I’ve been designing interfaces for 25+ years.
Big brands. EA. Disney. Nintendo. Lego. Nike.
The kind of work where millions of people use what you build and never think twice about it. (Which is exactly the point.)
I know exactly how to make a button feel right. How to reduce friction. How to guide someone through complexity without them even noticing.
And yet.
My own phone is absolute chaos.
47 unread texts. 12,000+ emails. Notifications I swiped away but never dealt with. Apps downloaded six months ago for one specific thing and never deleted.
Every time I unlock my phone, there’s this little spike of dread.
Which is… embarrassing?
When you design UI for a living?
Yeah.
The thing nobody tells you about ADHD and design work is that it’s both perfect and terrible at the same time.
Perfect because: My brain is really good at seeing patterns, thinking in systems, and hyperfocusing on tiny details that make interfaces work.
Terrible because: The same brain that can spend six hours perfecting a micro-interaction can’t remember to respond to a simple text message.
I can design an entire app that millions of people will use intuitively.
But I can’t organize my own digital life to save myself.
Here’s what I’ve learned after years of living in this contradiction:
Most apps aren’t designed for brains like mine.
(And probably not for brains like yours either, if you’re reading this.)
They’re designed for some theoretical “average user” who:
Checks notifications once and takes immediate action
Maintains inbox zero without breaking a sweat
Makes rational decisions about what to delete or keep
Never feels overwhelmed by too many choices
Can easily prioritize what matters most
That person doesn’t exist.
Or if they do, I’ve never met them.
The problem starts with notifications.
You know what designers are taught?
“Keep users engaged. Bring them back to the app. Don’t let them forget we exist.”
So we add badges. Push notifications. Email reminders. In-app prompts. Little red dots everywhere screaming for attention.
For someone with ADHD, each notification is a tiny cognitive load.
A small decision that needs to be made. A potential task that gets added to the invisible list already maxing out your working memory.
One notification? Fine.
Fifty notifications across twelve apps? My brain just… nopes out.
I stop seeing them.
Or I see them and feel immediate overwhelm. Or I clear them all just to make the anxiety go away, which means I definitely forget whatever I was supposed to remember.
The irony? I’ve designed notification systems.
I know exactly why they’re built this way. I understand the business logic. I’ve sat in meetings where we debated the perfect timing and frequency.
And I still can’t manage them in my own life.
Then there’s the choice problem.
More options feels like better UX, right? Give users flexibility. Let them customize. Offer multiple paths to the same outcome.
Wrong.
For an ADHD brain, every choice is exhausting.
Should I use this app or that app for task management? Which of these seven settings is the “right” one? Do I want notifications on or off? (Trick question - both options feel wrong.)
I’ve tried every productivity app that exists. Notion, Todoist, Things, Asana, Trello…
You know what works best?
A physical notebook.
Because there are no choices to make. No settings to configure. No notifications to manage. Just: write thing down, look at notebook later.
(Sometimes. When I remember where I put the notebook.)
The worst part is the gap between knowing and doing.
I know what good design looks like.
I know how to build systems that reduce cognitive load.
I know the principles that would make my digital life more manageable.
But knowing doesn’t equal doing when your brain works like mine.
It’s like being a nutritionist who survives on coffee and impulse snacks. You have all the knowledge. You just can’t consistently apply it to yourself.
There’s a name for this, actually.
The ADHD tax.
All those late fees because you forgot to pay a bill you definitely had money for.
Buying the same thing twice because you forgot you already ordered it.
Paying for subscriptions you’re not using because canceling requires executive function you don’t have that day.
For me, it’s also: The mental energy spent managing poorly designed systems.
The apps I buy hoping this one will be different. The time lost to digital overwhelm instead of actual work.
I’ve probably spent thousands of dollars on this tax over the years.
And I design UI for a living.
So what actually helps?
I wish I could give you a neat list of solutions. Five apps that changed everything. The perfect system that finally works.
But that’s not honest.
What helps is accepting that my brain works differently. That I’ll probably always struggle with some of this stuff. That being good at designing for others doesn’t mean I can design the perfect system for myself.
Here’s what I have figured out:
Fewer apps is always better than more apps. Even if the fewer apps aren’t perfect.
Automation saves me from myself.
Bills on autopay.
Subscriptions that auto-renew (and a quarterly calendar reminder to review them).
Anything I can set once and forget.
I design friction into my own life.
My phone is greyscale after 9pm.
Social media apps are deleted and reinstalled as needed (the friction of re-downloading makes me actually think about whether I want to open it).
My banking app requires Face ID and a passcode because making it harder to impulse spend is worth the annoyance.
Physical objects work better than digital ones for some things. That notebook. Post-its on my monitor. A paper calendar on the wall.
I’ve stopped trying to be a productivity guru. I have good systems for work stuff because that’s my hyperfocus.
Everything else? Good enough is fine.
The uncomfortable truth is that most apps make this harder, not easier.
They’re designed to maximize engagement, not minimize cognitive load. To create habits, not respect attention. To keep you scrolling, not help you accomplish what you actually wanted to do.
And I’ve been part of building these systems.
I’ve sat in meetings where we discussed how to increase daily active users. How to reduce churn. How to get people to spend more time in the app.
Never once did anyone ask: “But what if our users have ADHD? What if our app is making their lives harder?”
(This is changing. Slowly. But we have a long way to go.)
So yeah.
I design UI for a living.
My phone still overwhelms me.
And I’m learning to be okay with that contradiction.
Maybe you are too.
Here’s what I want to know from you:
Are you in tech or design with ADHD? How do you manage the gap between what you know and what you can actually do?
Hit reply (or drop a comment) and tell me your story.
I read every single response (and try to reply to all).
(And if you found yourself nodding along to this, would you share it? There’s probably someone in your life who needs to know they’re not alone in this. Use the button below.)
P.S. - If you’re new here, welcome. I write about UI/UX design, ADHD, navigating career changes, and the uncomfortable conversations we’re not having in the games industry. The stuff that matters but nobody wants to talk about.
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