Living with ADHD and autism means navigating a world that wasn’t built for your brain—and I’ve spent years learning to work with mine, not against it. I wasn’t diagnosed until adulthood, which means I spent a long time wondering why everything felt harder for me than it seemed to for everyone else. I thought I just needed to try harder, be more disciplined, or stop being so “sensitive.” Spoiler: that wasn’t the issue.
This post isn’t a guidebook. I’m not a productivity guru or mental health expert. I’m just someone who’s learned a lot (often the hard way) about what helps me function in a world that often isn’t built with neurodivergent people in mind. These are the tools, habits, and rituals that help me stay grounded, get things done, and—on a good day—even feel like I’m thriving.
Daily Routines That Help Me Live with ADHD and Autism
If you’re looking for ADHD and autism routines that actually work for a real, messy, neurodivergent life—you’re not alone. These strategies may not fix everything, but they make life feel more manageable, more aligned, and more possible.
Morning Routines That Set the Tone
Mornings used to be total chaos. I’d wake up late, forget key tasks, and spend the rest of the day playing catch-up. Now, I’ve built a routine that’s predictable, low-effort, and kind to my brain.
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Visual cues > memory: I keep a dry-erase checklist on my bathroom mirror with the basics: meds, deodorant, brush teeth, drink water, check planner. It sounds simple, but without this, I will absolutely forget at least one of those things.
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Sensory-safe start: Harsh lights and noise first thing in the morning can throw off my whole day. I start with soft lighting, a warm drink (usually tea or mushroom coffee), and low-volume lo-fi music or ambient nature sounds.
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Task stacking: I pair something tedious (like brushing my teeth) with something enjoyable (watching a silly TikTok or listening to a podcast). It makes mundane tasks feel less like a chore and more like a ritual.
Planning and Time Management
ADHD makes time feel either too much or not enough. I used to either obsess over every little detail or let things completely fall through the cracks. Now, I use systems that gently guide me back to center.
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Timers are my brain’s external scaffolding: I use the Time Timer app for visual countdowns, so I can see time passing. Alarms go off for transitions—especially between tasks or when I need to switch gears.
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Body doubling: Sometimes I work better when someone else is in the room (or even just on Zoom with their mic off). Having another human nearby helps me initiate tasks and stay anchored.
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Flexible structure: I don’t live by rigid to-do lists. Instead, I give myself a “priority trio”: If I get three key things done today—whether it’s a meeting, a load of laundry, or writing one paragraph—it counts as success.
Managing Sensory Overload
My sensory world is loud. It’s not just noise—it’s fluorescent lights, clothing tags, inconsistent textures, background conversations. I’ve learned how to protect my system before I hit shutdown.
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Noise-canceling headphones: My go-to defense against overstimulation in public spaces. Even if I’m not playing music, just wearing them helps.
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Weighted blanket + stim tools: These aren’t luxury items—they’re essential. My weighted blanket helps me downregulate at night, and I always have a fidget cube, textured ring, or putty within reach.
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Scheduled decompression: I build quiet, no-socializing time into my day. It’s not optional—it’s maintenance. After work or school, I need at least 30 minutes of no expectations, no demands, and no small talk.
Communication and Relationships
Neurodivergence shows up in how I talk, listen, and connect. It also affects how I need to be in relationships—romantic, platonic, or professional.
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Scripted phrases = emotional safety: I keep a few pre-written phrases on my phone for when I’m overwhelmed. Things like “I need a moment to process this” or “Can we circle back later?” give me a way to advocate for myself without spiraling.
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Explaining my needs, not apologizing for them: I’ve gotten better at saying, “Fluorescent lights give me a headache, can we switch rooms?” or “I need to take a sensory break.” It’s not always easy, but it makes everything else easier.
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Low-pressure friendships: I treasure the people in my life who don’t get weird if I go quiet for a few days. Neurodivergent friendships often work best when everyone respects each other’s fluctuating energy.
Self-Compassion and Growth
This might be the most important strategy of all: I stopped trying to “fix” myself and started learning how to supportmyself.
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Tracking my patterns: I journal—not every day, but often enough to notice trends. It helps me spot burnout early or see when my coping strategies are (or aren’t) working.
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Redefining success: Rest is productive. Managing my executive dysfunction is work. Some days, just showing up for myself is the win.
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Forgiveness on hard days: I’m not lazy. I’m not dramatic. I’m doing the best I can with a brain that’s wired differently—and that deserves patience, not punishment.
None of these strategies make my neurodivergence disappear. They just help me live with it, instead of constantly fighting against it. I still have hard days, forget things, and get overwhelmed. But I’m learning to build a life that’s structured for me, not the default setting.
If you’re navigating similar terrain, I see you. You’re not broken. You’re not alone. And you absolutely deserve systems, relationships, and routines that help you feel safe, supported, and seen.
Related post: Understanding Anxiety: Symptoms, Causes, and Coping Strategies
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