ADHD, cognitive overload, and why I'm making my tools do some of the damn work.
Of all the days for my brain to refuse to cooperate, it picked the day I was trying to read an article about cognitive load.
Oh, the irony.
I'd found an AbilityNet article about reducing cognitive load for neurodivergent users. Exactly the kind of information I've been researching lately, particularly when it comes to running my business.
I knew it was important. I wanted to understand it.
And I couldn't retain a damn thing.
I understood the words, but the information was going in one eye and apparently escaping through the nearest emergency exit.
Tomorrow might be different. Today? Nope.
So I went to talk to Bob.
Bob is what I call ChatGPT. My research partner, sounding board, and frequent interpreter of whatever chaos I've just dumped into a conversation.
Instead of another lengthy explanation, we tackled one idea at a time, connecting it to things I'd already built in TechAlchemy Village.
One idea. One familiar example. One takeaway.
Well, would you look at that? Things started sticking.
I didn't need the information dumbed down. I needed it presented in a way that didn't require quite so much mental gymnastics.
And one particular idea grabbed me:
Put the answer where the question happens.
Don't make people remember information you could simply show them when they need it.
Such a ridiculously sensible idea. And it made me realise that's exactly what I've been trying to do for myself.
Death by a thousand tiny decisions
For the past month, I've been conducting little self-audits, looking at where things go sideways in my business.
Not where some productivity guru thinks they should go sideways. Where they actually do.
Take writing, for example.
I love writing blog posts. Give me an interesting subject and I'll happily ramble, research, explore, and eventually find the point hiding somewhere in the mess.
But publishing those posts?
Good grief.
Every platform wants something different. Titles, descriptions, tags, images, SEO, formatting, links, and a dozen little details that apparently breed when nobody's looking.
None of it's particularly difficult. Together, it's death by a thousand tiny decisions.
And if I get distracted halfway through, I have to remember what I've done, what's left, and where the hell I put everything.
Apparently, writing wasn't enough. I also needed to become the administrative department.
No thanks.
So I built myself a system.
Bob and I now work through my brain dumps in a dedicated content project. We research the subject, develop the article, and prepare everything needed for my chosen publishing platforms.
When it's ready, Bob gives me one zipped publishing package.
I open my Publishing Den Dashboard, click Add Package, upload the ZIP, and everything lands where it belongs. Articles, images, SEO details, platform requirements, and checklists.
I can see what's finished and what comes next.
Publishing now takes me an hour or two.
But here's the important part.
The point isn't that it saves me time. The point is that it gets done.
I wasn't struggling with writing or understanding how to publish. I was struggling with everything I had to organise, remember, and decide in between.
So I stopped asking my brain to manage all of it.
Keep It Simple, Stupid. Even if building it isn't.
I've done something similar with other parts of my business.
I've built WordPress plugins for client intake, organising communications, and tracking activity across my publishing platforms and website.
All those tools are accessible from my Secret Lair, my little headquarters inside TechAlchemy Village.
Each has its own nice, easy-to-find button.
A pretty button, thank you very much. Practical doesn't have to mean boring.
There's a certain absurdity to spending hours building tools to make life simpler, but the complicated work happens behind the scenes. I don't have to wrestle with it every time I want to accomplish something.
I just need to know where to click.
Of course, there's a trap here.
I love building things. Give me an interesting problem and I'll happily disappear down a rabbit hole for two days.
But if maintaining my organisational systems becomes another full-time job, I haven't solved anything. I've just given myself a new boss, and apparently she's an unreasonable pain in the ass.
So I'm learning to ask whether a tool actually removes an obstacle or just gives me something else to manage.
And I've added another rule to my personal version of K.I.S.S.
Always leave myself a way back.
Because I will get distracted. I'll get interrupted. Some days I'll run out of mental energy long before I run out of things to do.
I've had nearly six decades to notice the pattern. It really shouldn't come as a surprise anymore.
So why keep designing systems that only work when I'm having a brilliant day?
I need to be able to stop, walk away, and return without reconstructing the entire operation from memory.
And not everything needs another dashboard. Sometimes a simple note or an obvious next step does the job.
The more I experiment with this, the more I realise that the best system isn't necessarily the most sophisticated one.
It's the one I can actually use, even when I'm running on fumes.
And that's where my little experiments connect to something much bigger than organising my own business.
Making things less exhausting
The AbilityNet article got me thinking about the experience of people visiting TechAlchemy Village.
Imagine someone arriving at my Make It Happen Studio for a coworking session.
They read in the Welcome Hall that cameras are optional, but by the time they reach the Studio, they've forgotten.
Now they're wondering whether they're expected to turn on their camera instead of settling in to work.
Technically, the space functions perfectly.
But that person has already spent mental energy figuring out something that could be answered with a simple reminder:
Cameras optional. Come as you are. Join the conversation or just work quietly.
Right there. Where they need it.
No scavenger hunt required.
That doesn't mean I want to strip the interesting things out of TechAlchemy Village. I like my interactive spaces, games, surprises, and occasional questionable decisions.
But there's a difference between something fun to explore and a puzzle you have to solve just to participate.
Not everyone needs the same support, either. Some want quick instructions, others want every detail. Some prefer exploring, while others appreciate a little guidance.
Being neurodivergent doesn't make me the official spokesperson for every neurodivergent brain.
Heaven help us if it did.
What I can do is pay attention, ask questions, and keep experimenting. The same way I've been doing with my own tools.
Because learning how your brain works isn't an overnight revelation. It's frustrating, repetitive, occasionally hilarious, and sometimes involves admitting that your brilliant solution has become part of the problem.
But those tiny experiments are worth it.
Good accessibility design isn't necessarily about making everything simpler. It's about making things less exhausting.
For the people using our digital spaces, and for ourselves.
I don't need to become better at juggling a hundred moving parts. I need to figure out which ones don't need juggling in the first place.
I didn't start TechAlchemy so I could spend my life maintaining dashboards, chasing paperwork, and arguing with my to-do list.
I started it because I have things I want to accomplish, people I want to connect with, a community I want to build, and dreams I haven't given up on.
I don't need my tools to make me work harder. I need them to help me get where I'm trying to go.
Preferably without needing a nap just to find the starting line.
Until next time Friends...