My Love–Hate Relationship with Whiteboards: A Neurodivergent Courtroom Drama

I love my whiteboards.
Plural. Because one is never enough when you’re a person with ADHD and grand ambitions.

The magnetic ones are better, because I also love magnets. 

They hang throughout my home like visual security blankets. One for groceries and meal plans (which inevitably reads soup, nutritional yeast, buffalo sauce). One for “important work tasks.” And one beside my bed: the sacred 2 a.m. Board of Brilliant Thoughts.

Because at 2 a.m. on a Tuesday, I’m basically Socrates in sweatpants. Every idea feels profound until morning arrives and it’s just something boring like ‘file your taxes’ or something brilliant like ‘train your dog to play piano using buttons’.

The Honeymoon Phase

In the beginning, my whiteboards were therapy.
I could empty my swirling thoughts onto a glossy surface and, for a moment, pretend I was organized. They held my intentions, my to-dos, my chaos. They held all of it without judgment.

I called it the system. The system that would finally bring order to my mind.

But then came the betrayal.

When the Whiteboards Turned on Me

Now they stare at me. Mock me.

Every unchecked task hovers like a ghost of motivation’s past:

“Still haven’t called your insurance company?”
“You wrote this one in June.”
“Sure, start another list. That’ll fix it.”

I try to erase the evidence, but of course, one of them was not written with a dry-erase, Expo marker. It’s written with a Sharpie. Permanent marker.  And now, it lives on my whiteboard; a monument to my optimism, my excitement… and also my impulsivity… Just like the tattoo I got with a Groupon voucher. 

The Inner Courtroom

Whenever I look at a board, an entire legal drama unfolds in my head.

The Prosecution: Shame, armed with a binder and video evidence, and a laser pointer aimed directly at the clearly guilty offender:  ME.

“Exhibit A: The ‘Easy Wins’ list. None completed.”
“Exhibit B: Your piles of laundry.”

“Exhibit C: The video game you’ve put 1,000 hours into but never actually finished.”

The Defense: Excitement and her erratic partner, Hyperfocus.

“Your Honor, my client was BUSY discovering an entirely new creative obsession that required 14 hours of research and no sleep!”, exclaims Excitement.

Hyperfocus, a little dishevelled and unpredictable, yet immaculately prepared, dazzles the courtroom with a monologue she only finished two minutes ago.

They present color-coded evidence with Post-It’s of various shapes and sizes: alphabetized teas, new trauma-training tabs in Google Chrome, and a half-finished PowerPoint titled ‘Why I Can’t Focus.’

The courtroom gasps. The defense rests.

The Daily Verdict

Some days Shame wins: “You lack discipline.”
Other days Excitement triumphs: “But I felt inspired!”
Occasionally, Apathy bangs the gavel, declares a mistrial, and takes a nap.

Why I Keep Them Anyway

Because even when they guilt-trip me, my whiteboards remind me I’m trying.

They hold the proof of my effort, the outlines of ideas that might still happen. And every once in a while, I erase a task I actually finished. Erasing that ink feels like victory itself.

It’s messy progress, sure. But at least it’s progress.

My whiteboards and I may argue daily, but we’re in this together.

Me, my lists, and the eternal courtroom of my brain.

If you also have a courtroom in your head, arguing over unfinished to-do lists, maybe it’s time to give your defense team a little backup. I have over 2 decades of experience in this mental courtroom, and I can help. 

Therapy will not erase the whiteboards, but it can help you stop putting yourself on trial every day. 

And if nothing else, at least you’ll have someone in your corner when the verdict’s still out.