When Timeblocking Breaks Your Brain

Why neurodivergent productivity often needs rhythm, not rigidity

There was a time I could make a calendar bow to my will.

Color-coded, cross-referenced, synced between devices, a digital symphony of efficiency.

I wasn’t just good at timeblocking; I was timeblocking.
Every hour had a purpose. Every purpose had a slot.

And I was damn proud of it.

I built entire systems this way, not just for myself but for companies, teams, and businesses that wanted to scale and succeed. I’ve helped organize powerful people with powerful goals, building frameworks that worked like clockwork. I could turn chaos into structure in my sleep.

That was my currency.
Control. Order. Predictability.
And for a long time, it worked.

Until it didn’t.

At first, I thought I was just getting lazy.
I’d sit down at my computer, open my neatly color-coded calendar, and feel the familiar hum of overwhelm start somewhere in my chest. My jaw would tighten. My stomach would knot. That soft voice in the back of my mind, the one I’d always ignored, would whisper, I can’t do this.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to work. I wanted to want to work.
But something in me couldn’t line up anymore with the demands of those colored boxes.

Every time I forced myself to push through, it took longer.
Tasks that used to take thirty minutes suddenly stretched to ninety.
Meetings drained me in ways they never had before.
The smallest interruption, a phone ping, an email notification, a shifting sound outside, sent my brain spinning off course.

This was the era when perimenopause came crashing in and my ADHD went into overdrive.

I started forgetting words mid-sentence.
I’d open a document and forget what I was supposed to write.
And when I tried to push through it, as I always had, my brain froze.
Completely.

It’s not burnout exactly, though that was there too. It’s more like your nervous system slams on the brakes while your to-do list keeps running laps around the track.

I’d sit there, staring at my calendar, willing myself to start the next task.
The shame was almost physical, a tight heat in my chest that whispered, What is wrong with you? You used to be unstoppable.

I kept trying to fix it with more structure.
New apps. New systems.
“Brain-friendly” time management hacks.

But the more I tried to manage my time, the more time managed me.
My days started to feel like a cage I built for myself.

And somewhere inside that cage, something wild and intuitive started to stir.
A quiet voice asking, What if the way you work isn’t broken — just different?

The Myth of Linear Productivity

I don’t think most productivity systems are designed for people like us —people whose minds move in spirals rather than straight lines.

Timeblocking assumes consistency: that you can predict what kind of energy you’ll have on Thursday at 10 a.m., two weeks from now. That your brain will obey the box it’s been assigned. That your focus is something you can schedule like a meeting.

But energy doesn’t care about boxes.
It moves like the weather.
It shifts, swells, and dissipates; sometimes for reasons you can’t see or name.

Some days I wake up electric. I can write for hours, create, build, connect, all without looking up. Other days, I wake up feeling like someone filled my brain with wet sand. No caffeine, no playlist, no motivational quote will move me.

And yet, we’re told to fight that.
To “push through.”
To show up the same way every day because that’s what successful people do.

But when I force myself to perform on empty, I pay for it later.
My body rebels. My nervous system revolts.
I spiral into overstimulation — lights too bright, sounds too sharp, emotions too big.

That’s when I crash into freeze.
Not the cozy “Netflix and recharge” kind of rest, but the dissociative kind. The kind where you stare at a wall and can’t remember what you were supposed to do next. The kind where your own brain feels like a locked door.

And then, of course, there is the shame that follows.

Because we’re taught that stillness means failure. That rest means weakness. That if we’re not “on,” we’re falling behind.

But what if all of that is a lie?

Working in Energy Blocks

Only recently did I give up trying to fix myself.
And that’s when I found my rhythm again.

I started working in energy blocks instead of time blocks.
No timers. No rigid start and stop.
Just an attunement to what’s actually available in the moment.

When I wake up now, I ask myself:
What kind of energy am I carrying today?

Creative energy? Then I write.
Organizing energy? I do my admin work.
Restorative energy? I let myself slow down and refuel, maybe with a walk, maybe a nap, maybe a few minutes curled up with my cat in the middle of the afternoon.

I don’t schedule these in advance because energy can’t be predicted.

And yes, this means some things move around.
Sometimes I shift meetings.
Sometimes I cancel plans.
Sometimes I need to turn on Do Not Disturb and disappear into deep work.

What I’ve learned is that honoring my energy makes me more productive, not less.
I create faster. I recover faster. I resent my work less.

And perhaps most importantly, I don’t abandon myself in the process.

If this resonates — if you’re learning to work with your energy instead of against it — subscribe to Bone & Bloom. It’s a place for the sacred, strange, and deeply human art of living.

The Practice of Energy Work (Not That Kind)

Yes, I am an energy worker also, but that’s not what I mean here.
What I’m talking about is nervous system work.
Somatic work.
The practical magic of noticing what your body is saying before you override it.

Here’s what this looks like for me lately:

When I feel the first signs of overstimulation: tight shoulders, shallow breath, the hum of panic just under my skin, I don’t force myself to finish the thing. I pause.
I take five slow breaths. I stretch. I step outside. I let my nervous system catch up.

When I feel the creative fire hit, I ride it like a wave. I clear distractions, silence notifications, and let myself go deep. If the words are flowing, I don’t stop because it’s “lunch time.” I eat later, when I’ve emptied what needed to come through.

And when the fog rolls in, I rest.
Not as an act of surrender, but as one of strategy.

Because rest is not the opposite of productivity.
It’s part of the cycle.

What Working With Energy Feels Like

When you start practicing this, it feels messy at first.
You’ll worry you’re being lazy. You’ll panic that things will fall apart.

But then you start to notice the subtle cues your body gives you.
The flutter of anxiety when your calendar feels too full.
The way your hands move easily during certain hours of the day and feel clumsy during others.
The moment your mind starts to glaze over.

Energy work is about listening to those moments instead of bulldozing past them.

Now, I can already hear the voices —
“That’s nice, but I have a real job.”

And I get it. Not everyone has the luxury of shifting meetings or pausing mid-day to recharge. I’ve lived in those worlds, too. The ones run by deadlines, metrics, and meetings that multiply overnight.

Working with your energy doesn’t mean quitting your job or tossing your calendar into the sea. It means starting small; finding micro-moments of recalibration inside the structure you already have.

It might look like taking two minutes between calls to breathe instead of scroll.
Or standing outside for sixty seconds before walking into another fluorescent-lit meeting.
It might mean rearranging the order of your tasks; tackling something creative when you feel open, saving the busywork for when your brain is foggy.

You can still honor your energy inside a system that wasn’t designed for it.
You can still move with small rebellions.

Even a few minutes of intentional pause can change the texture of a day.
It’s not about having total freedom. It’s about creating pockets of self-trust wherever you can.

Because your nervous system doesn’t care about your job title. It just wants you to listen.

Letting Go of the Hustle Guilt

Here’s the thing that took me the longest to unlearn:
You don’t have to earn your rest.

You don’t need to finish the list before you lie down.
You don’t need to justify a slow day by promising to “catch up” tomorrow.

Your worth is not determined by your output.

Some of the most valuable work I’ve ever done happened in stillness.
Ideas that came in the shower, clarity that surfaced during a walk, emotional healing that arrived during a nap I refused to feel guilty for taking.

We’ve been taught that rest is what happens after the work.
But for those of us wired differently, rest is part of the work.

Flow, Not Force

If you take nothing else from this, take this:
Structure isn’t the enemy. Rigidity is.

You can still have frameworks, boundaries, and goals.
But let them breathe.

Let your systems serve you, not the other way around.

Some days it speaks in full sentences. Other days, in sighs and silence.
Your job isn’t to control it, it’s to listen.

When I stopped managing my time and started tending to my energy, everything softened. My work became less about discipline and more about devotion.
Less about control, more about conversation; between my mind, my body, and whatever mysterious creative force moves through both.

Now, when I look at my calendar, it’s not filled with boxes.
It’s filled with breath.
With room for fluctuation.
With space to be human.

I still have goals. I still get things done.
But I do it from within the rhythm of my own nervous system.

And if that means lying down at 2 p.m. with my cat, eyes closed, feeling the world hum softly around me, then so be it.

The truth is, most of us don’t need more discipline or grit (despite what they’re selling us).
We need more grace.
More room to trust the intelligence of our own bodies.
More permission to ebb and flow, to rise and rest, to be both brilliant and bone-tired.

Because that, too, is productivity.
That, too, is life.

Love today,
Heather 🌸