to organize your chaos first to deserve support.

Step two: Pick one small step (and only one)

When I’m overwhelmed, I often write a huge brain dump list…
Then I stare at it and freeze again.

Instead, I’ve learned to ask:

“If I only did one thing today, what would move the needle or reduce my stress the most?”

Not ten things.
Not a perfectly productive day.
One thing.

Then I give myself a tiny reward for doing it (cup of tea, favorite show, dopamine scroll). That’s how momentum builds — gently.

Step three: Build your own “rescue plan”

I now keep a personal system I call my rescue board. It’s not fancy.
It’s a Notion template with 3 categories:

  • 🧠 “When I feel like I’m spiraling…” (things to notice + pause)

  • 🛠 “Emergency Tools” (what helps quickly: music, nature, phone-free hour, etc.)

  • 🤝 “Support Options” (who I can ask for help, tasks I can delegate)

This isn’t about fixing everything. It’s about feeling less alone in the moment.

You don’t have to handle everything.

Not in life.
Not in business.
Not even in your own systems.

If you’re navigating both the visible and invisible load of being a neurodivergent human — especially while trying to run things — your capacity might not look like other people’s. And that doesn’t make you less capable.

It means you need different supports. Ones that are designed with your brain in mind.

That’s literally what I’m here for.