I have been thinking recently about why “getting things done” can become so complicated for people with ADHD. I first noticed the pattern in myself, then began recognising versions of it in friends and in conversations through ADHD Pirates.

Someone who has been out of work while bringing up children may begin with a simple thought: I think I want to work again. Within moments, that thought has opened into something much larger. What kind of work would suit me now? Where would I find it? Would the hours fit around school runs and holidays? Are my skills still current? How do I explain the gap, and am I good enough to return?

Someone already in work may know that their role is wearing them down. Another vacancy catches their attention, but before they open the application they are already thinking about the commute, the salary, whether flexible hours would survive probation, whether to disclose ADHD, what their manager might say in a reference, and whether the next workplace will create the same strain under a different job title.

None of those concerns is invented or unimportant. But when the whole future arrives at once, looking at a vacancy or updating a CV no longer feels like exploring a possibility. It can feel as though every question needs answering before the first step is allowed.

Some of this is familiar ADHD difficulty. Starting becomes harder when something is uncertain, emotionally important or full of hidden steps, particularly when the brain struggles to separate the immediate action from everything that might follow.

But I do not think that explains everything.

Sometimes we are not only struggling to begin. We are also reacting to what beginning might force us to find out.

When the next step starts carrying the whole future

An action can look small from the outside while carrying a much larger question underneath it. Opening an application may reveal that the hours are impossible, the pay is too low or the role requires a level of travel we cannot sustain.

Checking an overdue bill or looking properly at how much debt we have can feel inseparable from having to solve the entire financial situation at once. Reading feedback on a piece of work can feel less like receiving information and more like discovering whether we are actually as capable as we hoped.

The next step becomes tangled with every possible outcome. Opening the application begins to feel like accepting the job. Looking at the debt feels like committing to a solution we do not yet have.

The action itself has not necessarily become harder. What it represents has grown.

This is rarely a calm, conscious decision to avoid reality. The movement away can happen almost before we have registered the discomfort.

A thought appears, followed by a quick tightening in the body. Then we check a notification, make a drink, search for more information or turn towards something that feels easier to control.

By the time we notice, our attention has already moved elsewhere.

The application, bill or piece of feedback then becomes tied to a story about what might happen and what the outcome could prove. We are no longer only dealing with one practical step. We are carrying everything that step has come to mean.

From the outside, this may look like procrastination. From the inside, it can feel more like protection.

Why caring can make avoidance stronger

Difficulty is often interpreted as a lack of care. Someone does not reply, apply, make the call or deal with the bill, so it is assumed that the matter cannot be especially important to them.

That does not match what I often see in ADHD communities or recognise in myself. People regularly avoid things they care about deeply.

They think about the unanswered message while driving, cooking or trying to sleep. They mentally draft the reply, feel guilty for not sending it, then avoid opening the conversation because it has now been left even longer.

The same thing can happen with work. Someone may spend weeks thinking about changing jobs, reading descriptions and imagining a better fit, yet stop whenever the application asks them to describe their experience or explain why they are leaving.

The problem is not always indifference. Sometimes something matters so much that contact with it begins to feel threatening.

A straightforward action can carry years of criticism, self-doubt and fear of getting things wrong. The unanswered message is no longer only a message. It has become evidence that we may have disappointed someone again.

Sometimes the body responds before the mind has found words for any of this. We feel tense, restless, suddenly tired or unable to settle, and attention looks for somewhere else to go.

The alternative may be more stimulating. Sometimes it is simply safer.

When avoidance looks productive

We often imagine avoidance as doing nothing. The unanswered message sits on the screen, the application remains unopened, or the bill stays buried under other post.

But avoidance can also look remarkably busy.

Someone in one of our groups described a garage full of belongings they wanted to clear. At first, it sounded like one practical job. Once they began thinking about it, every object seemed to demand its own decision.

Some things were sentimental. Some might be worth money. Some were clearly rubbish, while other items could perhaps be donated or useful to someone else.

Clearing the space now meant deciding what to keep, where donations could go, which items were worth selling, what price to ask, how to photograph them, where to list them and how much time the whole process would take. Instead of beginning, it became tempting to research selling sites, buy storage boxes or design a better sorting system.

Some of that preparation might genuinely help. The question is not whether the activity has value.

The question is whether it is moving us towards the difficult decision or helping us stay at a safe distance from it.

Preparation can support action. It can reduce confusion, make the next move clearer and stop a large job feeling shapeless.

It can also replace action. We keep improving the route because stepping onto it would expose us to uncertainty, loss or the possibility of making the wrong choice.

I recognise this pattern in myself. There have been times when I have created better systems, clearer notes and increasingly detailed plans while continuing to avoid the one move that would put me in contact with reality.

The problem was not that I was doing nothing. I was doing something safer.

What writing these articles has shown me

Writing the monthly ADHD Pirates articles has made this easier for me to see.

I am usually collecting ideas, saving possible topics and noticing themes in conversations. There is rarely a shortage of things I could write about.

As publication gets closer, however, the article can begin to feel as though it must achieve everything. It needs to be useful, thoughtful, fair, accessible and challenging, while somehow avoiding being misunderstood by anyone who reads it.

I know that is impossible. No article will work for everybody, and part of what I want ADHD Pirates to do is explore uncomfortable questions rather than repeat the safest version of familiar ideas.

The fear of getting it wrong still appears.

The work stops being simply “finish the article”. It becomes: what if this is not good enough? What if people misunderstand it? What if I let down the people I am trying to reach?

That is when useful work can quietly turn into avoidance. I research another angle, rearrange the structure, gather another example or convince myself that the piece needs one more important thought.

Sometimes that improves the article. Sometimes it is fear wearing a productive coat.

Publishing means giving up control over how the writing will be received. I cannot make it land in the same way for everybody, and I cannot remove every possibility of criticism before it goes out.

I can only publish something considered, pay attention to what happens and learn from the response. Publication becomes less like a final performance of certainty and more like a small point of contact with reality.

The moment before we move away

I think there is sometimes a very small opening between discomfort appearing and avoidance taking over.

I would hesitate to call it a decision. When we are overwhelmed, exhausted, threatened or poorly regulated, the response may be almost automatic.

Attention shifts. The body braces. Something easier suddenly feels urgent, and we often recognise the pattern only afterwards.

The application remains untouched. The bill goes back into the drawer. An hour disappears into research that felt necessary at the time.

That does not mean we simply needed to try harder or think more clearly. Our capacity to notice what is happening depends partly on regulation, stress, safety, experience and how much pressure we are already carrying.

When I am not regulated, I can still react first and deal with the aftermath later. What has changed is that I have spent longer noticing the pattern and the cost of it.

When I have enough capacity, the moment sometimes becomes slightly more visible. I may notice the urge to leave, distract myself or make the situation more complicated before I act on it.

That creates a small opening for curiosity.

What just happened there? What am I moving away from? Is what I am doing now helping me approach this, or helping me avoid it?

Awareness does not give us complete control, and it does not guarantee that we will respond differently every time. What it may do, over time, is shorten the distance between reacting and recognising what happened.

When explanations help, and when they close the question

ADHD explanations matter. They help us understand why some things are harder, ask for support and stop treating every difficulty as evidence of laziness or poor character.

Without that understanding, people are often left blaming themselves for barriers they did not create and cannot simply overpower.

But explanations can sometimes close down the question as well as clarify it.

“I cannot do that because of my ADHD” may be completely accurate. At another time, the same explanation may protect us from finding out whether something is possible, whether we need a different approach or whether we are frightened of what trying might reveal.

That does not mean pushing through every barrier or reducing ADHD to personal responsibility. Medication, adjustments, clear expectations, rest, practical help and better environments may all be necessary.

The distinction is whether the explanation creates more choice or quietly ends the conversation.

A useful explanation helps us understand the barrier and decide what support or change might be needed. One that has become part of the avoidance keeps us away from any contact with the uncertainty underneath it.

This is difficult to judge from the inside. Curiosity is likely to be more useful than accusation.

The question is not whether we are making excuses. It is whether the explanation is helping us move towards support and greater honesty, or helping us remain safely where we are.

Making smaller contact with reality

The answer is not another strategy, or another attempt to optimise the hell out of our lives. Sometimes the trap is believing we must understand the whole future before we are allowed to try one part of it.

It may help to notice what we are treating as certain. “I will not cope”, “they will not take me seriously”, or “this will become another thing I fail at” may describe genuine fears, but they are still predictions. Rather than trying to reassure ourselves, we can ask how much of this we actually know and how much we are predicting.

We can also follow the prediction through. If the application was rejected, what would we actually do next? If the role proved too much, could we ask for support, change the conditions or decide it was not a good fit? The point is not to convince ourselves that everything will work out, but to stop one possible setback becoming the entire story.

Anne-Laure Le Cunff’s Tiny Experiments offers one way of moving from prediction into experience. Volunteering is just one example. If we are curious about a particular kind of work, could we approach an organisation and say: “I have two hours available on Thursday mornings for the next four weeks. Is there something useful I could contribute in that time that would also let me experience how you work?”

The limits matter. We are not signing up indefinitely, proving that we can cope, or trying to turn every spare hour into career development. We are creating enough contact with the real work to notice what we could never learn from a job description alone: what the pace feels like, which parts interest us, what drains us, and whether we want to get closer or step away.

Afterwards, the question is not whether we proved ourselves capable. It is what changed in our understanding. What surprised us? Which assumptions held up, which did not, and what would we want to know or experience next?

One experience cannot settle an entire future. It can, however, replace some of what we have imagined with something we have actually seen, felt and learnt from.

Sometimes avoidance is not only about the thing in front of us. It is about everything we have decided taking that step will mean.