Time? What Time?

Time Blindness as a Neurodivergent Woman.

Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

An excerpt from my personal journal;

“I was late again this morning. Not by much—just ten minutes—but enough to arrive flustered, apologetic, and slightly sweaty, clutching a half-buttoned coat and a lukewarm tea I’d reheated three times and still forgotten on the kitchen side. Again.

I didn’t mean to be late. I never do. I’d actually started getting ready early. I had a plan, a checklist, a dozen alarms set. Yet somehow, time disappeared like a sock in the wash—there one moment, inexplicably gone the next.”

What even is time blindness?

Time blindness isn’t about not owning a watch or forgetting your phone (though, let’s be honest, I regularly lose both in my own handbag). It’s the ADHD brain’s quirky relationship with time itself. It warps. It stretches. It shrinks. It disappears entirely. People with ADHD often struggle to sense the passage of time, to estimate how long things will take, or to feel urgency unless a deadline is breathing heavily down our necks.

Time, for me, exists in two modes: “Now” and “Not Now”. That’s it. No in-between. No graceful transition between tasks. No internal clock whispering, “You’ve got 20 minutes, so let’s start winding down.” I don’t wind down. I crash-land.

But isn’t everyone a bit bad with time?

Yes. Everyone has days where they lose track of time. But for people with ADHD—especially women—it’s not just occasional disorganisation. It’s a core part of how our brains function. And while boys with ADHD might have been flagged up for hyperactivity in the classroom, many of us girls (now ladies) were just quietly drowning under forgotten homework, missed buses, and a constant, low-level shame about never seeming to have our act together.

Women with ADHD often mask these challenges well. We become queens of overcompensating: setting timers, making lists, apologising profusely, laughing off our lateness to hide the internal chaos. But underneath? We’re exhausted. And time blindness is one of the biggest culprits.

The daily disasters of time blindness

Let me paint you a picture—or a timeline, if I could manage such a thing:

8:00am: I wake up early! Miraculous. I’ve got loads of time. I lie in bed smugly, scrolling through cat videos and replying to messages I ignored yesterday.

8:45am: Still loads of time. I open an email, get distracted, start googling “why does my plant look sad” and forget what I was doing.

9:15am: Oh! Better shower! I start thinking about a podcast idea in the shower and then end up standing wrapped in a towel for twenty minutes writing voice notes to myself.

9:45am: Panic. Full chaos. Clothes flying, keys missing, child half-dressed, toast in pocket.

10:10am: I arrive late. Again.

This is the ADHD time warp. Time moves normally for everyone else, but for me it’s either dragging or sprinting, and I’m never quite sure which.

The gendered reality of time blindness

Here’s the kicker—society expects women to manage time like pros. We’re meant to juggle work, housework, childcare, self-care, social calendars, dentist appointments, and somehow still send birthday cards on time. There’s an unspoken pressure to be the family’s project manager, emotional thermostat, and social secretary rolled into one.

But what if your brain can’t even remember what day it is? What if you regularly misjudge how long it’ll take to get somewhere, forget you’ve got dinner booked, or wildly underestimate how long it takes to “just pop to the shop”?

Time blindness becomes more than a personal frustration—it becomes a source of shame, a wedge in relationships, and often, a reason women are labelled flaky, lazy, or disorganised, when really, we’re sprinting through a world that was never designed for our brains.

Productivity hacks? Or productivity traps?

I’ve tried every time management method under the sun: bullet journals, Pomodoro timers, colour-coded calendars, habit trackers, apps that yell at me. Some help—briefly. But they often end up as more pressure points, more systems to fail at.

The truth is, time blindness isn’t a lack of effort—it’s a neurological reality. It’s not cured by a better planner; it’s soothed by understanding and adapting.

So here’s what I’ve learned: I have to work with my brain, not against it. I’ve stopped trying to become a time-optimising robot. Instead, I’ve started getting playful with time, building in margin, tricking my future self into staying on track, and forgiving myself when things still go sideways.

Some tricks that (sometimes) work

1. Fake deadlines – I tell myself something is due a day before it really is. Sometimes, it works. Sometimes I forget I lied to myself and still panic on the fake day. But hey, at least I panic early.

2. Body timers – I’ll put on a playlist that’s 20 minutes long and try to get ready before it ends. Or light a candle while I work and treat it like a countdown. My brain doesn’t feel time, but it feels music and sensory cues.

3. Two-minute tasks – If something will take two minutes or less, I force myself to do it now. Otherwise, it vanishes into the abyss forever.

4. Externalise everything – I write on mirrors, leave sticky notes on the kettle, or use voice reminders that shout, “Stop scrolling and get dressed!” like an ADHD life coach from the future.

5. Compassion, always – When I mess up, I don’t berate myself. I remind myself I’m doing the best I can with a brain that’s brilliant in many ways—but not built for linear time.

You are not lazy

I want to say this loud and clear, especially to the women reading this who feel perpetually behind, perpetually chaotic, perpetually guilty—you are not lazy! You are not a failure. You’re navigating a world that values punctuality and precision, with a brain that values creativity, connection, and curiosity.

It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to need help. It’s okay to reheat your coffee three times and still forget it.

And you’re not alone. So many of us are out here, wandering time travellers with overloaded to-do lists and mismatched socks, doing our best in a world that insists time is linear and tidy.

Time may be a mystery, but so am I

Sometimes I think of myself as a kind of time-witch—shifting through temporal portals, dancing between deadlines, living life in sudden bursts and quiet lulls. It’s not always efficient, but it’s uniquely mine.

I may never master time. But I’ve learned to embrace my weird, wonderful brain—and to build a life around it, not in spite of it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was meant to start cooking dinner an hour ago. But hey, better late than never.