If you think that the cost of living has had you feeling the pinch lately, spare a thought for those of us with ADHD.
Firstly, ADHD is expensive to diagnose and treat, for those who can find an available psychiatrist with their books open and the ability to afford the skyrocketing assessment costs in Australia. Secondly, it presents many hidden and less-obvious costs that can lead to feelings of shame and guilt about our inability to manage our money.
In 2019, Deloitte Access Economics calculated that the social and economic costs of ADHD was costing individuals $25,071 per year. There’s no doubt that this number will have risen in recent times, but it’s nice to know that I’m not alone.
This is known as the ‘ADHD tax’ and it has impacted almost every aspect of my life. It’s grip on me is relentless and exhausting.
From burning though pocket money and cash in birthday cards as soon as it landed in my hands as a 7-year-old, to my mum’s constant reminders to be more careful with my belongings as “money doesn’t grow on trees and these cost actual money to replace”, I’ve always had a tumultuous relationship with money.
This is what ADHD costs me every day
What started as small childhood habits, that went unnoticed as a straight-A student, still persist today in my adult life as a wife and mother of two young children.
Picture this: I’m doing the weekly food shop and remember a recipe that I screenshotted three weeks ago, no doubt buried among thousands of others in my phone’s camera roll. I need a bag of green leaves (because who can be bothered washing and cutting a lettuce or grown spinach) and the bag goes into my trolley with good intentions.
By the time I get home, the enthusiasm for that recipe has worn off, and it will have to wait until tomorrow. The greens are tossed into the crisper, along with a bag of carrots that I probably won’t open, peel or eat.
Out of sight, out of mind, the recipe is long forgotten and weeks later that now watery bag of greens makes its way to the compost bin. What a waste. The cycle repeats when I finally remember that recipe again.
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to buy a new phone or handbag or had to cut a new car key and replace a garage remote, because I have no idea where they are.
I’ve wasted thousands of dollars throwing out groceries, re-washing almost every load of laundry because I forget to take it out of the machine or get distracted after only hanging out a few pieces.
Michelle Leach.
Prior to my late diagnosis of ADHD at 34, which took many expensive consultations and misdiagnoses of high-functioning anxiety and depression, I’d mindlessly buy sugary treats for a quick dopamine hit instead of eating the lunch I’d brought from home, and inevitably forgot to put in the fridge.
And let’s not start on the doom cupboard of expensive hobbies collecting dust mere weeks after starting. There’s also the excessive stationery, subscriptions that haven’t been cancelled before the free trial ends, dead houseplants and a pair of lost diamond earrings. Then there’s the bags of children’s clothes purchased at the start of a season and promptly forgotten in a cupboard, only to be discovered when my kids have outgrown them, the spur-of-the-moment fancy dinners and show tickets “just because”, impulsive online shopping late at night when I can’t sleep, and the late fees for not paying bills on time.
The emotional cost can also be debilitating. Like the time I took my four-year-old to a birthday party and turned up at the finishing, not starting time. The mum guilt was awful. I’d screwed up, yet again.
As the CEO of Mikki and Me, the ADHD tax also affects my business. I’ve missed emails and deadlines, forgotten to analyse and adjust paid advertising, not scheduled content I’ve paid to have created, forgotten meetings, and ordered inventory so late it misses the start of season cut-off.
Sometimes these ADHD tax costs are mildly inconvenient and even entertaining with the benefit of hindsight – like the time I forgot I ordered five nights of ready-to-cook meals, only to find the delivery had been sitting on my doorstep for days in the middle of a heatwave, and then did the exact same thing the following week. Goodbye $350.
But sometimes, these costs can be devastating and life-altering.
In 2021, I designed my dream home which I’d saved for more than a decade to afford. At the time I signed up with the builder, interest rates were at record lows, and the construction loan was approved with no issues.
Fast forward to 2022 when I went to draw down on the loan mid-way through construction, only to be met with the bank’s shocking response of “sorry, you don’t have a loan”.
I was on maternity leave at the time with my second child, interest rates had skyrocketed and I had nowhere near enough savings to finish the build. I fell to the ground at 8.30pm after seeing the email and sobbed for hours with a thousand thoughts racing through my overactive mind – selling my possessions, bankruptcy, homelessness and the demolition of my partially constructed house. Thankfully it all worked out in the end, but not without weeks of stress and floods of tears.
How I manage my ADHD today
After this rather traumatic experience of nearly losing my house, I realised that I can’t rely on apps, phone reminders or Post-it notes. I need visual reminders I can walk past often to keep me on track and to share the mental load with my husband.
I designed a personalised acrylic monthly wall planner and large-format fridge planner to keep track of everything. The physical act of writing helps my brain remember.
Keys and garage remotes go on the same hook near the door, and my handbag has its own shelf in the dump zone. My phone gets plugged in as soon as I get home. Fruit and vegetables now sit in clear containers at my eye line in the fridge, with condiments in the crisper drawers. The pantry is filled with clear containers, and jars and cans are stored in tiered shelves so I can see them. I also outsource my laundry after realising I was wasting hours each weekend procrastinating when dealing with it.
It’s not a foolproof system, but finding ways to combat ‘out of sight, out of mind’ factors are proving to be effective at minimising the ADHD tax and managing my mental load.
