There are few things in this world I enjoy more than making a to-do list. Not doing the things, mind you—just the creation of the list itself. The potential. The order. The thrilling delusion that I am, in fact, the kind of person who finishes what they start. It’s intoxicating.
And when I say I made the perfect to-do list, I mean perfect. I’m talking color-coded, priority-ranked, timestamped, possibly blessed by some kind of productivity deity. I had highlighters involved. Categories. A separate “if you have energy later” section that made me feel like I was being gentle with myself while still pretending I might tackle bonus tasks.
It was beautiful. It was balanced. It was utterly and completely ignored.
Within hours of writing this masterpiece of efficiency, I found myself doing literally anything except what was on the list. I scrolled. I reorganized the sock drawer. I researched wallpaper adhesives again, even though I am still not applying the damn wallpaper. I got halfway through cleaning the kitchen before wandering into another room and forgetting why I was holding a sponge.
It’s not that I didn’t want to be productive. I did. I had the intention. The tools. The planner spread that would’ve made any productivity influencer weep with pride. But the second I was faced with the actual tasks, my brain hit the panic button and screamed, “We’re under attack!”
And suddenly, the to-do list—this innocent thing I made to help myself—became a threat. A reminder of everything I’m not doing. A flashing sign that said, “Look at all the ways you’re already behind.”
This is the vicious cycle. I build structure to feel safe, then immediately reject it because it feels like pressure. I beg for direction, then sabotage every attempt to follow one. And yes, I am fully aware of what I’m doing. That doesn’t make it any easier to stop.
Because here’s the thing about neurospicy brains like mine: we crave systems. We thrive in routine. But only if we feel like we created it on our own terms, without being cornered by expectation. A to-do list, no matter how lovingly crafted, starts to feel like a prison the minute it becomes an obligation.
So we pivot. We do side quests. We build entirely new lists that ignore the old list. We convince ourselves we’re being “productive adjacent” by wiping down the baseboards or alphabetizing our email drafts. And sure, technically things are getting done. But not the things. Not the things that matter.
Eventually, I circle back. I pick one item off the list and do it in a burst of panic-fueled guilt. Then another. Sometimes I finish it all in a weird late-night hyperfocus binge that leaves me wondering why I didn’t just do it earlier. Other times… the list just dies quietly, buried under tomorrow’s fresh attempt.
But I keep making them. I keep trying. Because even if I ignore the list, even if I rebel against every single checkbox, the act of making it reminds me that I’m still fighting. That I still want to do better. That I haven’t given up, even if I’m doing everything out of order, backwards, and probably wearing two day old pajamas.
