Why You Can’t Stop Doomscrolling
Your ADHD brain isn’t lazy — it just flips between 5 very real focus modes.
I’d just finished making lunch — tornado in the kitchen, pots everywhere, counters a disaster.
I flop onto the couch, doomscrolling ice cream shops in Japan — chasing sweets I’ll never taste.
Then: a text — “ just getting off the train, will be there soon”
Suddenly I’m on my feet, scrubbing not just the kitchen but every corner I’d ignored all week.
Fifteen minutes later, the place looks spotless, like no one ever lived there.
That’s not discipline.
That’s adrenaline in disguise.
Sometimes I wonder….
Did I already know, while I was scrolling, that it would all come together in one last-minute burst?
Was I recharging — just waiting for the switch to flip, for something to kick in?
Or is this something else entirely?
We’ve been calling it Panic Focus.
Nothing moves until the final second, the pressure spikes, and suddenly your body takes over.
Everything gets done — fast, messy, electric.
It works… but it leaves you shaky, drained, and wondering why it always has to be like this
Last week, in our coping mechanisms session, we were reminded, again: stories save us.
Every time someone spoke, we saw ourselves in their words.
That recognition — that we’re not alone — has been the biggest help in managing ADHD. And that’s why we’re starting to collect these stories.
Let’s be clear: community isn’t optional. It’s not extra.
It’s the core of how we survive ADHD.
Without people who understand us, everything feels impossible.
With them… it’s different. It’s relief — recognition — the first deep breath you’ve taken all week.
It’s not something I can put into words here.
You have to be in the room.
You need to feel it for yourself.
So this week we’re sharing two of those moments from Focus Warriors.
First up: a story from Cili, who likes to freestyle cook when ingredients go missing.
ADHD mis(t)ery of the week
Last wednesday I went to do groceries like usual except this time I got feta cheese for a specific meal. I got home, emptied my backpack and had a short confused moment with my husband because I forgot the feta. Which wouldn’t be an unusual thing, thanks to ADHD and immediately forgetting things that just happened. But this time I vividly remembered paying for it,so I was confused, our conclusion was that I probably left it on the counter after paying. Anyway cooking happened, it was also good without feta, no big deal. A week pass and my brain already wiped out the feta scenario at this point.
Today I was looking for my small notebook that I usually keep in my backpack in an inner pocket. To my bewilderment instead of the notebook that has roughly the same size and shape, I discovered a week old, fermented, poofed up, ready to explode and release disgusting-goo-combined-with-putrid-smell feta from my groceries trip. yay! at least I found it.Okay but where the fuck is my notebo
So three things to reflect on:
My memory is actually great, I remembered I bought the feta and even took it home!
I should next time turn my bag upside down and shake it until everything falls out even from the inner pocket.
I’m SO GLAD this didn’t happen in the Ubahn. Imagine going somewhere, looking all urban and put together, then this biohazard explodes INSIDE the bag, covering my laptop, sketchbook, headphones everything. Then dealing with the aftermath
of doing this soggy smelly bag dripping walk of shame to a drogerie to buy 100s pack of tissues (meanwhile try not to kill the 10 other people at the self checkout maschine queue, where 2/3 are broken, somehow nobody in their lives operated a machine like this before, my bag is smelling and dripping I can’t do this anymore...and I can’t traumatize the cashiers with this, so I insist on self-checkouting) and frantically trying to soak up the disgusting sauce with thirtysix tissues somehow. I don’t think I could recover from that.
Happy that this crisis was avoided!
I’m gonna attempt to cook with feta again, but this time take a totebag with no hidden pockets.
Footnote:so actually it was Hirtenkäse not feta, but for the sake of the story it’s more reader friendly to type feta and works better in english.
Main difference is that feta is from sheep, and my hirtenkäse from cow.
Credits: Cili
👉 chris note: sounds like fog mode — memory’s on, connection drops, cheese hibernates in a secret pocket. brutal. also very us, i did the same thing with vegan meat slices that fell in the computer pocket.
Just get out of the house
“I need you to kick me out of the house when we wake up tomorrow,” I said to Nino on Friday night.
“Oh? What are you doing?” he asked, surprised.
“I don’t know yet.”
And that’s how it began.
For the longest time, I’ve struggled with weekends. All week I collect ideas and plans: the books I want to read, the places I want to explore, the projects I can’t stop thinking about while I’m supposed to be working. By Friday, I’m craving the freedom. But when Saturday arrives, full of promise, it slips straight through my fingers.
That Friday I knew exactly how the weekend would play out: me in bed, staring at my phone, watching the hours crawl past, feeling heavier the longer I stayed stuck. So I decided to change the script.
I gave up trying to force myself into the very things I’d been excited about all week. Instead, I thought: what if I just did something — anything at all — to break the inertia? Not a plan, not a list — just movement. So I set myself a single instruction: leave the house. No agenda, no destination. Just step out the door.
Easier said than done. I knew that without help, I’d probably end up in the same spot — lying in bed, scrolling, but this time berating myself for failing at a new tactic. So I asked Nino to intervene.
Saturday morning, bleary-eyed, I feel a prod. “Up!” he barks. I pull the covers over my head, pretending to be asleep, but he isn’t fooled. Eventually, I’m outside on the doorstep, squinting in the daylight.
My first stop is a nearby café: coffee, croissant, and a book. I love reading, but it’s something I rarely manage on a weekend at home. It’s a small start, but it breaks the spell: the day has begun.
From there I wander. Down unfamiliar streets, through parks I’ve barely noticed before. The summer sun is hot, and I find a patch of dappled shade to sit and write. Journaling usually feels like work, but here, outdoors with no expectations, the words come easily. Each step makes the next one possible.
Later, I drift over to ufaFabrik, where Ana from our group has a stall at the Women’s Festival. We’ve never spoken before, but I stop by, say hello, and buy one of her comics. That small human connection feels surprisingly good.
On the way home I meet Nino at a bar. We sit in the sun with an Aperol, watching the world go by, and I realise the day has unfolded into something I hadn’t planned but genuinely enjoyed. It isn’t perfect — the projects remain untouched, and the dishes from last night are still piled in the sink — but it feels different. The heaviness has lifted.
All it took was lowering the bar to a single step: just leave the house.
Credits: Rohan!
👉 chris note: this one’s more blank-out than fog. in fog mode you’re scrolling but still kind of “there,” half-aware and drifting. in blank-out you’re gone — time slips and you don’t even notice what you’re seeing. rohan’s story nails that shift, and then how a single step outside flips it into passive focus.
Reading through stories like these, we noticed patterns — the same kinds of focus showing up in different ways. That’s how our little list of “focus modes” was born: not scientific, not fixed, just names to capture how it feels in the moment.
The 5 Focus Modes we found so far
🔥 Hyperfocus – You lock onto one thing so tightly the rest of the world disappears. Suddenly it’s 3am, you haven’t eaten, and you’re still deep in a YouTube rabbit hole or reorganizing your closet. Feels powerful in the moment, but wipes you out after.
⚡ Panic Focus – Nothing moves until the last second — then boom, adrenaline takes over. You clean the whole flat ten minutes before guests arrive, or write a week’s worth of work in one frantic sprint. It “works,” but leaves you drained and shaky.
🛋 Passive Focus – You’re coasting on autopilot. Folding laundry while a podcast plays. Cooking while chatting with a friend. Not intense, not urgent — just lightly engaged enough to keep going without much resistance.
🌫️ Fog Mode – You’re trying to focus, but it’s like wading through mud. You reread the same line over and over, stare at an email draft without knowing what to type, or click between tabs making no progress. Your brain feels “on,” but nothing connects. (Think: the spinning wheel on your computer — screen lit up, but frozen.)
💩 Blank-Out – This is different from Fog. Here, you’re just gone. No effort, no processing. You walk into a room and forget why, or you sit at your laptop and suddenly realize 30 minutes vanished in a haze. It’s like the lights are on but nobody’s home.
FULL PDF AVAILABLE TO DOWNLOAD HERE
Why we use these names:
They aren’t rules. They aren’t diagnoses. They’re just categories we’ve made up to point at something slippery — so that instead of saying “what’s wrong with me?” we can say “oh, this is Fog Mode” or “yep, Panic Focus again.”
Once you can name it, you can work with it. Naming a mode takes away some of the shame, helps you notice patterns, and sometimes even gives you a way out.
Now your turn:
Which of these modes feels most familiar lately?
Do you have a story that captures one of them? (If yes, send it our way — we’d love to share it in a future newsletter.)
See you Wednesday:
We’ll talk through all 5 modes at and swap our own examples. 💜
I’ll also share a story of mine later this week — a full-blown Panic Focus sprint through a Berlin mall with my lost bum bag.
📍 Falckensteinstraße 38, Berlin
🕡 Wednesday Aug 20, 18:45
RSVP here
much love,
chris
xxxxxxxooooooo
PS: Some Substack emails have been slipping into junk since the move. If you see doubles, just ignore the Google Groups ones for now. To make sure you keep getting updates, mark Focus Warriors as safe in your inbox.
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