J’ai aussi la chance d’avoir beaucoup d’espace en bas Ă l’eclau, ce qui m’a permis de sortir de l’appartement et de centraliser des dizaines de cartons d’affaires qui se trouvaient au salon et dans la chambre (en gros: tout sauf les habits du dressing).
MĂȘme plus que ça, je suis ravie. Ăa m’a fait un bien fou de reprendre le contrĂŽle de mon espace de vie. J’ai maintenant envie de me tenir dans mon salon! Il ne me stresse plus, car il n’est plus rempli de rappels visuels de tout ce que je devrais faire un jour si j’ai le temps (ranger, trier…).
C’est marrant, maintenant que j’ai eu ces deux semaines pour me lancer, je suis impatiente d’avoir Ă nouveau un moment pour continuer Ă avancer dans mon rangement!
Que faut-il retenir? Qu’y a-t-il d’autre Ă ajouter?
(j’ai dĂ» fouiller dans les archives pour certaines, et les photos sont pas top comme si on avait fait exprĂšs! vous pouvez cliquer dessus pour les voir en plus grand)
These are times of transformation for me. Getting medication for my ADHD (and also, simply understanding what was going on with my brain) has really opened doors for change, after many years of feeling stuck and hopeless with certain issues.
Of course, it’s not only the meds. As my (new, wonderful) therapist says, it’s also “doing the work”. I’m actively trying to figure things out, and as I always have been, doing my best to understand life and the world. Only now, I have a better set of keys. Discussions with those around me, as well as podcasts and things I read, in addition to observing myself and analysing how I function both at work and outside of work, are all ingredients in this time of change.
Some time back I wrote about a breakthrough moment: understanding that My Space Is There To Serve Me. This notion has really stuck with me and has been a paradigm change in how I view “housework”. It has given me an impulse to really be active in creating a living space for myself which “does good things” to me. A space that does not generate stress or anxiety because of the stuff I see in it or can’t find in it, a space that helps me relax and makes me feel happy.
This impulse was already in preparation, as part of the “post-meds effect”, and also following a breakthrough during my hypnotherapy training in summer 2023 â I still need to write about that, in fact.
Years ago, I remember Monique telling me that for a long time, she would actually take a week off in spring for spring-cleaning. Back then, I was baffled by the idea. There were so many other things I would rather do during a week of holidays! (And, reminder for my American readers: in Switzerland we get a minimum of 4 weeks a year, usually 5. I now have 6.)
As I was having an inner debate over what to do for my autumn holidays, I decided to spare myself the stress of travel plans and time away from home, and to use these two weeks to give myself time to care for my space â assist it in serving me well. So, starting October 7th, I have two weeks of “autumn cleaning” â and more.
Given my tendency to want to cram too much into every little nook and cranny of available time, and seeing that my mind was creating a very long list of all the things I would finally be able to do during these two weeks of holidays, I sat down a couple of weeks back to make a “housecare” (better than “housework”, isn’t it?) programme for myself. The result is that I have a day for each room, taking into account I have a bunch of appointments here and there and also need time to rest and do a few other things.
Now that I have clearly seen that it’ll be only a day per room (pro tip: calendars and plannings transform time into space, really useful when you have time blindness to any degree), I’m thinking about what I’ll prioritise in each room.
Deep cleaning, definitely.
Uncluttering, definitely.
The rest varies from room to room. For example, on my balcony I have an old set of shelves that are falling apart. They will go and be replaced by something else. My kitchen shelves are an awful formica brown, I have light-coloured sticky paper to cover them (bought it years ago), that’s going to happen. And maybe put some pretty vinyl on the floor. Etc.
The uncluttering and tidying part had had me thinking a lot about where I put things. One thing I’ve really understood (and that is ADHD-related) is that for me, out of sight really is out of mind. If something is in a cupboard or a drawer that I don’t open regularly, I forget it exists. I have closed spaces in my flat that I haven’t looked in for a year or more. What’s in there? I have no clue, and definitely don’t use what’s in there. So, I tend to leave things “out there” so I don’t forget about them. The result: a lot of clutter.
Over the years, I’ve come up with workarounds. Plastic transparent boxes in my bathroom to store things. Tinned food in my kitchen lives on shelves and not in the cupboard. Labels on my clothes drawers and shelves inside the cupboard. Easy access spaces for certain types of objects I use everyday. I also rely a lot of habits to keep things under control. I need to use labels more. I’m still looking for a nice set of food-shaped fridge magnets that I can use to make visible which perishables are at risk of perishing in the bottom drawers of my fridge.
(If you’re starting to be concerned the title of this blog post was false advertising, don’t worry. We’re getting there.)
I’ve been staring at these two baskets in the middle of my living room for weeks now. They are filled with clutter. I never access them. They are in the middle of my living room. They could be put to good use. What could I store in them?
I friend of mine who moves around quite a bit told me one day she had plastic boxes for various needs or activities. She just grabs the box and throws it into the car. Box for the dog. Box for the week-end. It inspired me. I put together a Box For Respiratory Infections. (I had a lot of practice using and appreciating it this winter, as I went through six viral infections in a row.) What other boxes do I need? A hiking box? A sailing box?
The idea of duplicating key objects had started to make its way into my mind. I bought a second computer charger that lives inside my bag â I never again have to ask myself if I need to take my charger when going to work (or to the chalet, for that matter, or anywhere). I have a second set of “cat gear” that stays at the chalet. Having ready-to-go boxes might involve some duplication.
This is the kind of stuff that has been on my mind lately. And this morning, an idea took form clearly: there is the stuff I use and the stuff I don’t use. (Or don’t use very often, or don’t use nowadays.) And if I look at how things are stored in my flat, the underlying design is not “do I use it or not or how often”, but “what category of thing is this”. All my towels are in the same overflowing cupboard in my bathroom. But I don’t use them all. I rotate through a quarter of them. Only those need to be easily accessible. The space ones can go somewhere else (with a label, hopefully). Or simply go (but that’s another matter).
So, how about I really go all in with this “Living Space As User Interface” thing, and instead of making an inventory of stuff I have, start with what I use and do, and give real, useful, sensible homes to those things, instead of having them hang out in ad hoc spaces?
I have a big collection of plant pots on the top of my bookcase, easily accessible. I don’t pot plants every month. They are there because I didn’t have a place for them and there was space on top of the bookcase.
A lot of things are like that now: organic solutions that were not really thought out, and that became the default.
Boxes. Labels. Activity and frequency-based stuff management.
I’m now thinking about how to tackle this. Where do I start? How do I not get lost in the planning?
Here are some ideas:
in each room, list the activities I do there, and start from that
make an inventory of “storage spaces” and start from those: what would this or that space be good for storing?
go through my calendar and list things I do over a week or month, and start from that
list visible things in each room that I “never” touch
This is suddenly feeling a bit overwhelming. How would you tackle this?
These last weeks I’ve been obsessing over queuing theory. Well, actually, about how queuing theory can help me deal with my hyperactive calendar. Want to read up? link 1, link 2, link 3, link 4. I’ll read them too â when I have time (haha).
Seriously, what I have no understood is that I need to keep at least 20% of “unallocated” time. The queue is in my head and in my to-do list. Get back to such-and-such about having lunch together. Plan this or that activity. Buffer time means flexibility and higher reactivity. Does it mean I will have to do less? Maybe. Or not. Because time is what time is. I’m using it up anyway, whatever I do with it. So: I’ll probably be doing as much, but differently.
Which brings me to the fundamental question of what I want to spend my time doing. What’s important? What gets priority? In this episode of Hidden Brain, there was mention of an exercise in which the subject counted how many times they had done a certain valuable activity, and how many times were left in their lifetime. In this example, it was eating with their parents. Realising there was a finite number of opportunities for this valuable moment helped them prioritise this commitment.
As I was trying to figure out how to do deal with my ever-longer list of interests and activities, I stumbled upon this article (this was before the queuing theory lightbulb) which lead me to a “needs assessment” tool. That was interesting: what are my core needs, and how does the stuff I do fit in fulfilling them? Am I spending a lot of energy on stuff that doesn’t fulfil them? That was good food for thought.
Anyway, I’ve now understood I need to make space in my calendar. At least a “me time” evening per week. (Not that easy when I already have judo on Monday and Friday, and singing on Wednesday.) Also, how about keeping a Saturday a month to deal with domestic affairs? That’s not free time, but it’s a class of activities I should reserve time for. And maybe I should have a week-end a month without any plans? Does being at the chalet count as a plan? (I’m afraid it probably does…)
I’ve been reconnecting with my desire to “design” my living space so it can serve me better. I’ve two weeks set aside for that in October, and enough ideas to keep my busy two whole months. I’ve started doing a little planning so I can adjust my expectations and have a chance of seeing them squeeze into reality.
I have a very hard time with the concrete step of keeping time free in my calendar. Each empty evening, each free week-end day is courted by a long list of candidates who would like to make good use of this time. I struggle. I try to resist. Sometimes I manage.
Example: this week-end, I had a plan with a friend. A two-day plan. It was fun and exciting and we were looking forward to it. Unfortunately we miscommunicated and it fell through (no hard feelings on either side). My initial impulse was to recycle the plan with somebody else. Who would I extend the invitation to? I managed to stop and breathe before sending out messages. I have been over-busy these last weeks, I haven’t cleaned my flat since I got back from holidays, I am like butter stretched over too much bread, as Bilbo Baggins would say.
I decided to wait, digest the disappointment of the canceled plan. Maybe I could still do something Saturday â not a two-day thing, but something on my list of fun activities to do with people? I sent out feelers.
I started thinking about what would be reasonable. Oh, reasonable! Of course, have a quiet week-end at home. I have a big pile of admin tasks screaming at me (I’ve been putting my hands over my ears for the last few weeks), and did I mention how dirty my flat was? Oh, and maybe just having some downtime would be nice.
I realised that one of the reasons I was tempted to organise a “fun activity” to make up for the cancelled one was that I wasn’t certain that I would be able to give myself “off time” if I stayed home. My whole week-end could disappear in tasks like cleaning, laundry, tidying, shopping, doing the dishes, paying bills, getting back to people, ordering stuff, planning the next weeks and my holidays…
I finally managed to go the “quiet week-end” route. The more I thought about it, the more the prospect of being able to clean my flat felt attractive. I made a deal with myself: do my “stuff” in the morning, and take time off in the afternoon. I managed (made good progress on the puzzle you can see â finished it tonight).
It felt really good to have time to tidy things up. It’s nice to be in a place that is at least minimally clean. My conscience is lighter, having knocked off a couple of admin emergencies from my list (there are more). I’m hanging on to this feeling so that when comes the time to decide what I’m doing with my next weeks and week-ends, I remember that this is also something I want to do â not just wandering around mountains, hanging out on the lake, being with people, putting together jigsaw puzzles or reading a book. (And I could go on.)
Layer one: remember “domestic time” and “me time”. Layer two: add in “buffer time”.
This feels stressful. It feels like I won’t be able to do everything I want to do and enjoy doing. But I’m hanging in there and trying to ignore that feeling.
Quarante pour-cent, c’est deux cinquiĂšmes. C’est deux soirs de libre par semaine. C’est presque un jour de week-end sur deux sans projets. J’ai le coeur qui tremblote rien que d’y penser.
It’s never easy to come back after a break. To “start again”, once more. Especially when the break wasn’t intentional.
I never think “oh, I’m going to go a few months without writing or blogging”. Or “I’m going to stop judo for 6 months”. Life happens, and time goes by, and there we are.
As always, the easiest way back is to take the path of least resistance: in my case, when it comes to blogging, writing about coming back.
Hyperactivity tends to fill up calendars and keep one running around. Medication for ADHD is (literally, for some people) life-saving but it doesn’t change who we are: it makes the challenges that come with the condition more manageable.
In my case, I have discovered, with medication, that I have better control on being able to make myself do things. I can plan things for my day and follow the plan. I can make long(ish) term projects without feeling deep despair. I am “able to do” much more easily, and therefore spending much less of my time bogged down by my executive disfunction, less of my time worrying about what is wrong with me or feeling distressed because I don’t understand why certain parts of my operating system seem broken or buggy. As I’ve written a few times, I now feel like I have admin rights to the operating system of my life, and it’s great.
But the flip side is that I still want to do as many things as before. And I’m actually doing more than before. But even with my new-found power to “do”, I cannot do all the things. My wants are too numerous for the time and energy life puts at my disposal.
So I’ve been running a lot, doing cool things, resting too (not quite enough, but decently enough), and not managing to squeeze writing into there.
I have come to understand, over my many years of writing, that I generally write on impulse. An idea goes through my head, I write. Something pisses me off, I write. I think of something helpful for somebody else, I write. I want to share something with others, I write. I’m upset, I write. Now that my impulse control is better, this need to write is not as strong â which is great, because it means that when something annoys me or catches my attention, instead of having to sit down and write about it for an hour or three, I can “stick to the plan” more or less and get my work done or pay my bills. But it’s also not great, because I haven’t yet figured out where and how to firewall writing time and energy in my life. Because I very much still want to write. I still have ideas, there are things I want to say, to share, to rant (diplomatically) about.
To be able to write, I need to feel that I have enough time to do it. So, clearly, one of the keys is having a less busy schedule. Surprise. Nothing new to see here. I’m working on it.
Also: when I sit down because I have some space where I “could” write, the stuff to write is gone from my brain. I remember, many years ago, keeping a list of “to blog” ideas. It completely backfired because they became “tasks” that I never felt like doing. This is also something I’m looking for the keys to, with my new understanding of how my brain works: how to “generate motivation” for a task I want to do, when the motivation is not there. I watched this video on “jumpstarting” a few weeks back and I think there is something in it. Exploring what I can do with these admin rights, you see.
One thing I know I wanted to write about was my “going to sleep” advice, because it’s a question that comes up here and there, and I have a long list of advice, which would be perfect to collect in a blog post.
I want to write about my holidays walking the Dales Way (without getting stuck processing 1500 photos and without waiting so long that it all fades away). I’ve been thinking a lot about how to manage time and tasks (at work and off work), including how queuing theory can maybe help. (Yes, the article is in German, and I actually read it in German: another thing to write about, my experience with working in a majority-German-speaking environment. Lots of thoughts about that.) Perimenopause and HRT is also a topic that is on my radar, as is, of course, a lot of stuff about ADHD. Turning 50. And more, but my brain is drawing blanks right now (I had a very long day on Wednesday and I’m still recovering).
Are you a reformed “impulse writer”? How did you manage the transition? How do you “generate motivation” when faced with a task you want to do â but you’ve let the fire for it die?
I’ve gone back and forth between Switzerland and India a dozen of times now. It’s funny, people think I’m a big traveller because “India”, but actually, aside from a handful of countries in Europe and a few trips to North America, it’s pretty much the only place I’ve been.
Leaving India has always been hard for me, as far as I can remember. In 2000 I had built a life there, I was 25, leaving people I loved and had a real connection to behind, heading back to a life in Switzerland which had gone on without me, where my parents had separated and my heart had finished being broken during my absence.
This time, grief and travel are also on the platter. Grief over my stepmom’s death but also not having the time I was so looking forward to with Aleika. It was a short trip for me, two weeks. I wasn’t in a very good place when I left Switzerland, I did manage to get a breath of fresh air in Rajasthan, but it was too short, and now I’m flung back where I was, struggling to find my balance, unpack my suitcase, reconnect with work and loss.
My stepmom would have liked Rajasthan. But she’s not there to hear about it, and I felt that acutely during my trip. I would have liked to show her things. I think that for me, a large part of the pleasure of travel is sharing it with others. And that went and pressed painfully on my loss.
I don’t like transitions. I never have. They’re always stressful. The added understanding I have about certain specificities of how I function, since diagnosis, have helped me make sense of this. There’s maybe a little personal history in there too, but mainly, I just think that context changes are hard for me. I know it’s often hard for people to understand how I can react and perform well in a crisis (talk about a change in context) but simply taking myself from home-in-my-flat to home-in-the-chalet can be complicated. But that’s how it is. And India-to-Switzerland is definitely a major transition, loaded with history af good-byes with no certainty about the future.
One thing India has maybe also brought me that I struggle to find here is a different pace of life, a different sense of time. In my life here, I find it difficult to slow down. Even when I try to slow down, I’m still running around, still putting myself under a lot of pressure to do a lot of things (desired and less desired). In India, there is more waiting, there is more lateness, there is more unexpected that makes planning complicated (so you do it less), things take more time. At least, that’s what I experience. In India, I get a lot of downtime. Now, is it India or is it holidays? The two are linked, anyway. Leaving India behind when I return from a trip is also leaving behind a certain taste of life that I need more of here, but so often fail to achieve.
My body is slowly drifting back to Switzerland. I didn’t get up too early this morning, and as I write, the clock is ticking and it’s going to be time to get ready for work. I’ll leave these words here, and thank you for reading â and thank this trip to India for reconnecting me to my blogging keyboard again.
Demain, je rentre à Sonipat. Une nuit et un jour là -bas, puis direction Delhi pour prendre mon avion au milieu de la nuit, trÚs tÎt dimanche matin. Cela fait bien une semaine que je ne sais plus quel jour on est. On est jeudi, mais ça ne veut plus rien dire.
Alors, en continuant avec mon parallĂšle douteux entre les vacances et la vie, la fin du voyage et la mort, est-ce que j’arrive Ă vivre demain matin comme si je ne rentrais pas? A ne pas voir ce mur dans le temps devant moi, Ă me balader en ville comme si je pouvais y revenir demain? Est-ce souhaitable? Qu’est-ce qui me retient?