I’m a working mom with ADHD. Here’s how I get it done (or don’t).

Rae Jacobson is a writer and editor who was diagnosed with ADHD at 21. She lives in New York City with her husband and 6-year-old daughter. She’s still figuring out how to be on time. 

Day 1

6:45 a.m. Good morning! Time to get myself, then my kid, up. I’m exhausted because the book I’m reading is really good and I lost track of time last night. I’ve never been a great sleeper. Insomnia and ADHD often go hand in hand. And even after years of taking it, my ADHD medication can still make things even tougher. Anyway, all this to say I’m still too tired most mornings.

The time between 7:00 and 8:00 a.m. is always a little stressful. As the ADHD child of an ADHD mom, I was perpetually late. I still remember how it felt slinking into a silent classroom, everyone’s eyes on me as I guiltily sat down at my desk. My time management skills still leave a lot to be desired. Thankfully, due to my husband’s non-ADHD efficiency, our daughter is on time almost all the time. 

8:00 a.m. And they’re out the door. My daughter is pretending her earmuffs are headphones. It’s not cold out, but she wanted to wear them anyway. She’s great. 

8:15 a.m. I make it to yoga, yay! 

9:15 a.m. Get home, take my meds, and wait for them to kick in. It’s a day when I can work from home, which I’m really, really grateful for. We were away last weekend so the house is an absolute disaster. I check emails and clean. After an hour, the apartment still looks like it’s been ransacked. But at least the sink is less gross. I hate cleaning and am bad at it. On days when I’m in the office, it doesn’t get done at all.

Meds are working! I’ve got writing to do. The house is quiet, my clothes are not annoying me, Brian Eno is playing. I’m getting things done. 

4:00 p.m. Around 4, I start to lose steam and decide to make dinner while listening to an audiobook. I’ve discovered that background noise makes it easier to get through boring tasks. Husband gets kid from afterschool. They have tutors there, but today there was also jewelry making. So she hasn’t done her homework. 

Usually, my husband would help her, but he has a late meeting. I’m fully dreading having to help my daughter with her homework. As a kid with ADHD and dyscalculia, doing my homework was an endless battle. As an adult, I have an almost pathological aversion to it. Just looking at the math sheets makes me feel a little panicky. My daughter knows the material, but concentration is hard for her. To help us both focus and not flip out, we play a game called “homework chip.” One complete problem equals one chocolate chip. It’s not a perfect solution, but it gets the job done. 

10:00 p.m. After dinner, kid bedtime, an hour of grownup hangs, and it’s finally time for bed. I consciously limit myself to two chapters of my book and try to get to sleep at a reasonable hour.

Day 2

8:00 a.m. A reasonably smooth morning. 

I have to go to the office today. 

I’ve been putting off a work assignment because it’s both boring and easy. I put it on the to-do list I make every week, but keep pushing it off. It’s OK, though. It’ll take me an hour, max. It’s due tomorrow and I’m looking forward to crossing it off. 

It’s time to go. I decide, at the last minute, to wear eyeliner. It’s been a while. I used to wear it every day but stopped when I realized how often putting makeup on made me late. This time is no different. My first two attempts are clumsy and uneven. I fix them and finally get it right. This has taken nearly 20 minutes. Now I’m running late, and I can’t find the pants I meant to wear. I grab what’s closest even though they’re kind of uncomfortable, throw shoes on, and go.

I run to the train. My daughter was late getting out the door today, so I couldn’t make it to yoga. Nice to get the exercise!  

10:30 a.m. I arrive at work and arrange my desk to my liking. Then I get coffee and choose a white noise generator that mostly, but not completely, blocks out the office chatter. I open my laptop, reread the description of what’s being asked for, and begin. 

11:00 a.m. Really, though. BEGIN. 

11:15 a.m. Type “5 Tips for…” then erase it. 

11:25 a.m. Stare out the window. Answer several emails. 

11:30 a.m. Stare at a blank Word document. Do a different project that’s not due until next week.

12:00 p.m. Maybe I just need to hydrate. I go to the office kitchen and get some water. A co-worker I like is in the kitchen. We’re both procrastinating, so the conversation lasts much longer than it should. 

12:30 p.m. Back to my chair. Engage in a short war with chair. Adjust up, adjust down. Why is this chair so uncomfortable?! The waistband of my jeans feels tight. My shirt is itchy. People around me are chatting, and the three forms of white noise blasting through my headphones aren’t enough to block them out. 

The next hour is a blur of frustration, procrastination, self-flagellation, and wishing I’d worn different pants.

Window staring again. Someone in an office across the street is watering their plants. I’ve never been able to keep a plant alive. In college, my roommate (who also had ADHD) and I killed a cactus somehow.

2:35 p.m. How has so much time passed? I feel a familiar dull panic begin at the back of my chest. My brain is numb. Every sound in the office is distracting. I’m getting desperate. I hate this feeling so much. Hate how it sneaks up on me. Hate that even though I know why it’s happening, it still happens. 

Finally, I look at the request again, hoping it’ll force my brain into action. OH MY GOD. It’s not due until tomorrow. RELIEF. I could honestly cry right now. Cry over this stupid little assignment. 

4:00 p.m. Time to go get my kid. Miracle of miracles, the change of scene helps. I write the whole thing out by hand in a notebook on the subway ride home. It takes all of 20 minutes. I’ll type it up tomorrow. 

5:45–10:00 p.m. Make dinner, clean up, get child to bed. Feel exhausted but unable to sleep. I hate this kind of day.

Day 3

6:45 a.m. A bumpy morning. 

We’re out of milk. I promised to go to the store on my way home yesterday but forgot. My daughter doesn’t want to eat toast. She fusses over having to brush her teeth, and doesn’t like her socks. My husband is chivvying us to get going. I lose my temper with both of them and then feel bad about it. 

Finally, they make it out the door a little after 8:00 a.m. I feel relieved, but then realize I forgot to put my daughter’s water bottle in her bag. 

9:00 a.m. I look at my calendar and realize I’m about to get my period. Which explains a few things. The week leading up to my period, my meds basically stop working. I’m extra spaced out, my brain feels dead, and my emotions are haywire. 

11:20 a.m. I have a second cup of coffee and text my friend who also has ADHD. We chat back and forth about how much we wish there was research on ADHD and hormones. “THE. WORST.” she writes. “Like drs make that ‘Oof face’ instead of offering help. ‘ADHD AND you’re a woman?? Oof. Good luck with that!’”

Thankfully, I’m working from home. I have a bunch of meetings and struggle to focus. I mute myself and take constant notes. This way I (hopefully) won’t miss anything important, even if I forget what was said. It’s a coping strategy I developed during the pandemic. I’d say it works about 60 percent of the time.

3:45 p.m. To compensate for my period, I upped my meds and forgot to eat. They wear off and I’m suddenly starving. I need to leave in five minutes to get my kid. What can I eat in five minutes? I grab a bag of chocolate teddy grahams and eat them out of my purse as I walk to get her. 

4:00 p.m. Pick up my daughter from afterschool. She looks sad. 

On the walk home, she tells me she got in trouble at school, “Twice!” Once for trying to read during math time and then for not paying attention when her teacher was talking. We also realize she forgot her lunchbox and jacket at school again. “I didn’t mean to,” she says, looking stricken. “I know, kid,” I say. “It’s OK.” God, we are peas in a pod.

It’s Friday, so thankfully we don’t even need to talk about homework. I ask her what she wants to do. She tells me she wants to bake brownies, make art, and watch Kiki’s Delivery Service. Done.

4:30 p.m. We bake, draw pictures, and have a family movie night.

10:00 p.m. After she goes to sleep, my husband and I talk about having her evaluated for ADHD. Finally, it’s bedtime. I’m tired but let myself stay up late to finish my book.

 At least we can all sleep in tomorrow.