I’ve noticed a pattern in my brain lately — and maybe you have too.
Every so often, I start to panic about money.
“Do I have enough for that thing coming up?”
I open my spreadsheet or check my plan.
Oh, right. I already planned for that.
Then, a few days later:
“Wait, what about this other thing?”
Cue the same routine — open plan, check numbers, sigh with relief, close tab.
Then the cycle starts again — not out of need, but out of habit, a mental loop disguised as responsibility.
At first, I thought this was just me being overly cautious. But I’ve realized it’s something deeper — something a lot of us with ADHD experience all the time.
The ADHD Financial Loop
My therapist calls it ruminating — those mental circles where I revisit the same worries again and again. For me, it often sounds like: What if I didn’t plan enough? What if I forgot something important? What if everything falls apart?
It’s not logical, but it’s real. Sometimes I even catastrophize things that are already fine. I’ll open my portfolio, see the same numbers I saw yesterday, and still get a small dopamine hit — like, ah, okay, it’s still there. It’s oddly comforting, almost like checking the locks before bed.
That’s the ADHD loop: our brains don’t forget so much as they re-loop. We orbit the same thoughts because they feel unfinished, unanchored, unresolved.
Looking back, I can see this pattern has always been there. Right out of college, I calculated I needed $830 to live each month. So I worked intensely for a few months, saved up six months of expenses, then stopped working. I’d live off that cushion, then repeat the cycle.
I know how impractical that sounds now — most jobs don’t let you start and stop at will. But that’s how my ADHD brain understood security: I needed to see the months ahead, already funded, before I could relax. Abstract future income didn’t feel real. Only money already in hand felt safe.
That instinct — needing to pre-fund my life in chunks I could visualize — is the same reason I check my spreadsheet multiple times a week now. My brain doesn’t trust “it’ll work out.” It needs proof, repeatedly.
ADHD affects executive function — the brain’s planning, prioritizing, and follow-through system — as well as working memory, our ability to hold several pieces of information at once. Combine that with something as complex as personal finance, and it’s no wonder we end up feeling lost or underwater.
When I circle back to my finances, I’m not just checking numbers. I’m trying to reassure my nervous system that things are safe, stable, and real.
Why Creatives and Teachers Feel This Even More
ADHD brains love novelty and immediacy — exactly the kind of energy that fuels musicians, artists, and teachers. We thrive in the moment. We respond. We adapt.
I’ve found this in my own teaching. I actually prefer teaching something new over teaching the same unit a second or third time. There’s something about the novelty — the act of learning alongside my students — that makes it feel alive, like we’re discovering something together instead of reciting a script. That sense of exploration is where my brain lights up.
But money? Money demands the opposite. It wants patience, consistency, and long-term focus — traits that don’t come naturally when your daily life revolves around creativity, spontaneity, and constant problem-solving.
Teachers, for example, live in a state of perpetual juggling. You’re balancing questions, personalities, logistics, and emotions, all at once. But that’s immediate planning, not future planning.
Artists and musicians work the same way. We enter flow states — nonlinear, emotional, intuitive. When we’re in the groove, time disappears. Financial planning, on the other hand, demands us to hold time still, to think years ahead. That’s a completely different muscle.
So when creative people struggle with finances, it’s not because we’re bad with money — it’s because our brains were trained for improvisation, not spreadsheets. But here’s what I’ve learned: just like playing in tempo or painting within a frame, artistry can thrive within constraints. The composition of a photograph depends on its borders. The beauty of a melody often comes from the space between the notes. There can be incredible beauty inside structure — especially when that structure serves our most valuable asset: time.
Once we learn that boundaries can enhance our flow, money can become one more creative medium to work within.
The ADHD Money Fog
Research backs this up. People with ADHD are more likely to struggle with budgeting, delay savings, and accumulate debt — not because they don’t care, but because their brains process time and reward differently.
We tend to:
Prioritize short-term rewards (the dopamine hit of buying something now)
Forget about “invisible” money (like automatic transfers or retirement accounts)
Feel guilt or shame for losing track — which makes us avoid looking again
Pay what’s sometimes called the “ADHD tax”: late fees, missed payments, paying for convenience
But here’s the part most people miss: working on money when you have ADHD is hard work.
Money pokes at the parts of ourselves we already question — our discipline, our follow-through, our worth. For years, I told myself I was “bad with money” because I’d forget to pay a bill or lose track of spending. But that wasn’t true; I was trying to manage money with a system designed for a brain I don’t have.
Once I stopped fighting my wiring and started working with it, everything changed. I didn’t need to become more disciplined — I needed to build a system that matched how my brain actually works: visual, chunked, pre-funded, and revisited often.
It can expose old stories about failure and inadequacy. In a world where so much is measured by wealth, status, and visibility, facing money head-on can feel like holding up a mirror to every insecurity we have.
That’s why I think ADHDers who are trying to build financial systems for themselves are doing something quietly courageous.
Lists, Loops, and the Power of the Plan
Here’s what I’ve learned: my financial plan isn’t just about money — it’s about mental peace.
It’s my external brain, the place where I can safely deposit my worries so they don’t have to live in my head anymore.
I see this same dynamic in my youngest daughter, who also has ADHD. If she has more than two tasks in her head — even simple ones like “eat breakfast, brush teeth, get dressed” — she can get overwhelmed fast. If they’re not written down, she spins in circles, jumping from one thing to the next and back again until the whole morning unravels. And honestly, I recognize that in myself. The list doesn’t make the tasks easier — it just makes them visible, concrete, manageable. That’s what my financial plan does for me too.
When I write down what’s covered, what’s next, and what I can stop worrying about, I create stability — not just in my bank account, but in my brain chemistry.
That’s why I encourage creatives to think of a financial plan less like a budget and more like a musical score — something that gives form to the rhythm you’re already playing. You can still improvise. You can still change tempo. But the score keeps you anchored to your key and your theme.
As Andy Warhol once said, “Making money is art, and good business is the best art.”
He understood something most people miss: creativity isn’t just what you make — it’s how you design your whole life. When I think about it that way, I realize good financial design is creative design. It’s pattern, balance, rhythm, restraint — all the same qualities that make music or visual art compelling. The beauty isn’t in the numbers themselves, but in how they move together over time.
Maybe that’s because business — like art — is about creating form from chaos.
ADHD-Friendly Financial Strategies (as Practice)
Think of these less as “tips” and more as practice habits. Just like learning an instrument, repetition builds familiarity, and familiarity builds confidence.
Automate what you can.
Set it once, then let it play. Auto-transfers, bill pay, retirement contributions — that’s like setting a metronome for your money. The beat keeps going even when you’re not focused on it.
Label everything.
Nicknaming accounts (”Rent,” “Travel,” “Daughter 1 Tuition”) makes your money visible. Every month we set aside money for my daughter’s private school tuition. When I see that account grow — $500, then $1,200, then $2,400 — my ADHD brain goes: Oh, that’s real. We’re actually covering this. It transforms an overwhelming annual bill into a visible passion we’re building toward, month by month.
Body doubling.
Practice with someone. Work on finances alongside a friend, partner, or coworker — even silently on Zoom. Musicians practice better with others; ADHD brains plan better that way too.
Chunk big goals into small reps.
Don’t “master the whole piece.” Practice one phrase. Move one bill to autopay. Save $100 this month. These micro-wins are like scales — they build fluency over time.
Make it visual.
Use color, sticky notes, charts, progress bars — anything that turns money from an invisible abstraction into a living, visible rhythm.
Revisit regularly, briefly.
Ten minutes, once a week or every two. That’s your warm-up. The more often you return to your “piece,” the more familiar it becomes. Over time, you stop feeling like you’re sight-reading and start feeling like you know the tune by heart.
That’s how practice turns chaos into cadence.
Finding the Cadence
If you’ve ever felt like money planning is impossible — that you’ll never be consistent or calm enough to get it right — know this: it’s not you. It’s the system.
Most financial advice is written for linear thinkers who love predictability. But if your brain works more like jazz — spontaneous, layered, full of energy — your money system has to groove, not march.
The goal isn’t to force yourself into a different rhythm.
It’s to build a cadence that matches how you already move.
And most of all — let’s not give money more power than it deserves.
Money’s job is to protect your life and your time — and when you work with it intentionally, it can become something even more: a creative rhythm that expresses your values, your priorities, and your artful way of living.
For those of us with ADHD or creative minds, the goal isn’t to fight our wiring — it’s to turn that wiring into music. Because when money flows in harmony with how we think and live, it’s not just finance anymore. It’s art.
Right out of college, I knew I needed $830 to live each month, so I front-loaded my freedom in chunks I could see. Twenty-five years later, I’m still doing the same thing — just with better instruments and a longer composition. If a music teacher with ADHD can build a financial plan that works with his brain instead of against it, so can you.
The goal isn’t to change your rhythm. It’s to write a score that lets your rhythm resonate.