What’s Up in Your Loft?

Why do so many of our projects stall halfway? Six years after downsizing, my loft is still full of decisions I’ve never made. Here’s what finally showed me the way in, and how it might help you find your own finish line.

The confession

How many unfinished projects do I have?  Several hundred, if not more.  They are all decisions I need to make and are component parts of my one major project.

Six years ago I downsized. I was brave, I was ruthless, and I let go of more than I ever thought I could. But there was still a mountain of stuff, and my new home came with generous wardrobes and a massive loft space. So I boarded it, labelled every box beautifully, and up it all went.

School memories, like the precious red-biro “A” in a French exercise book that still gives me a little glow today. Box files of letters from schoolfriends, lovingly sorted and labelled, because I wanted to hold every one of those friendships close. Family history papers, photographs, odds and ends I couldn’t quite decide about. I knew I ought to thin all this stuff out, but just not now. For now, it was out of sight, and very nearly out of mind.

Why we stall

If you have ADHD, I suspect you know this feeling well. Our brains adore a beginning. A new idea, a fresh plan, a shiny project: it all gives us a lovely lift of dopamine, and off we go.

But that sparkle, that dopamine wave, doesn’t last. Once the novelty wears off, what’s left is the slow, unglamorous middle, and our brains simply lose interest. Last month’s exciting plan becomes this month’s chore, and before we know it, our unfinished projects get relegated, then (nearly) forgotten.

It isn’t laziness. It’s wiring.

The missing finish line

When I finally asked myself why I hadn’t tackled the loft, the answer surprised me. It wasn’t the dust or the ladder. It was that I had no idea where to start, because I had no idea where it would end. There were simply no parameters.

And that, I’ve come to realise, is where so many of our projects grind to a guilt-ridden pause. If we can’t picture the finish line, our brains can’t find the starting line either.

When I first tried to describe “finished”, I said I’d feel lighter, less burdened, free to think about my family, my clients and my music. All true, and a wonderful reason to do it. But a feeling isn’t a plan. I needed to know what finished would actually look like.

Drawing my finish line

So I tried again, this time with my practical hat on. When the loft is done, what’s left up there?

The spare carpet rolls can stay. So can a few precious, tactile family treasures, including one or two pieces of sentimental crockery. Some of the legal and accounts files need to stay too. Everything else, every paper and every photograph, will live digitally.

It took less than a minute to say, and yet something shifted. “The loft” stopped being a fog and became a list of decisions. Keep, digitise, let go. Suddenly I could see a way in.

It also showed me something about those box files. Sorting isn’t the same as deciding. I’d lovingly organised my memories, but I’d never actually chosen what to keep.

A coach for the coach

Here’s a confession within a confession: I’m a coach, and I have a coach. A decluttering coach, who is currently helping me with my wardrobe and other personal pieces, and she’s amazing.

Looking at what she does, I can see exactly why it works for an ADHD brain:

• She books the next appointment before we finish, so momentum never depends on willpower.

• She’s there with me on screen, which is body doubling at its best.

• She knows where things go, whether to donate, sell or store, so there’s no “and then what?” moment to paralyse me.

• She asks the gentle, pertinent questions. Would I naturally reach for this? When did I last wear it? Suddenly the decision almost makes itself.

Asking for help isn’t a failing. It’s a strategy.

Moving the goalposts kindly

Halfway through any big project, the energy dips. That’s normal. It’s also the moment our minds start playing tricks.

Sometimes we decide it all needs to be bigger and better: if I’m digitising the photos, surely I should caption every one, research every face, build a family archive. That’s the 110% version, and it can sink a project faster than anything.

Other times we just let it drift, and never finish at all, forever to haunt us as a foggy cloud of guilt and shame.

There’s a kinder middle way. If the finish line needs to move, let it be a choice, not a drift. Pause, look at your original picture, and decide honestly: same, more or less? Then redraw it, and give yourself credit for staying the course.

Lighter

I haven’t finished the loft yet. But for the first time in six years, I know what finished looks like, and that changes everything.

When I get there, I’ll celebrate properly. In the meantime, I’m celebrating the small wins: each box sorted, each album scanned, each session with my coach. They all go in my “well done me” file, because every step deserves noticing.

And the prize at the end? Feeling lighter. Less burdened. Free to give my time and attention to what matters most: my family, my clients and my music.

So, what’s up in your loft? And what might finished look like for you?

If any of this has struck a chord, perhaps now is the moment to explore what ADHD coaching could do for you. Book an introductory session, and let’s find your finish line together.

And if the idea of having someone alongside you appeals, you’ll enjoy Zapping While Zooming, my blog on the magic of body doubling.

With big thanks to

Stacey at https://www.thehomedetox.co.uk/