One of the hidden challenges of ADHD isn’t just starting things — it’s understanding your own thinking later. A note that feels blazingly obvious in the moment can turn into a cryptic puzzle days or even hours down the line. Clarity, in this context, isn’t just for teammates or collaborators. It’s a kindness across time.
Every artefact — a sticky note, a digital ticket, a meeting summary — is a message. Sometimes the reader is your team. Other times, it’s a future version of you with lower dopamine, less context, and very little patience.
The clearer that relationship is, the more likely momentum will survive.
Temporal distance creates a gap with yourself
Writing for a singular version of “me” doesn’t work when ADHD ensures there are many versions across time. What made perfect sense on Monday afternoon can look nonsensical by Wednesday morning. Temporal distance turns the author-self into a stranger to the reader-self.
My desk often shows the consequences. A sea of sticky notes, some useful, others cryptic. A single line like “1080 x 1350” makes total sense while I’m in the middle of a design task — but without context it becomes meaningless. Was it an ad format? A slide dimension? A test export? I can sometimes reverse engineer the intention with a few pained forehead taps, but not always.
The problem isn’t laziness. It’s that notes written for the now don’t always carry across to the later. Without relational foresight, today’s artefacts become tomorrow’s riddles.
Clarity reduces ambiguity, rereading, and energy leaks
Living with ADHD can feel like having a Ferrari engine in your head but bicycle brakes to slow it down. The acceleration is exhilarating — a stray spark can ignite into a fully fledged side hustle idea in seconds. But the brakes can’t keep up. By the time I try to capture it, the thought has already multiplied into something too big to contain.
What I do manage to jot down often arrives as fragments. They work in the heat of the moment but lose their charge once life inevitably interrupts. Coming back later, I find myself re-reading scraps that feel profound but indecipherable, draining energy as I chase context through tabs, half-memories, and guesses. Each jump-cut burns more momentum.
What helps is scaffolding. I use SITAR — Situation, Impact, Task, Actions, Result — as a quick frame. Even if I only capture two or three elements, the shape of the idea survives. It’s not polished, but it’s enough for future-me to plug back into the original flow. The Ferrari still outruns the brakes, but at least there’s a safe lane waiting when I return.
Design artefacts as trust signals for future-you
Artefacts aren’t just reminders — they’re trust signals. And for ADHD minds, the first reader you need to design for is often yourself. When you write notes with future-you in mind, you stop leaving riddles and start leaving breadcrumbs.
I’ve learned this the hard way. A cryptic sticky like “1080 x 1350” forces me into archaeology. But written with my syntax, the same note becomes:
Loop: Project X
Strand: Creative assets
Anchor: Container mockup
Next step: Check consistency across artboards
No mystery. No forehead taps. Just a breadcrumb trail my future-self can follow, even in a low-dopamine state.
My syntax works because it mirrors the way my brain organises loops and strands. Yours may look different. The point isn’t to copy my system — it’s to build one. Create a breadcrumb language that your future-self can trust, one that bridges the gaps memory and energy can’t.
Conclusion
Clarity isn’t only a gift to teammates — it’s an act of self-compassion. For ADHD minds, where sparks flare faster than they can be captured, writing artefacts for your future-self is one of the most powerful relational moves you can make.
Every sticky note, every ticket, every idea capture is more than a reminder; it’s a bridge. A message that crosses time, energy, and context to keep momentum alive. When you design those artefacts with breadcrumbs your future-self can trust, you’re not just reducing ambiguity — you’re preserving possibility.
Think of it like this: my brain is a Ferrari engine with bicycle brakes. I can’t change the engine, and the stock brakes will never be enough. But I can engineer aftermarket upgrades — small, deliberate systems that make the ride survivable. Syntax, frameworks, scaffolds: these are custom parts that augment the weak spots, so speed doesn’t end in burnout.
Artefacts are never just tactical tools. They’re narrative instruments that hold relationships together — between teammates, and between the many versions of you. Write them with kindness, and upgrade them with intention, and they’ll carry you further than raw horsepower ever could.
Relational Observations
ADHD Note-Taking
- Future-you is another stakeholderNotes written in the moment can create misalignment between author-self & reader-self
- Ambiguity drains energy across timeHaving to re-read fragmented/cryptic notes burns executive resources and stalling progress
- Syntax builds relational bridgesSmall markers like loops, strands & anchors transform scraps into reliable breadcrumbs
- Artefacts are trust signals, not just tasksClear notes reinforce confidence, preserving momentum despite shifting states of mind
