When My Brain Has 47 Tabs Open: A Week in the Life of a Creative (Who Also Runs a Business)

Some mornings I wake up a composer. Other mornings I wake up a grant strategist with 47 browser tabs open in my head. On the best days, I’m both—writing melodies between client calls, toggling from strings to spreadsheets without spilling my coffee. On the tough days, ADHD, anxiety, and depression all RSVP to the same meeting and forget to bring snacks.

This is a tiny window into the messy, beautiful overlap of art and business in my life—what actually helped this week, what didn’t, and how I’m learning to treat myself like a human being while I chase big, stubborn dreams.

The Studio Meets the Spreadsheet

I used to think I had to choose: be the “serious artist” or be the “serious business owner.” Turns out, both can sit at the same table if I manage the seating chart.

• Morning focus block = art. Before the world starts asking things of me, I give myself 60–90 minutes to compose, arrange, or noodle ideas. No email, no Asana, just me and a melody. If I lose that window, I spend the day feeling like I left the oven on.

• Afternoon = Sketgo mode. Strategy, grant writing, budgets, client calls. When my brain’s chatter gets loud, I tell it, “Yes, darling, we’ll worry later—right now we’re formatting a budget cell.” It mostly listens.

My Brain Is a Browser (Tab Audit, Anyone?)

ADHD for me feels like a dozen interesting ideas yelling “pick me!” at once. What helps:

• The Two-List Reset: Must vs Maybe. “Must” has 3 items max. “Maybe” holds the chaos. I pick one “Must,” set a 25-minute timer, and start. Momentum is medicine.

• Body-Doubling: I work beside someone (virtually or IRL). I don’t need their help—just their presence. (Shoutout to my people who quietly sit and let me be productively dramatic.)

• The 3-Line Project Brief: Before I start anything: What is it? Why now? What’s “done”? I tape the answers above my keyboard so Future Me can’t move the goalposts.

Anxiety’s Favourite Trick (And My Counter-Move)

Anxiety tells me a task is too big, too late, or too public. Depression whispers, “Why bother?” Here’s what I do when both show up with matching clipboards:

• Name the feeling, not the failure. “I’m overwhelmed” is different than “I’m failing.” Language matters.

• Shrink the task. If “finish the proposal” is impossible, “open the document” isn’t. Then “write the first paragraph.” Progress over theatrics.

• Regulate the body. I step outside for air, drink water, stretch, or ask my service dog (hi, Mildred) for pressure therapy. My brain behaves better when my body feels safe.

Systems That Don’t Make Me Feel Like a Robot

I’ve tried every productivity religion. Here’s what stuck without flattening my creativity:

• Theme days (soft). Monday admin, Tuesday writing, Wednesday meetings, Thursday creative, Friday wrap. I treat it like a playlist, not a prison.

• One Home for Everything. A single doc holds my week: top 3 must-dos, project briefs, links, little wins. If I start 17 new docs, chaos wins and I get mean to myself.

• Alarmed Transitions. Alarms to start and to stop. Stopping on time protects tomorrow’s energy.

Money & Meaning Are Allowed to Co-Exist

There’s nothing “sellout” about wanting your art—and your business—to pay the bills. I’ve learned to say:

• Yes to value. My work has worth. So does yours. Charge like you respect your future self.

• Yes to boundaries. “I can’t take this on until next month” is a full, loving sentence.

• Yes to the long game. Some projects grow slowly. That doesn’t make them less sacred.

What Worked This Week

• One brave email. I asked for a deadline extension instead of spiraling. They said yes. (Wild.)

• Micro-practice. 20 minutes of composing daily beat one epic 4-hour session I kept postponing.

• Energy budgeting. I scheduled hard things earlier, left space after calls, and didn’t cram “just one more” at 9:45 pm. Future Me sent flowers.

What Didn’t (and What I’ll Try Next)

• Doom-scrolling in disguise. Research turned into scrolling. Next week: timer + “close tab when done.”

• Too many tabs (literal). I’m testing a rule: no more than 10 open tabs; everything else goes to a parking lot doc. (Pray for me.)

If You’re a Creative Juggling a Business, Too

You’re not behind. You’re building—on multiple tracks. The mess isn’t proof you’re failing; it’s proof you’re working. Take the next kind, doable step. Ask for help before you sink. Celebrate the tiny wins out loud. And when you forget all of this (because same), come back to a blank page and start again.

We can do this. One tab at a time.

P.S. Want more posts like this?

This series is my diary-ish corner of the internet: neurodivergent creativity, gentle productivity, and running a business without losing the spark. \