When Spring Feels Like a Glitch in the Matrix

One day it's snowing. The next, you're sweating in a sweater you swore you needed. And somewhere in between, you’re standing in your yard with a rake in one hand, a seed catalog in the other, and absolutely (thank you perimenopause!) no idea what you came outside for.

Welcome to spring in Maine. Or as I like to call it: Mud, Maple, and Mayhem Season™.

If you’ve got ADHD (or just a brain that’s had enough of winter), this time of year can feel like your nervous system is bouncing between “let’s totally rewild the backyard!” and “let’s lie down and become moss.” Same, friend. Same.

This post isn’t a productivity pep talk or a gardening how-to. It’s more like a trail marker—one of those hand-painted ones nailed to a tree that says: “you’re not lost, you’re just here.” I’m sharing a few things that are helping me reset—tiny rituals, grounding tools, and some deeply chaotic attempts at growing stuff (plants, peace, patience... you know, the usual).

You don’t need a green thumb. You just need a little grace, a seed you can stick in a cup, and—if you’re anything like me—plenty of coffee to remember what you were doing in the first place.

If you're looking for more ideas on how nature can support your mental health, you might also enjoy How Getting Outside Can Fix Almost Anything.

The Garden as a Dopamine Playground

Let’s talk about dopamine—the ADHD brain’s flaky best friend. Most people get a regular drip-feed of it throughout the day. Meanwhile, our brains are like: “Hmm, no thanks,” until suddenly it’s midnight and we’re reorganizing the spice rack or researching the entire life cycle of moss.

That’s where gardening comes in. It hits the dopamine sweet spot without the soul-sucking screen time. Tiny, satisfying tasks with immediate feedback? Check. New things to obsess over? Check. Visual progress that makes you feel like you’ve got your life together (even if your laundry says otherwise)? Check.

You don’t need a whole backyard. Honestly, a windowsill and a mason jar of dirt is a perfectly acceptable starting point. I once grew basil in a chipped teacup. It was the most accomplished I’d felt in weeks.

And if you’re thinking, “But I’ll forget to water it”—same. But guess what? That’s part of the fun. ADHD brains thrive on the unpredictable. Sprout surprise? Dopamine hit. First flower? Double dopamine hit. Accidentally growing mold instead of mint? That’s just a science experiment now, baby.

So no, you don’t need a farm. You just need something to tend that doesn’t talk back.

Routines That Stick (Even When Your Brain Wanders)

Here’s a wild idea: let your garden set the rhythm instead of your planner.

ADHD brains don’t love being told what to do at 7:15 AM on the dot, but we do respond to patterns—sunlight pouring through the window, soil that’s drying out, seedlings leaning toward the light like they just know something we don’t. It’s not about forcing yourself into a rigid schedule. It’s about letting nature offer structure in bite-sized, sensory-friendly doses.

That’s what I built the ADHD Reset Tool for. One page. One reset at a time. It’s not some glittery habit tracker that makes you feel bad when you forget it exists for three days. It’s a landing pad for your brain. And it pairs perfectly with the kind of days where your garden is your anchor.

→ Download the D3 Reset Tool here – it’s free and it won’t judge you.

You don’t need to overhaul your life. Just check in with your plants, check in with yourself, and maybe get a little dirt under your nails in the process.

Why a Garden Journal Might Save Your Sanity

Here’s the thing about ADHD: if it’s not written down, it basically never happened. And that includes what seeds you planted last week, where you put them, or why there’s a mystery squash growing in your herb bed.

Enter: the humble garden journal.

This little tool is magic—not because it keeps you perfectly organized (lol, as if), but because it gives your swirling thoughts a home. You can jot down when you planted something, what kind of light it’s getting, or even just how the air smelled that morning. It becomes less about perfect record keeping and more about connecting to the process.

Personally, I use [this one from Bookshop.org] that’s simple, undated, and doesn’t make me feel like I’m failing some Pinterest-level homestead fantasy. It’s calm. It’s cute. And it keeps me from re-buying the same packet of kale seeds five times.

I put this list together for the beautifully distracted among us—you know, the ones who plant lettuce in their slippers and forget where they left the trowel. These are the books and journals that actually help without overwhelming. Calm, clear, and ADHD-friendly.

Optional bonus? You can doodle in it. That totally counts as productivity.

Supplements, Sunlight, and Showing Up Anyway

Let’s get honest. Spring doesn’t magically fix brain fog. It’s beautiful, yes. But also muddy, moody, and full of weird pressure to reinvent yourself just because the crocuses showed up.

So this section is for the days when even going outside feels like a lot.

I’ve been testing a few things to help with energy and focus—but I’m keeping this part short for now since I don’t have affiliate approvals yet.

In the meantime? Showing up to water a plant still counts as effort.

Grow What You Can, Where You Are

Here’s your reminder, in case no one’s said it lately:

Spring doesn’t have to be a glow-up. It can be a slow-up.

You don’t have to transform. You can just tend. Tend to a little patch of dirt. Tend to your peace. Tend to whatever part of you is trying to root into something steady right now.

This season, I’m letting things be messy, muddy, and meaningful. I’m trading productivity pressure for planting something—anything—that helps me breathe a little deeper.

A single seed in a solo cup counts. So does trimming back what no longer works.

And if all else fails? Make coffee, water your plants, and try again tomorrow.

🌼 Be on the lookout for my upcoming Garden Resource Toolkit—a curated list of tools, journals, and gentle support for ADHD-friendly gardening.

Note
If this helped you at all, share it with someone else who’s trying to grow something—plants, peace, or patience.