Yesterday I introduced you to the Inbox Monster. Today I’d like you to meet one of his closest friends. If the Inbox Monster fills my head with things to do, the Time Monster quietly rearranges when I think I can do them.
One of the biggest misconceptions about ADHD is that we’re bad at time. I don’t think that’s quite true. We’re bad at your version of time. Most people seem to experience time as something that flows at a steady, predictable pace. Five minutes feels like five minutes. Next week feels closer than next month, and next month feels closer than Christmas. My experience has never really worked like that. There have always been two categories in my brain: now and not now. If something is happening now, it has my attention. If it isn’t happening now, it can almost disappear from view, no matter how important it is or how much I care about it.
Looking back, it explains so much of my career. I could think about a report for weeks without writing a word, then produce one of my best pieces of work in a single afternoon because suddenly it had moved into ‘now’. I could buy somebody’s birthday card three weeks in advance and still forget to post it. I could spend days preparing for an important meeting and then, just as I needed to leave, remember I hadn’t found my keys, filled the car with petrol or allowed enough time for the simple business of getting out of the house. It wasn’t because I didn’t value the meeting. It was because my brain hadn’t factored in the transition between thinking about something and actually doing it.
For years I described this as procrastination because that’s what everyone else seemed to call it. The more I learnt about ADHD, the more I realised procrastination wasn’t really the problem. Activation was. My brain often struggles to start something while it’s still living in the distant land of ‘not now’. Then something changes. A deadline gets close enough to become real, the engine finally starts, and suddenly I can achieve three days’ work in a few focused hours. It’s an extraordinary feeling when it works, but it’s also exhausting because it relies on adrenaline rather than good planning.
Meet the Time Monster
That’s where the Time Monster lives. Unlike the Inbox Monster, he doesn’t chase me with endless emails or unfinished tasks. Instead, he quietly bends time. He stretches an afternoon until it feels as though there’s plenty of room to do one more thing, then another, then another. Or he compresses it so completely that an hour disappears while I genuinely believe only ten minutes have passed. He’s a master illusionist. The clock on the wall keeps perfect time. It’s my internal clock that’s reading from a completely different script.
Barry watches all this from the middle of his web with the patience of someone who’s seen it many times before. He never tells me to ‘manage my time better’ because he knows that isn’t the real issue. Instead, he reminds me that not every thread in the web moves at the same speed. Some race towards me before I’ve even realised they’re there. Others drift so quietly into the background that I don’t notice them until they’re suddenly wrapped around my ankles. The trick isn’t trying to become someone else’s clock. It’s learning to make time visible before the Time Monster starts playing his games.
Side A and Barry’s B-side
The Time Monster takes Side A with ‘Time Is Running Out’ by Muse. That’s exactly what the last hour before a deadline can feel like. One moment everything seems comfortably distant; the next, my heart is racing because the deadline I’ve known about for weeks has somehow arrived without warning.
Barry turns the record over for his B-side, ‘Time Is On My Side’ by The Rolling Stones. Not because time always feels on my side, but because he keeps reminding me that living with the Time Monster isn’t about becoming somebody else’s version of organised. It’s about building an environment where my brain gets the cues it needs before panic takes over. External clocks, visible reminders and enough transition time are tools that help make time visible.
I’ve learnt to borrow time from the outside world. My calendar tells me when to start getting ready, not just when the meeting begins. Timers remind me that twenty minutes really have passed. Whiteboards, alarms and sticky notes have become part of my executive functioning rather than evidence that I lack it. These aren’t crutches. They’re reasonable adjustments for a brain that experiences time differently.
If you’re reading this as someone who doesn’t have ADHD, one of the kindest things you can do is remember that what looks like poor planning is often a difference in how time is experienced. A reminder before something becomes urgent, clear deadlines and enough transition time can remove barriers that are completely invisible to you. The goal isn’t to make neurodivergent people think like everyone else. It’s to make time something we can both see.
Tomorrow you’ll meet another member of the crew. The Time Monster won’t mind. He’ll probably convince you tomorrow is ages away.