I have a complicated relationship with time.
It’s not that I don’t care about it—believe me, I care a lot. I want to be on time. I want to remember appointments. I want to estimate how long a task will take and plan accordingly. But my brain? It just… doesn’t operate that way.
What I’ve come to learn—and what I talk about often with my clients—is that this isn’t a failure of character. It’s time blindness, and it’s incredibly common in neurodivergent folks, especially those of us with ADHD and autism.
What Is Time Blindness, Anyway?
Time blindness is more than running late or losing track of time. It’s a fundamental difference in how some brains perceive time altogether. For neurotypical people, time often feels linear and predictable. For me, time feels like “now” or “not now”—there’s no natural sense of how long something should take, how much time has passed, or even what day it is if I’m deep in a task or in a state of overwhelm.
I’ve experienced this in both directions. I can get completely lost in something I love—writing, gaming, coaching—and look up to find that hours have disappeared. Or I can get stuck in a loop of procrastination, paralyzed by not knowing where to start or how long anything will take.
Time Blindness is Not Laziness. It’s Neuroscience.
Here’s the thing I wish I had known years ago: time blindness is rooted in how the neurodivergent brain functions. It’s not a personal flaw.
Our prefrontal cortex—the part of the brain responsible for planning, estimating, and prioritizing—often works differently. Dopamine dysregulation makes it hard to feel a sense of urgency unless there’s an imminent deadline (hello, pressure prompting). And poor working memory means I’m constantly forgetting to check the clock or remember what time I started something.
I used to think I was just bad at being an adult. But the truth is, I was trying to live in a world built around time expectations that never made sense to my brain.
My Lived Experience: When the Clock Betrays You
One of the ways time blindness used to show up for me was during transitions. I’d think, “I’ll just check email for 5 minutes,” and suddenly it was 1:30 and I’d missed lunch. Or I’d start a podcast edit at 9pm thinking I could squeeze it in before bed—only to realize it’s 1am and I have zero wind-down left in my system.
There have been missed appointments, late starts, and plenty of shame spirals over the years. I’ve cried in my car more than once because I was late for something important and had no idea how it happened. I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. I wasn’t trying to be flaky. I just… didn’t notice time passing.
Building Systems That Help (Instead of Shaming Myself)
I’ve had to let go of the idea that I can just try harder. That strategy never worked. What does help is building external systems that keep me anchored.
I use timers—ones that talk to me or vibrate, because an alert on my phone might as well not exist. I set my oven timer that won’t stop until I get up to turn it off to remind me to eat lunch. I keep a visual schedule posted on my wall. I break projects into smaller blocks and estimate how long each one should take—but I also double those estimates, because my first guess is usually wrong.
And maybe most importantly? I’ve stopped equating lateness with failure. I no longer beat myself up for missing a beat. I regroup. I adapt. I forgive.
Final Thoughts: You’re Not Alone
If you’ve ever wondered why you can’t seem to manage your time “like everyone else,” I want you to know this: you’re not broken. You’re not lazy. Your brain just experiences time differently—and that’s okay.
The world wasn’t built for brains like ours. But that doesn’t mean we can’t build lives that do work—for us, with us, on our own timelines.
—Regina