You’re Not Lazy, You’re Stuck – ADHD, Agency, and That Thing You Were Meant to Do

Let’s have a little heart-to-heart, shall we?

There’s something you were meant to do today, wasn’t there? You knew exactly what it was a minute ago (trust me, I feel your pain!). Actually, you’ve known all week. It’s been sitting there, quietly judging you from the corner of your brain like an unpaid parking ticket. And yet, here you are—reading this. Hello, by the way. I’m glad you’re here. I see you.

This, my friend, is the very essence of ADHD. That strange sensation of wanting to do something, sometimes even needing to do it, and somehow… not doing it. You’re not being wilfully defiant. There’s no secret rebellion happening in your prefrontal cortex. You just… can’t. And then, of course, comes the shame spiral, the existential crisis, and the “maybe if I reorganise my apps and light a candle, I’ll finally write that email” moment.

What we’re really talking about here is agency. That gorgeous, elusive sense that you are the one steering the ship. That you’re choosing your next move, rather than being dragged behind the boat of your own life in a rubber dinghy while yelling, “Wait! I was supposed to turn left at 10 am!”

Now, Kourosh Dini—therapist, musician, and fellow neurospicy brain enthusiast—talks beautifully about this. His work peels back the sticky layers of ADHD to reveal that, so often, what looks like laziness or chaos is actually a disruption of agency. He says that in order to act, you have to believe that action is possible. Sounds simple, right? Except when your working memory is made of Swiss cheese and time doesn’t behave like it does for everyone else (again, I’m right there with you!).

Because here’s the truth: when you’re ADHD, time is either now or not now. That’s it. Those are your only settings. So unless a thing is on fire right this minute, your brain files it under “does not currently exist.” The concept of later is like a mythical land you’ve heard of but can’t quite reach, like Narnia but with fewer fauns and (a lot) more guilt.

And don’t get me started on working memory. You know when someone tells you something, and you nod like you’re taking it in, but by the time they finish the sentence, you’ve already forgotten the beginning and what day it is? That’s not rudeness. That’s ADHD. Your brain is a browser with 73 tabs open, but the one you actually need is frozen and playing music from somewhere you can’t even locate.

This is where Dini’s strategies become actual gold dust, or so I believe. He suggests things like building systems—not just any systems, mind you, but ones that talk back (grant you that maybe it’s easier for me since I’m a systemiser by nature). External systems that hold your intentions when your brain drops them like a toddler holding a glass of milk. A calendar that tells you where you’re meant to be. A to-do list that reminds you of your own plans. A notebook that whispers, “Remember? You cared about this yesterday.”

But—and this is important—it has to be a kind system. Not a drill sergeant, not a productivity cult. A system that understands that some days you’ll stare at the screen like it insulted your cat, and other days you’ll write an entire essay at 2 am like a caffeinated Victorian ghost. Agency doesn’t come from forcing yourself. It comes from trusting yourself.

And trust is hard, isn’t it? When you’ve spent years being called forgetful, disorganised, and flaky—when you’ve internalised all that nonsense and started believing you’re just not got at that thing that’s called life—regaining a sense of agency can feel like trying to assemble IKEA furniture with no instructions and a wrench made of spaghetti. But I promise you, it’s possible.

Let’s talk about the moments when you do feel in control. Maybe it’s when you’re hyperfocused, and everything is clicking. Perhaps it’s that glorious flash of clarity when the world lines up, and you know exactly what to do next. That’s agency. That’s the brain saying, “We’re safe. We know where we’re going.”

The trick is creating an environment where those moments can happen more often—not by force, but by invitation. Dini’s work reminds us that attention is not commanded. It’s coaxed. It’s enticed (well, as much as we can, of course!).

Not what you should do. Not what’s urgent or overdue or will make you feel like a proper grown-up. Just the next, kind, manageable step. Agency lives in the tiny decisions. Choosing which tab to close. Picking up the pen. Opening the document. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. You don’t need a productivity planner with gold leaf margins. You just need something that says: “I see you. Let’s begin.”

And, of course, there will be days when it all goes sideways (yes, yes, I know!). You’ll lose time. You’ll forget the important thing. You’ll feel like you’re failing. But you’re not. You’re navigating a brain that processes the world differently. Your attention isn’t broken—it’s busy. It’s just not always busy with the thing someone else thinks it should be. It’s called ‘attention deficit’, but in reality, we have too much of it; we actually see a lot more than others.

So here’s what I want you to know: You can build agency. You can learn to trust your own cues and to work with your brain rather than against it. You can make space for the way your attention wants to move. And yes, you’ll need support—maybe lists, maybe alarms, maybe someone gently shouting “FOCUS!” from the other room (love you, accountability buddy). But those supports don’t make you weak. They make you strategic.

You are not flaky. You’re navigating fog. You’re not lazy. You’re stuck in a loop that your executive function forgot to close. But you are still you, and you are still capable of choosing your next move.

So go ahead. Close the extra tabs. Look at your to-do list. Take one small step. Not because you have to. But because you can.

That’s agency. And it’s yours.